“You are a grown man who can make that decision for himself,” Atlas agreed. “I simply ask that we come to a compromise so that I am able to do my job properly while still allowing you to have your privacy.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, miserable and wishing the conversation were over. But it was his own damn fault he’d messed up, and he needed to fix it before his shift tonight. He wouldn’t be able to face the full force of Cristian’s displeasure with this migraine.
Again, silence. He wondered if Cristian had hung up on him. At least that would have been an answer in itself.
“What?”
He sat up a bit in his chair, surprised by Cristian’s response. The question had none of the volume or anger he expected; if anything, it was a confused, weak thing, a reaction that had slipped out before Cristian could catch it. He capitalized on the slip before Cristian could pretend it never happened.
“I don’t want you to change your day-to-day routine,” Atlas said. “I don’t need to be privy to every decision
you make. I’d simply like us to come to an agreement about how to work together to ensure your safety.” He took a breath, squeezed his phone a little tighter, and decided to risk it. “I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you about this before. That no one from Whitethorn did. But I’m asking now.”
“You actually mean that?”
“Yes.”
“I—I don’t know what you want, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian said. The admission sounded painful.
“I can’t allow unknown, unvetted people close to you. The risk is too great.”
Cristian made an irritated sound, but didn’t disagree. Slowly, grudgingly, he asked, “What if someone checked them before we go into a room together?”
He wanted to agree, wanted to capitulate and ensure he wasn’t removed from the contract, but he couldn’t say yes in good faith. Too much could still go wrong.
Cristian read his hesitation too easily. “Come on, Mr. Kinkaid,” he purred, “you said we were compromising. That means both of us need to communicate.”
“An individual check will help, but it won’t eliminate all other risk factors.”
“There will always be risk factors. I won’t let you keep me locked in my room like a Gothic heroine,” Cristian said flatly.
“That would be hell for both of us,” Atlas threw back. “I’m just trying to find ways to lessen the dangers we have control over.”
“I’ll use the same room at Rapture. That way it’s more familiar when it’s swept. And I’ll leave the door unlocked, on the condition I’m not interrupted.”
He doubted he’d get a better compromise. “I can work with that.”
“A check of the room and my partner then,” Cristian said. “In exchange, you keep the fuck out of my private business.”
“Fine.”
“Lovely doing business with you, Mr. Kinkaid. See you tonight.”
He blinked and looked down at his phone. The call was over. But the compromise was in place.
Bea reentered her office a moment later, and Atlas was positive she’d been waiting outside the door, likely eavesdropping. “Sounds like it went well,” she remarked as she returned to her desk.
“I think it might have,” Atlas agreed cautiously.
“Did you apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Did you decide on a compromise?”
“I think so. At least the start of one.”
Bea set down the piece of paper she’d picked up on her way out. She gave Atlas a smug smile as she settled back into her chair. “Sister knows best,” she bragged. “Now, go home. You look like shit warmed over.”
“Love you too, Bea,” Atlas mumbled. Her laughter followed him out of her office, but it didn’t bother him. His mind was finally clear enough he might be able to manage some real sleep before tonight’s shift. No matter what Cristian had agreed to, Atlas was sure he’d need to keep his wits about him.