Chapter 63
CHAPTER 63
AIDEN
She’s not at her rental in Westwood. She never comes back to the house. And she refuses to answer her phone.
No calls, no texts.
She’d left behind her new car, and taken her old Honda.
Maybe she’s at another resort, somewhere deep in one of the national parks
Sleep eludes me.
I sit all night on the couch by the giant living room windows, the shimmering view of Los Angeles as my only companion, and read page after page of Charlotte’s manuscript. Halfway through the prologue, I had to get up to pour myself a glass of bourbon.
Fuck.
She opened with me walking into the courtroom for my father’s trial. The eyes of the world, cameras, questions. Responsibility. She’s captured all of it, but in her tone. The tone she’s often used with me. No-nonsense, wry, sometimes funny, and at times ironic. Often sharp and exacting. Intelligent.
It might be my life she’s written about, but I see her in every line, in every choice of word.
The next chapters were about the immediate aftermath. Then, she started alternating structure, shifting between the past—mine and Titan’s—back to the trial. What I had to do to satisfy the investigators and the Board. The people I had to let go and the new direction I’d taken the company.
She’s included everything she’s learned. Including the conversation with Mandy that I had no idea they had. My eyes pause on the passage, and I have to read it twice more. My sister said I’ve always taken it upon myself to protect her, protect our family, and that it’s often come at a cost to myself.
Not that he listens when I try to tell him to do more for himself.
The man on the page is me.
It’s a polished, slightly elevated version of me. The flaws mentioned are only those that make sense within the greater narrative. But it is me.
I’m nearing the end, and it’s close to midnight when a knock sounds at my door.
In a few long strides, I’m at the front door and throwing it open.
It’s not her.
Mandy stands on the other side. She’s in a long silk trenchcoat, and she’s frowning.
“You look terrible,” she says.
“Fuck. We had dinner plans, didn’t we?”
“Yes. With Mom no less, who is very peeved you haven’t been answering your phone.” She steps past me into the house. “What the hell happened here?”
I glance at my living room as if seeing it for the first time. Pages are spread everywhere. Half a bottle of bourbon on the edge of the coffee table.
“I’m reading the draft of the memoir.”
“I can see that.” She looks around. “Where’s the author?”
My head pounds, and I know it’s as much from the liquor as from the intense reading. I lean on the wall for a moment to steady myself. “She’s not here.”
“I saw the tabloids.”
It’s not surprising that she had. I look beyond the windows to the dark night sky. Mom must have seen the headlines, too. No doubt they’d spoken about it at dinner.
“Charlotte ran away,” I admit.
Mandy crosses her arms over her chest. “Ah.”
“You read the story, I’m assuming.” My voice comes out bitter. “She was on The Gamble.”
“I saw that. Funny, I didn’t recognize her. But then, I never did enjoy The Gamble . I watch other series, like that show of yours on a deserted island? It’s delicious.” She shakes her head a little. “Did you know?”
“Yes.”
Mandy’s face drops. “Oh. You kept that close to your chest. Same as the fact that you’re dating her. Thanks for letting your sister know.”
“Charlotte didn’t want it widely known. Either thing.” I run a hand over my face. “She won’t answer my calls. I’ve tried searching for her throughout the city with no luck. She fucking hates publicity, and right now, she’s getting a ton of it.”
Because of me.
The guilt had been gnawing at my bones since my PR team called me. I wanted to break the news to Charlotte myself but never got the chance. Eric beat me to it.
Mandy sits down on the opposite couch. “Okay. I think you need to tell me everything, starting with how this whole thing even happened. Because you being this distraught… Aiden, you care about her.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I do.”
So I tell my sister as much as I can, leaving out more than a few details she doesn’t need to know. It doesn’t take long. And in the end, I feel even worse.
“I knew from the start she was worried about publicity. I even tried doing something about it. Something that could help her in the long run, but…” I reach for my bourbon again. It’s been a long time since I’ve drunk this much. “I fucked up. I did something to set her on edge, and then the news hit.”
Mandy carefully moves a few of the papers out of her way and curls up on the couch. “Right. Okay, let’s hear it, then. What did you do?”
I tell her in short terms about the article. She listens, nodding every now and then, her eyes sharp.
“A hit piece,” she says. “That’s what you wanted the article to be, right? You wanted to expose Blake and his douchebaggery.”
I sigh. “Yes. But I genuinely wanted her to tell her version of the story, too.”
“I get it. You did what you’ve always done.”
“And what’s that?”
“Protect the people you love.” She leans over the coffee table and waves her hand at the liquor bottle. “Hand me that, will ya.”
Huh. I hesitate for a moment before handing her the bottle. “You can’t drive if you drink that.”
She hides it behind a cushion. “I won’t. And neither will you. So. Charlotte. You wanted to protect her. Do you love her?”
I lean back against the couch and look at the image on the far wall. The one that Charlotte once commented on. The beach, the surfers. My happy place.
“Yes,” I say.
Mandy swears softly.
“I know. I didn’t expect it.”
“No one does.” She looks at the papers around us. “You’re going to have to make it up to her, then.”
“But being with me would mean being in the spotlight. Not always, but… from time to time. I can’t see her ever agreeing to that.” My hand fists at my side. “As much as I’d want to, I can’t crush every single tabloid story.”
“Have you told her you love her?”
I look at Mandy briefly before shifting my gaze to the backyard.
“That’s a no ,” she says. “Look, I’m not an expert at relationships, you know that. My last one didn’t work out, and the last few years have been… crazy. But in your place, I’d start with that. Say you’re sorry and tell her that you love her. And, Aiden?”
“Yeah?”
“We didn’t crush every news article about Dad.” She smiles weakly. “And we survived. It’s been tough, yeah. But we’re tough people. Don’t you think Charlotte is, too?”
“Yes. I do. But I’m not sure she believes she is.” My fingers tap along the back of the couch in a hectic rhythm. “First I have to find her. There’s one place she might have gone… but it’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she asks. “Get in your car.”
I start collecting the pages, stacking her memoir into a neat pile again. This draft is a culmination of months of Charlotte’s hard work. Of turning the fractured mess of a person’s life into something that can be sold as a compelling story. It’s a book I needed, but it’s one that she might regret ever agreeing to write.
“I have an idea,” I say.