Page 51 of Claiming Atlas

Atlas

By the time my driver calls up to tell us he’s here, I’m about ready to blow off this event tonight and head over to the titty bar in hopes of a glimpse of her. It wouldn’t be difficult to find her, seeing as how she’s the fucking headliner at Top Tier.

I think.

Technically, I still haven’t confirmed that she’s Kincaid Summers, and really, I don’t even care, except that might be my only way of tracking her down.

If she’s not Kincaid, then all I know about her is that her name is Kayla, and I’m pretty confident there’s more than one in Nevada.

But I’m not chasing after any ass, no matter how delectable it is, so I get ready for my evening of debauchery as planned.

As Red and I exit the elevator, I punch Chris’ number into my phone.

He answers quickly. “What’s up, Atlas? How’s Vegas treating you? I heard Little Johnny blasted your name all over the strip last night.” Chris laughs, loving every minute of my torture.

“Bad news travels fast.”

“Yeah, man, nothing draws a crowd better than a hot piece of ass like Atlas Reynolds.”

“Whatever.” I climb into the backseat and Red hands the driver my invitation as he settles into the front.

Time to be titillated. Or something.

“So, who’d you take home last night?” Chris asks. “That chick from the plane again?”

I roll my eyes. She’s history. “Nah, man. I met this gorgeous brunette with legs for days.” I settle into the seat and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You sound tormented. She leave you with blue balls or something?”

I shake my head. “Not even close.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I broke my own rule, man.”

“You tasted the pussy?” I can almost hear his eyes popping out of his head.

“Yep.” I shake my head, even though he can’t see my frustration over the phone.

“And?” Chris asks.

“And nothing will ever taste good again.”

“That bad, eh?”

My eyes widen. “No, man, what? No, that fuckinggood. Nothing will ever taste good again because I’ve had the best thing there is and I want to eat it morning, noon, and night.”

“Oh,” Chris says, laughing into the phone. “My bad. You should definitely leave songwriting to me, bro.”

“Fuck off, dick.” I press end and slide the phone into the inside pocket of my sport coat. A text comes through, but I ignore it. Probably Chris calling me out for hanging up on him.

My driver parks the car right out front, so I look up at the building. For something soinvite only, I expected more. There’s not even a velvet rope and a line of people outside. What the fuck is this place? Had I been driving myself, I probably would have passed by a few times, then said fuck it and headed over to Top Tier. Two double doors are opened and a dark entryway expands beyond. On the wall above the second set of double doors hangs a neon sign that readsMidnightin purple.

This must be the place.

“You comin’?” I ask Red.

He looks up at the building. “Fuck no, boss. You got me on a plane this week, but I draw the line at not being able to see.”

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