Page 26 of Claiming Atlas
Chapter Twelve
Atlas
There’s a fucking marquee with my name on it.
Apparentlylow profileandLas Vegasdon’t mesh well together, because there’s my name in flashing lights, right on the goddamn strip. Is it too much to ask to not be exploited every fucking time I take a shit? I mean, fuck, man, I go try a new burger place and the manager blasts my fucking mug all over Instagram and then the place is swarming with Bangers in two point two seconds flat, and guess what? Guess who never even gets to enjoy the goddamn burger?
This fucking guy.
I slam my fist into the leather seatback as we pass the Venetian.
My driver glances back at me, then over at Red. “Everything okay?”
“No. Yes.”Ugh.“Yeah, it’s fine. Just take me to the back entrance, I guess.”
Red looks back at me. “Who do I have to kill?”
Shaking my head, I pull my cell out and scroll to Johnny’s contact info, then wait for the little fucker to pick up.
He picks up almost immediately. “It wasn’t me, man.”
I roll my eyes. “Bro. I’m not guest hosting shit tonight. I just want to chill with some hotties and drink my weight in booze.”
“I know, man, I know, and your booth is ready for you. I’ve been fighting with management for an hour about that fucking billboard.”
I sigh, running my hand over my face. This place will beswarmingwith Bangers. “Who fucking told them I was coming?” I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.
“Me, dude, obviously, but only because some dickwad mortgage guy reserved your booth and Eddie gave me a bunch of shit when I told him I needed it but wouldn’t say why. I’m sorry, man. Really.”
He’s not sorry at all. I just doubled, possibly tripled—quadrupled?—his fucking profits tonight. Whatever. Might as well cash in on my own exploitation.
“You know my rate for appearances, man.”
My driver pulls the Escalade up to the side entrance, and there are only a few people nearby, so at least I’ll be cool to sneak in without a big scene. I just have to get to my table without being mobbed, then Red and TAO security will keep out the riffraff.
“Meet me at the side door.” As I end the call, Johnny opens the side door and strains to see into the Escalade’s windows. I flip him off. He can’t see me, and even if he could, fuck him and fuck this place. I should just head back to the hotel and sleep until the Cade show Sunday night.
I pat the driver’s shoulder. “Stay here, man.”
