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Atlas smiles. “Wicked she-devil.” He places my hand on the outline of his dick, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
The announcer speaks through the mike. He reads a speech, thanking people for their donations, then he reads the nominations for the best CEO of the year in fashion. Atlas’s name pops up for Naked.
“And the winner is… Atlas Conrad,” the announcer says.
Atlas goes to the podium to collect his award, then he says a speech before returning to the table. Once the announcer hands out the rest of the awards, chatter bounces off the walls, and people begin to dance in the middle of the floor.
“Out of all the rewards that were given, you only won one,” his father snaps.
Atlas’s shoulders turn rigid, and he grinds his teeth. “Who the fuck cares about this shit, Dad?” he snaps. “I care about being on the board. Have you spoken to the board members about me being on it? You know I’ve been wanting to be on it for a few years now.”
“I’m still working on it,” his father answers as his eyes roam to my breasts.
“I’m proud of you, Atlas,” Mrs. Conrad murmurs.
“Thanks, Mom,” Atlas says through tight lips.
“Shut up, Alice. No one is speaking to you.”
God, his father is such an asshole. I’ve never seen him speak to Atlas nor his mother in a mean manner until today.
“Your job is not to say anything and look pretty, yet you keep running your fucking mouth.” He turns his gaze toward Atlas.
Is he stupid? I look around the table to make sure I’m not the only one who’s hearing him. Atlas rolls his eyes and continues to eat.
“Women are disposable, son. Keep that in mind when you’re dating.” William keeps his eyes on me, but I don’t shrink under his stare.
“I don’t believe in treating women like shit. If you didn’t fuck other women and took care of your wife, she wouldn’t be depressed.”
“Your mother is not depressed,” his father shoots back.
“Mom has been seeing a shrink and popping Xanax like candy.”
Mrs. Conrad puts her head down as if she’s ashamed.
“You care so much about image, yet your wife is losing herself. So I’m not going to take advice from you, Dad.”
“Keep your tone down, no one needs to hear what goes on in our household.” His father’s fat fingers grip the edges of the table, his knuckles growing white.
“Go to hell,” Atlas snaps.
Before the night gets any worse, I hold Atlas’s hand. “Would you like to dance?”
His gaze meets mine, and his azure eyes soften. “Sure.”
We stand up from the table and roam to the dance floor. Atlas places his hands on my hips, and we move to the slow song.
“Your father is a real piece of work,” I say. “Does he beat your mother?”
For a while, he doesn’t respond, but the pain is written all over his face.
“We don’t have to speak about it if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, he has. Ever since I can remember. He never laid a hand on me. I tried helping her get out of the situation, but she doesn’t want to leave him.”
He hides his pain through his arrogance, so no one sees his trauma. My heart breaks for him.
“I feel sorry for her and you.”
