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Chapter 2
Atlanta
What am I doing?
The thought runs through my mind as I try to keep my steps steady, concentrating hard to avoid falling over my own nervous feet in these high heels. I felt like everyone was staring as I walked through the lobby, and maybe they were.
After all, this pink bodycon dress has more cutouts than material. If it was any shorter it would be a crop top.
I should turn around and walk—or run—straight home. This is a terrible idea, a terrible plan. I’m not going to get away with it, I look uncomfortable because Ifeeluncomfortable.
So then why am I plowing ahead like a woman on a mission?
Damn my father to hell and let the devil play billiards with his balls.
I plaster a fake smile on my face as I spot the guard standing outside the penthouse door, and he looks me up and down. Professional interest, I tell myself. He’s looking for any hidden weapons. A cheesewire, perhaps, since that’s about all I could possibly hope to conceal in this getup.
“Help you?”
I almost double over and throw up right here. I can’t do this.I can’t. I...“I’m here, um, to see...Mr. Brickhouse?”
It sounds like I’m not even sure myself. Ugh, what am I doing?
“Mr. Brickhouse is a busy man, do you have an appointment?”
“Sort of? I’m Atlanta Smoke, he knows my father.”
The guard actually starts to chuckle, though his chest is so wide and solid it barely moves. “Sure he does, and I know Mr. Franklin. Perhaps when you’re done here I can introduce the two of you and get a little action of my own?” He raises a two-way radio to his face and clicks the button. “Tell Mr. Brickhouse there’s a hooker here to see him.”
“Actually I’m not a—”
The voice on the other end is crackly with static. “I’ll...crrrk...him know. What’s her name?”
“Atlanta. Great name, huh?” He laughs, though there’s no sound from the radio. “She’s cute though, got a whole innocent little bunny in headlights vibe going on.”
More static comes through. “Whatever.Crrrk...she look like?”
“I don’t know, man. Blonde, leggy, high heels, pink dress.” He glances down. “White thong.”
He winks at me conspiratorially as I start self-consciously tugging on the hem of my dress.
Lucky guess.
“I’ll let...crrrk...boss know.”
How dare he talk about me like that? Is this what any woman he gets to know has to put up with?
“My name really is Atlanta,” I say with a huff.
“Sure it is. Atlanta Smoke. I think I’ve seen your ads in the men’s room.”
“Excuse me, that’s totally—”
“Crrrk...boss says he didn’t...crrrk...any hooker. Must be a mistake. Send her away...crrrk...busy.”
The guard raises his eyebrow at me. “You know, my shift ends in an hour. You wanna hang around, maybe it’s not a completely wasted evening for you.”
Just walk away, Atlanta. Accept the win. You no longer have to be here.
