Yet something about him feels… strange.
His head cocks to the left just slightly as he stares right at me.
“Young Master Atlas,” Oscar says from behind me. “I will let Barfred know you did not enjoy this rendition of his carrots.”
Those blue eyes slide past me to where the butler stands, and he grins brightly, flashing blindingly white teeth and sharp little canines.
“Thank you, Oscar. And who is this?” Atlas’s eyes fall back onto me, having not been very interested in the butler in the first place, and they trace patterns all over my face and my body.
“This is Jeremy and Julian Walsh. They are beginning their employment today,” Oscar explains.
“You,” the boy in front of me says, and I realize for the first time, as his robe shifts, that he is not wearing a shirt. “Are you Jeremy or Julian?”
He’s shorter than me by a head or two, and he looks young, but not childish, though he did retain some boyish charm from his younger years. He wears the kind of expression that says he finds everything interesting and can feel pleasure from every moment that he breathes.
I feel a little nauseous.
“Hello?” he pries, his gaze drilling into me.
“Huh?” I push out, my eyes growing in size. “Oh, sorry. I’m Julian.”
I extend a hand for him to shake. It’s the appropriate thing to do; my father always taught me to be polite, to shake with a firm grip and to make eye contact.
But Atlas stares at my hand with wide, startled eyes.
“Julian, we do not touch the Young Master without his permission,” Oscar offers, and it almost sounds as if he’s embarrassedforme.
I pull my hand back, my cheeks flaming.
“Sorry, my fault,” I mutter. But when I finally gather the courage to peer at Atlas again, he’s just grinning at me.
“That’s fine,” he says. “Here.”
Atlas extends his own hand, looking up at me from under dark, thick lashes as he waits for my response. With great hesitation, as if expecting a trap, I take his hand in mine.
He’shot. As if I’ve grasped straight fire with my palm and am allowing it to scar me.
My eyes snap up from our clasped hands to meet his, and I find him assessing me. Observing, calculating.
“You’re hot,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. A concerned warning, an attempt to help him if something is wrong, considering his mysteriouscondition.
Atlas grins even harder, his head tilting once more.
“You think so?” he whispers back, and at the twinkle in his cold eyes, I yank my hand away.
The heat has spread to my lower stomach, past my chest, and dangerously close to somewhere inappropriate.
“Can I do anything else for you, Young Master Atlas?” Oscar suddenly asks, coming up beside me.
Atlas turns his attention back to the butler, and he shakes his head softly.
“Not me, no,” he says. “But Papa wants to meet the new employees. He said to bring them to the dining room.”
So, the boyknewwe were coming. Then what was his surprise only moments ago?
“Of course. We will be right in.” The butler bows his head slightly, and Atlas gives him a soft smile before he turns and, with his sheer robe fluttering behind him, leaves the room.
Dad and I stare after him in silence, unsure of what to do next. We’re not left to wonder for long, as Oscar clears his throat.
