Page 61 of Atlas
For a second, I just sit there, stunned. No one talks to me like that, not even Tessa. No one cuts through the bullshit. No one sees what I don’t say.
I clear my throat, blink hard, and reach for my wine again.
Tom offers me a small smile, real this time. “Let’s talk strategy.”
And for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel something I’d almost forgotten.
Hope.
The buzz from the wine has long faded, leaving only nerves humming low in my stomach. I grip the steering wheel tighter as the sharp-edged glass and steel box Anthony calls home comes into view. I’ve already practised the lie in my head a million times—Tessa needed cheering up, nothing serious, just girl talk and wine.
I pull into the underground car park, kill the engine, and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. I smooth my lipstick, finger-comb my hair, then pause.
Is that . . .
I lean closer.
A faint scent clings to my jacket. Something woody. Masculine.Tom.
I exhale sharply through my nose.It’s nothing.Just a brief hug goodbye, two professionals, one human moment. Still, I slip out of the jacket before I reach the lift.
When I knock on Anthony’s door, he opens it almost instantly. He’s still in work attire, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a drink already in hand.
“You’re late,” he says. Not playful. Not teasing. Just flat, cold.
“I got caught up,” I say, stepping inside. “Tessa was venting about her guy. You know how she gets.”
He closes the door behind me. It clicks with a sound that feels louder than it should.
“Didn’t realise venting involves cologne,” he mutters.
I stop mid-step. “What?”
Anthony takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing. “You smell like another man.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His voice is calm, but his jaw ticks. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not . . . Anthony, seriously. It must’ve rubbed off when I hugged someone goodbye. One of Tessa’s friends stopped by for a bit.” The lie slides off my tongue too easily. I’ve had practice.
He steps closer. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No,” I say softly, “but I think you’re being paranoid.”
His eyes darken. He steps even closer, too close. I try not to shift back, but something in me coils tight.
“You go swanning off dressed likethatto meet Tessa,” he says, voice low, dangerous, “and come here smelling like a man I don’t know, and I’m supposed to believe nothing happened?”
I shake my head. “You’re being ridiculous.”
He slams his glass down on the sideboard, the sharp clink making me flinch.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing. Then, quieter, too quiet, he says, “Don’t make me feel like I can’t trust you.”
My throat is dry. “There’s nothing to feel that way about.”
He exhales, forces a smile, and reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture makes my skin crawl. “You know I hate when I feel like you’re hiding something.”
