Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
CHARLOTTE
Doing what Aiden does for an entire day should be easy.
But it’s not.
It starts in the gym. I’m wearing an old tank top with Idaho State’s logo on it and a pair of leggings that I use to run in. I haven’t tried that here yet. Running the hills of Bel Air. I should, but the roads here have sharp twists and turns, and the cars whip about at high speeds. It’s also hot as hell most days. And I haven’t found where the designated running trails are.
Frankly, all of these are excuses. But they still work.
I watch Aiden load weights onto the barbell I’ve seen him use several times before. One. Then two. Three weights. It’s almost as heavy as when he does chest presses.
“Okay, I know we said I would do exactly what you’re doing, but I’m not lifting that.”
Aiden steps back and gives the weights a considering look. Like he’s thinking about adding more plates to the barbell.
“You’re not even listening,” I say. “You’re just packing on the weights. Have you seen my arms? They’re not like yours. I’m not made out of pure muscle.”
He actually cracks a small smile at that. “Right. Well, do you want to be?”
I think for a moment. “Not particularly. But given the way you work out, you clearly want to. So I guess today, yes. I want to look like I could be the movie star, not the movie company owner.”
“My company makes very few movies.”
“Very few is not none.” I take a few steps closer and look at the intimidating bar. “All right. Let’s do this. And why is the news not on? I’m Aiden Hartman. I need to be informed of the latest headlines at all times. Especially when I’m working on my already perfect physique.” I sit down on the bench. My words come faster than usual, and it’s partly fueled by nerves. I haven’t lifted weights in a long time.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Not with him watching me. In all his six-three, tanned, broad glory. He’s not flexing. Hasn’t even crossed his arms over his chest, and they’re still broad.
Annoying.
I lie down on the bench and reach up to grip the bar. He walks behind me and takes up a position like he’s going to spot me. Jesus. He never has a spotter.
“I haven’t overloaded,” he says, voice even. “You can get eight reps done. Then you could stop if you want. But I know you can do eight more afterward.”
“You know, do you?”
“I know. Let’s go.”
I do the eight. He lets me rest for a bit, and then, somehow, I do eight more. By the time I finish, my chest is burning. It’s definitely much heavier than I usually lift, and he’s been watching all of it.
He puts me through the remainder of his usual routine. Some weight loads are half of his, most are a third. It’s humbling to realize how quickly I get tired. Toward the end, I’m sweaty, I haven’t asked a single question that I need for his book, and Aiden has barely gotten winded. Despite doing most of his exercises right alongside me.
I’m slouching, seated on the floor after completing my last sit-up. “Why,” I ask and reach for my water bottle, “do you do this every single morning?”
He does another biceps curl. “I don’t. Only four times a week.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. Only four times a week. How come?”
“Why not? Why do you read books or write in your spare time?” He does another curl. His dark hair is damper at the temples, and there’s a flush along his high cheekbones now. It’s starting to get to him. Now, at the very end. “It’s good for me. The mind stays sharp by keeping the body healthy.”
“Is this just another aspect you like to control? You know, you can’t control what other people do, but you can control what you do?” I ask. It’s a frequent characteristic I’ve seen as a memoirist. People who do great things, truly amazing things, often require significant personal sacrifices.
They are usually control freaks.
Aiden’s lips twitch. “Mm-hmm. You’re stalling, Chaos. Finish the last set and then you’re done for real.”
I lean back and start the slow, painful sit-ups again. My entire body feels like it’s on fire. “You missed your calling,” I say in between heavy breaths. “Clearly you want to be a personal trainer.”
He reaches for a neatly wrapped towel and runs it across his face. Wiping away sweat that’s barely there. Just a faint sheen that somehow makes him look healthier and more attractive. “A shame indeed. Two more, then we’re done.”
“Done,” I mutter. “Your day has only just begun.”
A true smile spreads across his face. It’s so wide and so genuine that it transforms his features. His visage morphs from the sometimes intimidating handsomeness into something real.
“I don’t know what I like best, Chaos. You when you’re all chirpy and positive, or when you’re grumbling. Now come on. You’re done, and we need to get ready if we’re going to make it.” He extends a hand and pulls me up to stand.
“What about breakfast?” I ask.
“There should be premade shakes in the fridge. We’ll grab some on our way out.”
I can only get half of mine down, sitting in the passenger seat of his giant jeep and driving down the winding roads of Bel Air. It tastes like equal parts protein powder and vegetables. Aiden finishes his before we even cross Sunset Boulevard.
He only has one hand on the steering wheel. The sleeve of his suit jacket has ridden up a bit, showing a thick watch. “You know,” I say. “I should be the one driving, if we’re truly doing this right and all.”
“Nice try.”
“If I’m to live as you.”
“Want to go on a joyride, Chaos? We can do that after work.”
I play with the hem of my dress. “How will this work today? Am I pretending to be you on the phone? Answering emails like you, ordering Eric around like you?”
“I don’t order Eric around.”
“No, you’re right about that, actually,” I say. “He orders you around.”
Aiden chuckles at that.
I tilt my head, looking at his profile. The furrow between his brow is entirely smoothed out. “You’re in a good mood today.”
His eyes slide to mine briefly, there and gone again. “Yes. I suppose I am.”
“Torturing me in the gym lifts your spirits? I don’t know what that says about you, but okay.”
He chuckles again. “Drink your shake, Chaos.”
I look down at the thick contents. “I think I prefer mine with lots of strawberries, bananas, and no powder at all.”
“Of course you do. We all do. But this one is better for you.”
“Are you a machine? Or a man?”
He shakes his head, but the smile stays in place. Even as we pull into the line of traffic backing up through Westwood, heading to cross Wilshire Boulevard. Only a few blocks left to his office in Culver City. “You wanted to live a day like me.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to live to regret that.”
“Think I’ll go hard on you?”
I glare at him. He sees it out of the corner of his eye, and his lips tip up again. “Yes.”
Los Angeles is barely awake outside the windows. Cars are out, yes, but the small shops we pass are still closed. The strip mall is still dark.
He pulls into the parking lot of Titan Media and the spot reserved for him right by the front doors. I follow him into the building. The executive floor is still dark. He’s the one who turns on the lights.
I walk past him to his office. What compels someone to work this hard? I’ve tried to understand it. But it’s still hard to wrap my mind around. This drive—his desire—to restore his family company, even if he needs to sacrifice his own free time, health, and happiness.
Not that he probably sees it as such.
Inside his large office, he heads straight to the spare chair on the other side of his desk. He lifts and moves it to set it right beside his.
“I was joking, by the way,” I say. “About answering emails like you.”
“Mm-hmm.” He’s already sat down in his chair and fired up his computer. “But it’s too late. I took you seriously. Now come over here, Chaos, and get immersed.”
I grab my notepad and walk around to his screen. “You sure?”
“Yeah. If you’re shadowing me today, we might as well do it properly,” he says. Then he shakes his head and a rueful expression crosses his face. “It’s a humbling thing, Chaos… I’ve realized that the people you’ve worked with previously have taken you mushing across the Alaskan tundra and to the World Poker Tournament.”
My eyes slowly widen. “Oh no. You’re feeling competitive.”
“Sure am. So yes. We’ll work in the office. Half a day, or so.”
“What are we doing later?”
His smile widens. “There’s a movie premiere tonight, and you’re coming with me.”