Page 2 of The Southern Thirst Trap

I absently open a browser tab and see the Atlanta Haute List site that must have been there since the last story that was sent to me to read, likely by Payton, who keeps us updated with all the rumors. This gossip blog seems to be obsessed with my family, publishing even the most trivial of stories related to us. Last week, it was a story about my brother Hayes and his wife Paige’s foundation or something. A quick scan of the photo below the story has me scrolling back up to the headline in a flash, and then I’m quickly reading through the story itself.

The Atlanta Haute List

Model-Turned-Chef Closing In On Atlanta Condors Tight End

Atlanta foodie favorite, Harlowe Sorenson, knows a good ass. Whether it’s her own from her scantily clad swimsuit modeling days, or her newest connection to Atlanta’s newest offensive football sensation, Knox Contraire, she knows all the best angles to hit.

Sorenson and Contraire were first linked last summer at a children’s benefit gala (see our story where we gushed about how cute a couple they would make), but that wasn’t the last of it. Sorenson showed up to Condors home games during the season just often enough to start the whispers that she was there to see a certain player on the offense. It wasn’t until recently that they’ve been spotted together at trendy hot spots all over the city.

It was just the two of them photographed together until this weekend when Sorenson’s rarely seen four-year-old son, Hendricks, joined the pair for a trip to the zoo. Contraire made a great impression on the young boy, throwing Hendricks over his shoulder and giving him lots of tickles, much to the delight of Sorenson. Harlowe captured the antics with her own photos that she’s unlikely to share on social media, given her stance on not putting her kid in the public eye, but you can see our photos of the outing below, provided by Hauties in the know.

Harlowe has come out of supermodel retirement and has been making a name for herself on her Foulmouthed Foodie YouTube cooking channel and social media accounts, sharing spicy photos and recipes alike that set the internet on fire on the regular. It’s no surprise Knox has scooped her up and is making a move to potentially get serious, if this outing with Hendricks is anything to go by. With her cookbook,At Home With Harlowe: A Foulmouthed Foodie’s Guide To Eating Wellreleasing today, we’re sure we’ll be getting a better look at Harlowe’s life, and might even be seeing more of her relationship with Knox as she promotes this new venture. We at the Atlanta Haute List will be hunting down the stories and sharing everything we find with our Hauties! Hit Like and Subscribe for all the Haute gossip!

Think of the devil...

I didn’t know she’d returned to Atlanta from LA, or that she’s moved from modeling into cooking, but I hadn’t kept up with her life after our trip. Fuck. Five years have done little to change the knock-out gorgeous good looks of Harlowe Sorenson. Even through the grainy cell phone shots taken from a distance, I can see her beauty, but she has a new softness, both to her body and her face, that keeps me staring long and hard at the photos. Still a leggy brunette with high cheekbones and a luscious pout, it appears motherhood, and maybe this new fucking football player, have her smiling more easily than I remember. I chastise myself for hovering over her photos. I don't want women I’ve had before.

So what if she seems happy? I should be completely unmoved by a candid photo of her and some dude, as jacked as he is. What is he, six-six? Who needs to be that big, anyway?

Should be, sure, but the weird tugging in my gut has me wondering why I would care so long after I had her for myself. I fuck beautiful women by the handful; what’s one in a hundred from five years ago? Is it just because she was an incredible lay? No. Good sex isn't hard to find. Her ability to go with the flow and follow my lead, yet challenge the fuck out of me at every turn? No, that may have been unique to her, but not enough to have me wanting her now. Then what the hell is it that has me feeling anything at all about this woman now? Maybe it’s because I felt a little too much for her, and in the end, had to hack out my heart to make the parting easier.Fuck.

“...charisma and charm,” Javi says, breaking into my thoughts.

“What?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my face and finally giving him my attention.

“That Forbes piece you did a few months back finally came out today, and they said you had charisma and charm, so you must have been on your best behavior for the interview. Was it a female reporter? Were you trying to get her to go out with you after the piece? If you did, that would have been a good way to tank what she wrote later, knowing how quickly you move through women.”

I run a hand through my hair, thick and wild from the dive. “I know better than to sleep with a journalist,” I say, gazing out the side window. Especially one with an interest in getting a scoop on Olympus or my family.

That piece was done on my recent acquisition of a transcontinental airline catering to executives and private transportation needs. It’s a pet project, really, one I didn't want to fall under the Olympus International umbrella. The journalist wanted a fresh take on sustainable travel in the modern age, something private jets generally aren't known for but meshes well with another project of mine for a cleaner burning engine that requires less fuel that does fall under the Olympus umbrella called Pegasus. I didn’t come up with that technology myself, but I do own the company that did, therefore, my interview. The project is hush-hush, but we spoke at length about the need for sustainable travel and how this engine will revolutionize the industry. I’m quite proud of where it’s going and know it will shake up everything once it’s released.

“Remind me to send flowers to Forbes when we get back to the office.” I pull a pair of sunglasses out of the center console and slide them onto my face.

“Weiss already has. She follows up with all of your interviews,” Javi replies, signaling onto the interstate, thick with Atlanta morning traffic that crawls through the arteries of the city like the grease that’s ubiquitous to Southern cooking.

“We pay her well, right?” I ask, half serious. Katherine Weiss is my middle-aged executive assistant and she’s an invaluable asset to my team. She knows my schedule, and my brothers’ schedules, better than we do. She can book absolutely anything, with anyone, is ruthless about protecting our interests and time, and she’s incredibly thorough. I’d wanted to hire one of the cute twenty-somethings who applied, but Hayes put his foot down. He reasoned that our closest support staff needed to be discreet, dependable, have incredible work ethics, and not want to get into bed with any of us. Weiss checked all the boxes, and she’s been with me since I took on the CEO mantle when my brothers and I created Olympus International in our twenties, from the bones of our father’s mining operations.

“That you do. She seems quite content to boss you around daily at her six-figure salary.”

I nod, satisfied. I turn my phone over in my hand and know I shouldn't, but I can’t keep myself from opening The Atlanta Haute List story again.Who is this fucking meathead Harlowe has been seeing?Before I can open a new tab and Google him myself, a more pressing thought enters my brain.

Who knocked her up?I scan the story again and confirm that the boy is four years old. The unrelenting flip my stomach is doing clues me into what my subconscious is already working over. I do some quick math, adding in a nine-month pregnancy. I’ll have to check my schedule from that time five years ago to be sure, but I have a sinking feeling that it could line up.

Do I have a son?

My thoughts are interrupted by blaring horns and Javi swerving toward the shoulder to try to avoid the suddenly dead-stopped line of traffic ahead of us.

two

Harlowe

“Great.Justgreat,”Imutter under my breath when I see the red taillights lined up for miles on the highway.

“You shouldnothave taken I-85. I told you it would be a nightmare during rush hour,” Paloma says from the backseat. I glare daggers at her through the rearview mirror. She meets my glance with stoic hazel eyes that screamI told you so, bitch.She’s my best friend and personal stylist, but she likes to be in charge, and backseat driving is one of her favorite ways to rule the friendship. I ignore her.

“Alicia, I’ll never make it home in time to get Hendricks to school with this traffic. I knew I should have arranged with one of the other moms in the class to pick him up,” I complain, casting a glance at my manager in the seat beside me.

She’s busy tapping away on her phone with a bemused twist to her lips that tells me she’s responding to another press request for me. Alicia doesn’t care about anyone’s schedule but mine, even when it’s my son who’s missing out. I knew it was a possibility, but I told my babysitter that I would be back in time, and now it’s too late to change the plans with school having started while I was still on set and unable to send her a message to take him in after all.

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