Chapter 48
CHAPTER 48
AIDEN
Producers shuffle into the conference room.
Some I recognize, some I don’t. There are assistants there and some reality stars. They rarely attend, but a few of the bigger ones came to pitch their own shows.
I haven’t spent much time overseeing the reality TV department in the last few years. It’s become a successful juggernaut and our least prestigious offering. But the profits subsidize our larger ventures in news and network shows, not to mention the deal I almost closed for the streaming service.
The costs of producing reality TV are low, and the appeal for that type of entertainment is high.
A necessary evil.
Everyone files into the conference room, and a low chatter soon fills the room. Allison, our head of internal programming, walks in with a large binder in hand. “We’ve got some great new program suggestions,” she tells me and moves to sit down beside me.
I glance over my shoulder at Charlotte. She’s in a chair in the corner of the room, ready to sit in like she often does. Her laptop is propped open on her lap, and her fingers rest casually on the keyboard. I like having her near.
But her eyes are locked on the group of people taking a seat. There’s an odd expression on her face, like she’s a million miles away.
I head her way. “Hey. You okay?”
Her nail starts tapping against her computer. “Um, what kind of meeting is this? It said internal programming on the schedule.”
“Yes, it is, for the reality TV division. Producers will give updates and pitch new shows.” Being here is more of a formality for me. The content team will do most of the work. But Charlotte wanted to come along to see how internal programming worked at Titan, and I was happy to indulge her. “You’re shaking. Charlotte?”
“I’m going to sit this one out,” she mumbles and pushes past me, laptop tucked under her arm.
She beelines toward the door. Past the group of people.
That’s when someone stops her. “Hey—Is that you?”
It’s Jeff. One of the senior producers who’s been at the company for over fifteen years. He now spearheads several of our trashiest shows, ones with ratings high enough to justify his large bonuses.
I watched one episode of his, years ago, and never watched another.
He looks at Charlotte. “What are you doing here?”
Charlotte is frozen in place. I push around the table, trying to reach them. There’s a guy around my age standing next to Jeff who looks vaguely familiar. Deep tan, thick sandy-colored hair. He’s handsome in a Hollywood kind of way, which is always less striking in person.
“I’m… I’m… working here,” she says.
“You’re working here?” Jeff asks. There’s a sharp incredulity in his voice that makes my teeth clench. “As what?”
I reach her side. “She’s working with me.”
The man by Jeff’s side smiles at her. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” he tells her. He’s got a British accent. “Man, it’s been an age! Look at you.”
Charlotte looks between them, but her gaze keeps snapping back to the blond guy. “Blake?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” he says again. He snaps his fingers in the air, like he’s trying to remember something. “Sugar Puff!”
She makes a small, pained sound that makes me want to punch someone. Jeff turns to look at me. His eyes are wide, true confusion in them. “Mr. Hartman? Charlotte Richards is working with you?”
“Charlotte Gray,” I correct him.
“ Charlotte . That’s it!” Blake says. “How’ve you been? You’re looking good.”
Jeff looks back at Charlotte, and his bushy eyebrows scrunch together. “Charlotte here was on the first season of The Gamble . Helped the show’s ratings soar after her dramatic exit,” he says.
“You were good,” Blake says, his smile widening. “I remember that.”
I hate him.
“You changed your name?” Jeff asks her. “How come? You got famous off that season. We made you a star.”
Her face is so still, so carefully blank that it looks like she’s wearing a mask. Her eyes flicker to me only for a moment before she nods at both men. “I have to go.” She shifts on a heel and darts out of the room.
I stare at Jeff. “What do you mean, she was on your show?”
“She was on The Gamble . Remember the whole media storm during the first season? The sky-high ratings? That was all her.” He inclines his head toward the door she just escaped through. “‘ But I’m your little Sugar Puff,’ and all that.”
“That was legendary,” Blake says, still smiling wide. He’s got a slightly dopey look on his face that he probably thinks is charming, and I dislike him intensely. He’d forgotten her name? I can’t see how anyone who meets Charlotte could ever forget her.
“You’re not making sense,” I say. “Either of you.”
Jeff lifts his hands up as if he’s saying you do you, but… “She was blonde back then. Just google Sugar Puff and The Gamble , and you’ll find her.”
I walk to the door. Behind me, I hear Allison calling my name.
“Start the meeting without me!” I yell.
The hallway outside is deserted. Damn it. I shouldn’t have lingered.
I stride down to the other side of the executive floor. But she’s not in the small conference room that’s become her office, and her bag is gone, too. Fuck. Eric is not at his desk, and there’s no one I can ask if they’d seen her.
I hit the elevator button so many times it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. Charlotte’s not in the lobby, either, but I find her outside the building.
She’s on her phone, standing at the curb. Trying to get a rideshare? We’d driven to the office together, and her car is back at the house.
Her shoulders are rising and falling rapidly. I take her forearm. “Charlotte.”
There’s horror on her face, her eyes distraught. She’s breathing fast. Her eyes flick from me to the building behind me.
“Are you okay?”
“I need to leave.” Her breaths are shallow and rapid. Is she about to have a panic attack?
I pull her along to the parking lot, toward the row of executives’ cars. There is a small bench flanked by a few trees. “Come. Have a seat.”
She walks woodenly beside me, her breathing increasing in speed. I put a hand on her lower back. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Can you do that for me, Chaos? Whatever is happening, I promise we’ll fix it. Breathe in. That’s it… breathe out.” I pull her down next to me on the bench. There’s no one in sight in the parking lot, and my car is just a few feet away.
She’s shaking her head quickly, tears pooling in her eyes. Fuck! Anxiety rises inside me. I’ve only heard about panic attacks, never helped someone through one.
I know Mandy struggled with them. What did she use to say…?
“Breathe in deeply… that’s it. Breathe out. You’ve got this.”
Charlotte buries her face in her hands and just inhales. Her breathing is still rapid, but it’s steady. I hope.
I rub large circles over her back with my palm. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Through her hands, I hear a faint sob. Is she crying? The anxiety squeezes tighter around my heart. Should I call someone? An expert? A doctor?
I wrap my arm around her instead and tuck her head under my chin. “You’re okay, Charlotte. Just breathe.”
Her hands grip my shirt, and her shoulders shake. I’ve never seen her this rattled before. Even when her zipper broke in a ballroom, she handled it like a champ. She gives as good as she gets every single moment.
What’s this?
I press my lips to her hair. We’re in the shade, and maybe that’s why a shiver races through her. I tighten my arms. “Breathe, sweetheart,” I murmur. “That’s it.”
She shudders again, her shoulders slowing. Over the top of her head, I catch sight of my marketing executive with a cigarette in hand and a phone pressed to his ear.
He notices us, though he looks away quickly when I glare at him. A few seconds later he leaves the parking lot entirely.
Good.
Charlotte leans back, and my arms fall to her waist. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are wet. Her gaze meets mine, but then close all together. Her breathing is heavier now, and I take solace in the steady sounds, so different from the quick, ragged ones of earlier.
“Are you okay?”
“This is embarrassing,” she whispers.
“No, it’s not.” Charlotte takes another deep breath, and I rest my hand on her shoulder. “What happened?” I ask.
She shakes her head in small little movements. “I’m sorry, Aiden.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I didn’t know what the meeting would be about,” she whispers. “If I did, I wouldn’t have been there.”
Her words drop like heavy stones through clear water. Sinking to the bottom. If I did, I wouldn’t have been there.
“So it’s true?” I ask quietly. “You were on one of Titan’s shows?”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s a heartbreaking hesitation there. Like she wants to say no but can’t. Like a comfortable lie has broken.
“Yes,” she whispers. “And it ruined my life.”
The words hit right below the breastbone. “Why haven’t you told me?”
“I couldn’t,” she says. She shakes her head again, and it’s more frantic now. “Aiden. I can’t, I can’t think about you knowing, seeing it…” Her hand reaches out and grips mine, tight enough to hurt.
“It’s okay. It’s in the past,” I say.
Her eyes fill with tears. “That’s the thing. It’s not. It’s never behind me.”
“It was years ago. You’re not?—”
“Promise me you won’t watch it,” she says. Her words are frantic. “Promise me. Okay? You won’t watch the show. Please don’t look up any clips. Please, Aiden, I just need… I can’t imagine…”
“I promise. Hey, look at me. I promise, okay? I won’t watch a single minute of your season.”
She nods and seems to center herself. Like she’s drawing strengths and rebuilding her armor. “Okay. Good. I just need…” Her phone dings and she seems to take it as a signal. “I have to go.” She pushes away from me. “I ordered a rideshare.”
I want to pull her back against me.
“Charlotte,” I say.
But she’s already taking a step back, jitters burning through her. I can see the urge to run, and I recognize it. She wants to be alone.
“Get home safe. Take as much time as you need.”
She nods and heads toward the waiting car at the curb. It’s painful to stay where I am, rooted to the bench in this tiny excuse of a green space, surrounded by concrete and steel and an endless sea of cars.
The Gamble .
I know the show. It’s not one I like, not one I’m proud of. It’s a big earner, though. Has been since the very first season. I remember being in the office when Jeff pitched it to Dad and the other content producers. People weren’t convinced. Weren’t sold. But it had a low enough budget and ended up getting a green light for one season and one season only.
I watched the first episode, I remember that. But I shut it off. Trash. That’s what I thought, and my dad along with me, even as he pocketed the profits. Like I’ve continued to do.
Because the show blew up. It’s now the grandest reality TV hit that Titan produces.
Jeff had said Charlotte was responsible for that success.
I quickly google her name, with the name that Jeff had mentioned. Charlotte Richards.
It gives me to a slew of results. And images.
There she is. A younger Charlotte. Slightly thinner, her face still elfin and heart-shaped. Sharp eyeliner and bleached hair. It falls, straight and light-blonde around her frame. She’s smiling into the camera with bright, hopeful eyes. Beneath the image is the text: Charlotte Richards, a 19-year-old contestant, eliminated after seven dramatic episodes.
She was only nineteen when she was on the show.
We cast teenagers for these shows? Why had I never reflected on that before?
The Gamble is by far one of the wettest and most lascivious shows in our programming. Twenty singles at one Mexican resort… with an open bar. The entire premise of the show is stupid. People need to couple up and compete in challenges that vary from the athletic to the downright idiotic.
And all the while, they’re gambling on the other person keeping them in the game. Continuing to choose them.
People need to be paired up by the end of the posed challenge or risk getting voted off.
My thumb scrolls through the results. She’s listed under Ten of the most memorable reality contestants of all time.
Below is a meme that I vaguely recognize. I still have a social media account, even if I considered shutting it down the same week my father’s sentencing hearing was held.
I cleansed it entirely. Kept it private. I only go on every now and then to keep up with a few surfers I know.
But I have seen that photo used in memes. Her in a purple dress, blonde hair and blonde bangs, standing by a pool with angry tears down her face.
Fuck. I hadn’t recognized her at all. Today, she looks nothing like that young girl. The Charlotte I know is a brunette with fierce eyes and scathing comebacks. She’s someone who works hard, has solidly erected walls, and is only soft sometimes. When you earn her softness and her quiet confessions.
She must hate me.
That’s the only thing that makes sense. She said it herself. The show ruined her life.
Yet she chose to write the memoir and stay with me.
Then I remember the NDAs.
Fuck. She hadn’t known who I was before signing. That was the blank look of shock on her face when she walked into my office. Sure, it was also recognition from Utah, but it couldn’t have been only from that.
I run a hand over my face. The sun is warm, but I feel none of it. Only the cold grip of dread. I put my phone back in my pocket before I accidentally see more than she wants me to.
My chances with Charlotte might have been blown before I ever met her.