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“Fox and Addison do call -outs. Luke works with Ophelia now, running her hotel chain. As for me, I’m always at the shop. I’m a workaholic and I’m used to getting what I want too.”
“And what is it you want, Mr. Larson?” She leaned in, narrowing her eyes at him, her lips quirked in a sexy smirk he wanted to kiss.
There were many, many things he wanted from her. Some he’d already gotten, and wanted again, maybe a million more times. But what he wanted first was her honesty. Then again, he wasn’t exactly being truthful, either. For him, it was a matter of safety—not only his own but that of his entire family.
He’d never heard of a D/s relationship starting out with so much dishonesty between the couple. It was bad form ordinarily, but it was unavoidable in their situation.
By the time they left Ed’s, the heat of the day was oppressive, every lungful of air scorching and unpleasant. They had the difficult choice between walking quickly to get to air-conditioning and walking slowly to avoid exertion. Even the fake grass was wilting. By the time they reached the grocery store parking lot next to the shop, Atlas was contemplating buying a bag of ice to throw down their shirts to help them make the last hundred yards.
He stopped, and she glanced back at him.
“What? Are we going in there to cool off before we keep going?” She laughed, then grabbed his hand and tugged at it.
“Go on without me,” he gasped theatrically. “I’m not going to make it.”
Her smile faded as her gaze slid to a corner of the parking lot. He followed and spotted a man with a stick about to stuff it into the crack of a car window.
Fuck.
Mila charged toward him. “Excuse me,” she said sharply, stopping a few feet away. Somehow she managed to look three inches taller than before. “What are you doing?”
Atlas didn’t miss that she instinctively placed a hand at her hip, as if readying a badge or cuffs, or maybe a gun. Her blue dress wasn’t going to help her now.
The man turned, surprise then relief flashed in his eyes. “Oh, maybe you can help. I locked my keys in my car.” He pointed in the window. Atlas leaned in and saw them sitting on the driver’s seat. “I’ve never jimmied a car door before but I think I can hit the unlock button with this stick if I can angle it right.”
Mila’s eyes narrowed. “This is your car?”
He nodded, focused back on his task, unaware he was speaking with law enforcement.
“Do you have any proof?” she asked him.
Chuckling, he looked over his shoulder. “What, are you a cop?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I just . . . don’t want to help someone steal a car.”
>
His brows raised. “Do you think I’d be trying to steal a car in broad daylight in a crowded parking lot?”
Atlas nudged Mila. “He has a point.” The irony of the situation was making him want to laugh.
Back in high school, he’d taken cars for joyrides that he’d stolen with this very method. “That stick is too straight,” he told the guy. “Need something with a curve in it.” Atlas went to the Dumpster a few rows away, and found an old television sitting next to it. He pulled an antenna off then bent it into the shape he wanted.
The man stepped back, letting Atlas take his spot at the window. With expert ease, he pushed the thin rod through the window gap. A little fiddling and the doors unlocked with a click.
An exhale of relief sounded behind him. “Thank you so much.” The guy opened the door and grabbed his keys from the seat then smiled at Atlas.
“No problem.” He turned to look at Mila, whose eyes were still narrowed in suspicion. Had he just blown his cover? Everyone knew how to jimmy a car door, right? Did he even care? Part of him wanted her to find out just so he could confront her about her lies. It still nagged at him—that he was already so obsessed with her and she clearly had no hang-ups about investigating him. Would she even flinch about turning him in?
Atlas put his hand on her back and led her away from the car, toward his own. He didn’t know where he was taking her just yet, but he knew he wasn’t ready for this not-date interrogation to be over.
“You seem to have a lot of practice doing that,” she said blandly.
He shrugged. “I’ve locked myself out of my car too many times to count. Don’t tell anyone.” He winked.
At his car, she stopped and gave him a quizzical look. “What are you doing?”
“Stealing you away for the day.” The words came out of his mouth without his permission.
