Page 101 of Atlas
“As in not a biker,” says Tessa with a smirk.
“Or any criminal, for that matter,” I state, arching a brow in her direction. “He would only really be impressed with a lawyer or some rich guy with a golfing membership.” I laugh, shaking my head. “He’s a pompous prick.”
“I have a platinum golfing membership,” says Tom simply.
My cheeks instantly burn with embarrassment. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, Nita,” he says with a laugh. “I’m saying, invite him to dinner and I’ll charm him.”
I frown, but Tessa jumps in before I can respond. “As her boyfriend?”
My head whips up. “Tessa,” I cry.
Tom laughs again. “Exactly.”
My eyes flick to his. “What?”
He rounds the desk, taking my hand in his and gently pulling me to stand. “Invite your parents to dinner this evening. We’ll impress them together.”
I inhale, holding my breath as I stare longingly at his lips. His little smirk tells me he’s on to me, and then he slides my mobile into my hand. I blink, glancing at it. “Eight o’ clock in The Ivy. My treat.” And then he gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning and marching right out of the office.
I stare after him, my mouth half-open. “Well,” says Tessa, blowing out a puff of air, “that was . . . unexpected.”
“Right?” I whisper.
“Is he serious? Is it a real date?” she asks.
I shrug because I have no idea. I thought my feelings were from confusion. I haven’t exactly been making the best choices lately. It was only the other night I tried to seduce Atlas. I groan. “He’s just being nice, right?” And I stare at her baffled expression. “Because I’m a hot mess right now.”
“Either way, this might help, and you need to get them on side before Damien tries.”
I nod, typing out a text to my father.
Me: Hi, can we have dinner this evening at the Ivy, eight?
His reply comes instantly.
Father: What’s the occasion? Premature celebrations of screwing your kid’s life up?
Me: I’d like to explain it all.
Father: Fine. See you at eight.
Chapter Nineteen
Atlas
The sun’s barely up when I knock on Rue’s door.
She blinks up at me from the doorway, hair a mess, hoodie hanging off one shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Time for me to take you somewhere,” I say, holding up the spare helmet. “You said you like mornings. Quiet ones.”
She eyes the helmet like it might bite her. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
She makes me wait while she gets changed, which, honestly, I’d wait all day for, and then she finally steps out, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands, hesitant but curious.
