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“Why?”
“Fly to Venice with me this weekend? Come on. One weekend.”
“If I were to go, what will happen after we come back to real life? You will ignore me once you have me. And we will pretend like nothing ever happened.”
“Have some fun, Boots. One weekend isn’t going to kill you.”
“N. O.” She hangs up the phone.
I send her a message.
Me:I’ll keep chasing you until you cave.
She sends me a GIF of Katniss Everdeen holding up two fingers in the air.
Lake: You’re wasting your time.
Today is my first day of work, I’m super excited and nervous. Nervous, Atlas will live up to his ruthless ways people speak about. Nervous, I can’t control myself around him. He’s the only guy since my ex who showed any interest in me, and it makes me feel desired. Two nights ago, after he asked me to fly out to Venice with him, I searched the internet for him. I found out his net worth, companies he owns, covers of magazines he was on, and a few shots of him at a fashion gala with his last executive assistant. He keeps his life very private. I read a business article about how Atlas hired a guy to run the operations at Naked temporarily.
I want to take Atlas up on his offer, but I don’t want to be fed some fantasy that he wants me and only me. I’m not naïve to believe he actually cares about me. This might be a game to him. He’s used to having what he wants, and I’m a shiny new toy he can enjoy until he’s sick of me. If I bet every dollar I have in my account, he’ll be taking another chick to Italy, wining and dining her. The thought alone boils my blood. Why? I have no idea. I heard from a few girls he took on our family trips that he fucks like a god. He knows his way around a woman’s body.
After we got off the phone, I touched myself, imagining all the nasty things he could do to me. The hair on my arms stand on end as I fantasize about him feeding me on Venice Beach.
I shake my head, put on a pencil skirt, glide my arm though my cream blouse, and slide on bright yellow pumps. I study myself in the tall mirror.
“You got this. Whatever you do, don’t fall for his charm. Keep it professional,” I whisper to myself before I leave my condo.
Atlas’s driver, Thomas, stands in front of my condo building next to the back seat car door.
He tips his black hat at me and opens the door. “Miss Ortiz.”
I slide onto the seat, inhaling fresh leather. “Hello, Thomas,” I greet. “Can you take me to Fifth-Fourth Street and Starbucks?”
He nods, shutting the door.
After Thomas drives me to my errands, we pull up to Risqué. He climbs out of the car and opens my door. I step out, inhaling the morning crisp air.
“Is it true Atlas is a ruthless boss?”
He smiles sadly at me. “Have a nice day, Miss Ortiz.”
So much for getting the truth out of him.
Once I’m inside the building, I scan my badge. The double doors slide open, and I step in, the smell of fresh paint burning my nostrils. People dressed in business suits stroll back and forth from the entrance. It’s totally different than I thought it would be. I expected it to be more chaotic rather than a calm and peaceful environment.
When I make it to the private elevator, I press the up button and wait for it to open. My nerves grow frantic, and my palms sweat, so I wipe them on my skirt.
Once I step out of the elevator, I scurry past the other offices and open the door to mine. When I peek through the glass doors, Atlas stands behind a glass window, his hands tucked behind his back, speaking on the phone via the Bluetooth in his ear.
My cheeks flush as I notice the tension in his back, and his demeanor is powerful and dominant. I’ve never seen him in a work environment, and he seems wound up like a toy.
As I gather my wits, I straighten my back and slog into his office. I lay the dry cleaning over the lounge chair and set his coffee on his glass desk.
He turns around and doesn’t smile. His beautiful face is devoid of all emotion. Doesn’t look like the guy I’ve known before I started working with him. Doesn’t look like the guy who texted me Friday, asking me to go on a mini trip with him.
“I’ll call you back, Gunner.” He taps the button on his Bluetooth. “You’re late.”
He told me to be here a little early, and I am. Butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach. I study the gray suit snug on his slim frame, and how he glides his hands through his hair. The man is magnificent.
