Page 29 of Atlas
I groan.
“Don’t mention her. He gets really moody,” Kasey warns.
Pit’s two dogs are running free on the field behind the club and Kasey jumps with excitement, rushing towards them.
“I am so sorry about her,” Rue says with a small, shy smile.
“I’m kind of used to her already.”
“She has no tact.”
“Maybe she’s right,” I say, glancing her way to check her expression. She catches me and blushes further. “I mean, if you’d like to grab a drink sometime . . .” Fuck, why do I sound like a pussy?
“Oh, I don’t drink alcohol.”
It’s not a no, so I smile. “Coffee?”
She nods. “I’m a coffee addict.” Then she stuffs her hands in her pockets, watching Kasey roll around with the dogs. “Although, if there’s someone else . . .”
“There isn’t,” I say firmly, the lie falling from my lips too easily.
“That’s settled then.”
Anita
It’s nearly six and the office is silent. Tessa’s long gone for the day, leaving her desk unnervingly neat and my inbox annoyingly full.
I’m halfway through reading over some case notes when the familiar low rumble of a bike engine vibrates through the window.
My stomach drops.
Before I even stand, there’s a sharp knock at the door, and then Atlas steps in, filling the doorway with his huge frame.
He doesn’t smile as I approach my office door, just crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down before saying, “I came to get the car. Your part’s in.”
Right. The starter motor. Shit.
“Oh, crap. I forgot to tell you, I’ve sorted it already.”
His eyes narrow. “Sorted it?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I was meant to text you, but I’ve been so busy all day—”
“I told you I’d order the part. The job wasn’t urgent, Nita.”
“I can pay for the part if it’s put you out.”
He scoffs. “I don’t need your money.” He glances out the window to where my car usually sits. “Which garage did you take it to?”
I rack my brain trying to think of a nearby one but come up with nothing, so I shrug. And then, as if he realises, he rolls his eyes. “You got your man to sort it.”
His words cause an ache in my heart. “He’s not my man,” I mutter.
“Does posh boy know a good mechanic who’ll charge you triple?”
“He offered,” I say with a shrug. “He was quite insistent.”
“Of course, he was.”
