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On the way to the limo, he holds my hand, and energy zaps through me. I suck in a breath. Thomas opens the door for us, and I slide in next to Atlas. He keeps his fingers intertwined with mine even though I try to let go. The way he draws little circles on my hand makes me think this is more than what he’s leading on. Is this a date? Because it feels like one. I don’t want to ask because I don’t want to hear the truth. I feel like an enchanted princess on her way to the ball.
We arrive at a large fiberglass building, and paparazzi are already out like hound dogs, eating up the red carpet. People pose and cameras flash, blinding my vision to the point that I see stars. People scream, holding up signs and leaning over the silver rails as policemen and security guard the place.
Anxiety eats at me like a disease. “What am I supposed to say if the reporters ask questions?”
“I’ll answer the questions.”
“Okay.” I remove my compact mirror from my purse to see if my scar is visible, and I can hardly tell it’s there. Harley did a phenomenal job of covering up most of it, but I can still see the outline of it, and I doubt others will notice at first glance. “Can you see my scar?”
I feel embarrassed for asking, and he squeezes my hand tight.
He eyes my face, cups my cheek, and gazing into my eyes he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. If they can see your scar, you’re still the most beautiful woman I have laid eyes on.”
Tears wet my eyes, and my heart leapfrogs in my chest. Sometimes I forget he’s an asshole at work because of the way he treats me. Sometimes he looks at me as if I’m his prize treasure, but I tend to ignore it.
Thomas opens the door, and I exhale as we make it to the front of the building. The reporters stand behind the rail.
When they see us, Atlas plants a firm hand on my lower back, and butterflies flip in my stomach. He guides me to the red carpet, where photographers snap pictures of us. He rests his hand on my waist as I wrap my arm around his shoulders. Thankfully, my mother taught me how to pose and walk gracefully in heels. My mother taught me how to be a model, in case I wanted to be one.
“Atlas! We want to know who the mystery lady with you is,” one reporter asks.
I smile so hard my cheeks burn.
“The lovely Lake Ortiz, and she’s my executive assistant and an upcoming fashion designer.”
Did he introduce me as a fashion designer? The fact that he mentioned what I want to do with my life warms my heart.
“Are you two dating? The last couple of years, you have never taken pictures with your other executive assistants,” the same reporter notes.
“Enough questions for the night,” he says, waving them off.
With relief, I sigh as we stroll inside. Classical music booms through the speakers. Everyone looks like models dressed in designer clothes, and the atmosphere is more elegant than I remember. It feels weird to be without my mother. She would introduce me to her colleagues, and we’d have drinks, donate money, then leave.
A man with gray eyes and black hair strolls toward us. His suit hugs his body, and he has a creepy thick mustache over his top lip.
“Atlas,” he greets, holding out his hand.
Atlas shakes it firmly. “Blake. How’s it going?”
Blake keeps his eyes on me. “Who is this lovely lady?”
“Lake, she’s an upcoming fashion designer.”
My eyes go to his date who isn’t showing any interest in the conversation.
Blake doesn’t care to introduce her, and we are both quiet as the men speak. Once Blake walks away, Atlas guides me farther into the ballroom.
“Blake is so boring, and a pervert. When you make it in the industry, stay far away from him.”
“Noted,” I answer.
A group of models stand in a corner speaking and laughing. One of them spots Atlas, and she offers a radiant smile, pointing in our direction and calling his name.
He frowns and rolls his eyes.
They waltz to him, squealing as if he’s a god, asking him various questions.
“How is everything, Mr. Conrad?” a brunette asks. She has on a sea foam green dress, and her hair is in a large bun. She’s gorgeous. Jealousy pumps through my blood, but I try to keep my cool.
