Atlas lifts his drink and takes a sip. “Do you want me, Theadora?”
“No,” I answer what I believe is honest, but the word feels so sour on my lips.
“You no longer want my lips to touch your body, my hands to roam along your velvety skin?” he asks. I push my legs together to try and ease the ache that’s starting to build. “I bet you are wet underneath that dress.”
He’s not wrong, but surely that’s simply a reaction to being around an attractive man. After all, I’m not blind.
“No, and I don’t want you to buy me anything. The very last thing I accept from you will be the business, which I have sent you payment for. So no more, Atlas, there’s no need for us to be in each other’s lives.” I take a deep breath then exhale. “Your life is not something I want to be a part of. I’m not Lucy. I am not like any of your other women. I don’t care for your life or your luxuries. So please, Atlas, leave me alone and don’t ever contact me again.” I stand, pushing the chair back fast, leaving him sitting there watching my retreating back.
My hands shake the whole way out, and my heart doesn’t stop pounding until I reach my house and crawl into my bed.
Safe at last.
Chapter Thirteen
Atlas
My fingers strum on the table as I watch her leave. Once she’s out of view, my eyes find the box, and I wave at the waiter to take it away. As he takes it out to my driver, I wonder what on earth I plan to do about Theadora Fitzgerald.
I want her, that much is obvious to me, despite the fact that she drives me up the wall, and makes me question everything in my life.
I still want her.
If I’m truthful, I have always wanted her.
My cell rings, and I see Lucy’s name on the screen. I’ve managed to ignore her all week, and trust me, she calls every single damn day, sometimes more than once. She’s getting antsy and a nuisance.
She paid a visit to Theadora last week, and I haven’t been able to take a call from her since then. She’s making it more and more difficult for Theadora and me.
Sydney calls straight after Lucy’s call rings out. “Your father has asked that you visit him tomorrow,” Sydney states as I walk out of the restaurant.
A woman stops at the doorway, her eyes roam me, and I know what she wants. The way she bites her lip makes her intentions clear.
“His visit isn’t due,” I say. I make sure to see my father every six months, and that visit isn’t due for at least another month.
The woman brushes her hand over the top of her cleavage as she eyes me and I watch her. I am a man after all. She steps in my direction as Sydney continues to talk, “I know this, and you know this, but he was insistent that you come.”
“Hello, handsome…” The woman’s now standing in front of me, one hand on her hip as the other reaches up to touch my jacket. “You want to get out of here?”
“Who’s that?” Sydney asks. “Weren’t you having dinner with Thea?”
“Yes,” I answer, but the woman in front of me thinks I’m talking to her and takes that opportunity to press herself against me.
She has some balls, that’s for sure.
“That does not sound like Thea.” Sydney’s voice has become sharp, and I can tell there is malice by the tone.
“Your place or mine?” she asks.
“Oh, you are a one hundred percent dick.” Then I hear Sydney hang up and smile at her choice of words.
I grab hold of the redhead in front of me and pull her hand away from me. “Goodnight,” I say, turning and leaving her standing there. She’s not the one I want. Maybe if she were blonde and not so compliant then maybe.
But she’s not who I want.
No, she won’t do. What I want is a little blonde who has an ass I could bite for days, and tits I could fuck for weeks, and sass that drives me insanely crazy.
No, she isn’t my little blonde bombshell.
My father is the same man he was before he went into prison. He’s in charge as much in here as he was when he was free. His fellow inmates nod as he strides past them, walking into the visitation room to sit in front of me. When he’s settled, he puts his hands in front of us on the table and offers me a smile.
“I’m glad to see you, son.”
“What do you want?” I ask, not wanting to play any of his twisted games. He was always good at them, except with me. I always saw right through them. Guess it’s a perk of being raised by him.