Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
AIDEN
On the other side of my desk, Charlotte is all-focus and all-business. With her notepad in her lap, she’s intently listening to every word Eric says.
“…which is why these quarter numbers are crucial,” he says. “Cynthia sent them to your email earlier?”
She’s not as flushed today as she was the other night on my couch. Her skin is back to its natural creamy peach complexion, with freckles sprinkled across her nose. They’ve spread since she arrived in LA. Nurtured by the sun.
“Mr. Hartman?” Eric asks.
I clear my throat. “Yes. Right. I saw them, and I’ll bring the matter up tonight. Did you make the reservations?”
Eric hesitates a moment before nodding in a way that suggests he has indeed said this already. “Yes. Velveteen, at seven. Caleb and Nora Stone will both be there.”
I look at Charlotte. “Wanna come?”
Her mouth parts, and then she nods. “Yes. Yes, I’d love to.”
Eric looks like he wants to protest. Yes, yes. I know. Negotiations and purchases are singularly confidential. And in particular, our tactics ahead of meetings. Caleb and Nora need to want to sell to me. I can offer them a giant sum of money, sure. But in return, they’ll lose control of the firm they’ve built up for years.
Not everyone is willing to make that trade.
But Charlotte has signed an NDA. She’s trustworthy.
“Add another person to the reservation,” I tell Eric.
He nods, face taut. “Right. Will do. The car will pick you up at six thirty.”
“I’ll drive us,” I say instead.
The word slips out, and fuck, we’re not an us . But here I am, using it anyway. It’s been a very long time since I was a part of an “us.” I can’t even remember if I ever was, actually. My ex used to complain about how I often made plans without thinking of her.
I didn’t mean to be an asshole about it.
I just didn’t… think about her.
With Charlotte, it’s always a struggle to stop thinking about her.
Work has been a sinkhole for me for the past decade. I could always surrender to it, let it drag me down and forget the rest of the world. The only thing that mattered was the next task.
Growth, expansion, consolidation.
Until now.
Eric excuses himself, and Charlotte rises to do the same. There are hours left before dinner. She has chapters to write.
But I find myself unwilling to let her go.
“You haven’t sent me any chapters or ideas,” I tell her. “For your own book. Have you picked the topic you want to work on?”
She pauses halfway between my desk and the door, and presses her things tight to her chest. “I think so. Internet culture, for sure, and the relationship with the media. I have some loose ideas but… nothing I can pitch, yet.” She shakes her head. She sounds frustrated. “Nothing I can use to convince my editor.”
“Write a few pitches and let me look them over.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes. I’m not an expert, and I know fuck-all about publishing.” I shrug a little. “But I know you, and Chaos, I know how to produce things that sell. Why not test it out on me?”
Her lips tip up. “Okay. Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Work in here,” I say and nod toward the couch.
Charlotte’s smile remains in place. “I have a small room down the hall that your staff have so kindly allowed me to use.”
“The couch is more comfortable.”
She retreats a few steps, her smile turning teasing. I lean back in my chair and drink in her expression. “Maybe,” she says, “but the last thing we want is for your employees to start gossiping, hmm?”
“They’ve been doing that about me for years.” I might as well give them something I actually care about to discuss.
She shakes her head. “I’ll see you later, Aiden. Oh, hey, is what I’m wearing okay or should I head home to change?”
My gaze slides down her body. The white button-down and the cornflower-blue silky skirt. She looks professional, presentable, and delicious.
I lean back in my chair. “I’m not sure. Twirl for me.”
Charlotte laughs. “I know that’s not needed, but okay. Fine.” She spins slowly on the carpet, the fabric dancing around her legs. She’s glorious.
“Sorry, just had to make sure,” I say.
“Make sure of what?”
“That there were no panty lines.” I grin at her. “I know what you wear beneath those respectable outfits now.”
She pauses, gaping at my words. Then she reaches for one of the pillows on my couch and chucks it across the space at me.
I catch it with a laugh. “I’m not sorry!”
Charlotte is quiet beside me in the car on our way to Velveteen. We run into traffic near Beverly Hills, and she sighs softly. I watch her undo the hair bun at her nape. She spreads the tresses out with her fingers, the light-brown waves glossy and long.
“What role am I playing tonight?” she asks me.
“Yourself.”
She shakes her head a little. “No, that’s not the one. Who do these people think I am to you?”
Everything. The word flashes through my mind before I can stop it. “You’re working with me on a literary project.”
“So we’re going with the truth tonight.”
“When have we not gone with the truth?”
“I’ve played your date to several events now,” she says. Her hands smooth down her thighs, over the blue fabric.
“Not on purpose,” I say.
She ignores that and picks at her hem. “Caleb and Nora Stone. How old are they?”
“Mid-thirties, or so.”
“Who founded their company?”
“Nora. She brought her younger brother on a few years later. They split the responsibilities of running it after that. He’s the head of technical development, and she’s been leading content and marketing.”
“Huh. Think you could work with your sibling like that?”
That makes me snort. “No.”
Mandy is fantastic, but there’s no way she’d think the same about me after a week of working together.
“That says a lot about them,” Charlotte says thoughtfully. “They must be very good at compromising, and probably also at separating business and pleasure. As siblings, their arguments are likely fierce. I’m guessing they’re not afraid of getting a little dirty.”
I look at her for a long moment.
“What?” she asks and pushes her hair back. “Don’t you think that’s true?”
“I think that’s a very valuable analysis.”
“It might be completely wrong.”
“Tell me after dinner,” I say, “what you think about them. You’re good at observing people. Observe them for me.”
We pull up to Velveteen. The restaurant has valet service, and, as much as I’m used to it, it always makes me feel uneasy to hand my keys to someone else. He better be good at parking.
In the passenger seat, Charlotte is unbuckling herself. “So now you’re using me to further your business deals. I get it.” But she’s smiling, and there’s excitement in her voice.
“Use all resources available. That’s Business 101.”
“I thought the prime objective is to always make a profit. That’s what you said, weeks ago.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t quote me, Chaos.”
“But that’s my job!” she says and blinks in exaggeration. “I’m already planning on getting a tattoo of one of your sayings.”
She’s ridiculous. I lean in closer. “Really. Where?”
“I was thinking a tramp stamp.”
I laugh. “No, never. Tattoo my words on your ribs, Chaos, so I’ll always be close to your heart.”
“You think very highly of yourself,” she says.
I lean in even closer. “That’s the?—”
There’s a sharp knock on my window. The valet. I lean back with a sigh. “Right. Showtime.”
Charlotte reaches for the door handle.
“Do not open that,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes but removes her hand. “Fine.”
I hand the keys to the valet and walk around the hood of the car. The air is cool, in the LA kind of way, and I love these spring months. When you can still be outside without dying.
I’ve been to this restaurant plenty of times. Still, the throng of people waiting in line for a table keeps growing longer. This place has an obvious problem. They’ve become too popular.
I open Charlotte’s car door.
She looks at me with a wry smile in her eyes. It’s one of my favorite expressions of hers.
“My savior,” she says. “My white knight!”
I roll my eyes. “Get out here.”
She bounces a little on the balls of her feet and looks around. Then her eyes clock the line. “Oh, shoot.”
I extend an arm to her. “We have a reservation. Come. Let’s see what you’ll think about the Stones.”
She hesitates only a fraction of a second before sliding her arm through mine.
I’d told her she wouldn’t be here as my date. But as we walk past the lengthening line and straight into the dimness of Velveteen, I find it very hard to pretend otherwise.