Atlas

By the time my driver calls up to tell us he’s here, I’m about ready to blow off this event tonight and head over to the titty bar in hopes of a glimpse of her. It wouldn’t be difficult to find her, seeing as how she’s the fucking headliner at Top Tier.

I think.

Technically, I still haven’t confirmed that she’s Kincaid Summers, and really, I don’t even care, except that might be my only way of tracking her down.

If she’s not Kincaid, then all I know about her is that her name is Kayla, and I’m pretty confident there’s more than one in Nevada.

But I’m not chasing after any ass, no matter how delectable it is, so I get ready for my evening of debauchery as planned.

As Red and I exit the elevator, I punch Chris’ number into my phone.

He answers quickly. “What’s up, Atlas? How’s Vegas treating you? I heard Little Johnny blasted your name all over the strip last night.” Chris laughs, loving every minute of my torture.

“Bad news travels fast.”

“Yeah, man, nothing draws a crowd better than a hot piece of ass like Atlas Reynolds.”

“Whatever.” I climb into the backseat and Red hands the driver my invitation as he settles into the front.

Time to be titillated. Or something.

“So, who’d you take home last night?” Chris asks. “That chick from the plane again?”

I roll my eyes. She’s history. “Nah, man. I met this gorgeous brunette with legs for days.” I settle into the seat and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You sound tormented. She leave you with blue balls or something?”

I shake my head. “Not even close.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I broke my own rule, man.”

“You tasted the pussy?” I can almost hear his eyes popping out of his head.

“Yep.” I shake my head, even though he can’t see my frustration over the phone.

“And?” Chris asks.

“And nothing will ever taste good again.”

“That bad, eh?”

My eyes widen. “No, man, what? No, that fucking good. Nothing will ever taste good again because I’ve had the best thing there is and I want to eat it morning, noon, and night.”

“Oh,” Chris says, laughing into the phone. “My bad. You should definitely leave songwriting to me, bro.”

“Fuck off, dick.” I press end and slide the phone into the inside pocket of my sport coat. A text comes through, but I ignore it. Probably Chris calling me out for hanging up on him.

My driver parks the car right out front, so I look up at the building. For something so invite only, I expected more. There’s not even a velvet rope and a line of people outside. What the fuck is this place? Had I been driving myself, I probably would have passed by a few times, then said fuck it and headed over to Top Tier. Two double doors are opened and a dark entryway expands beyond. On the wall above the second set of double doors hangs a neon sign that reads Midnight in purple.

This must be the place.

“You comin’?” I ask Red.

He looks up at the building. “Fuck no, boss. You got me on a plane this week, but I draw the line at not being able to see.”

I laugh. “Probably smart.” I step out of the car and close the door, then nod at Red. “But come in and check it out with me, bro.”

Red’s shoulders fall. “Fine, but if something jumps out at me, I’m fucking gone, man.” He climbs out of the car, then looks back at the driver. “Five minutes. Tops.”

I shake my head. “You’re a fucking pussy, Red.”

He shrugs as he stands beside me. We both look up at the building.

“Doesn’t look like much.”

I shake my head. “No shit.”

The invitation mentioned stripping me of my sight, but I’m relieved as we enter and it’s not pitch black inside. Weird shit can happen in the dark. The room glows with pale lavender lighting that shines up from the floor. The walls are white, draped with sheer white fabric. Large, perfectly round, mattress-like chairs dot the room. They’re tufted white leather and look almost cloudlike. People sprawl out on them, or sit on the edges as they chat over their pre-dinner cocktails. I look down at my empty hands and a server appears out of nowhere.

I like this place already.

He picks up a short glass of amber liquid and extends it toward me. “Fizzy Old Fashioned, sir?”

I reach for it, then pause, my outstretched hand open midair. “What?” Did he say fizzy?

He forces a smile that looks painful. Then raises the glass. One perfectly square ice cube sits in the center of the glass, surrounded by amber liquid, a thick curl of shaved orange peel sitting on top of the cube. “Fizzy Old Fashioned. The mistress has chosen to add bubbles to tonight’s cocktails.”

I raise an eyebrow and glance over at Red. The mistress? Intrigued, I take the drink and bring it to my nose as I look around the room. Mistress means whips and chains, yeah? Is that what I’m here for tonight? To dominate someone? I’m down.

“Never knew you were into bondage, boss.”

I laugh, then glance at Red. “I’ll try everything once.”

He grunts a laugh, then shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather coat.

“You can go, bro. I don’t think anyone’s out to get me here.” I look around the room. “And not a Banger in sight, so I probably won’t get mauled.”

Red laughs. “What will you do with yourself while unsupervised?”

A blonde playmate from the last Hometown Hotties issue strolls past, giving me an invitation with the way she drags her gaze up and down my body. “I’m sure I’ll entertain myself somehow.” I look at Red. “But, seriously, man, see what you can find out for me, all right? If that chick was Kincaid Summers, track her down.”

Red’s eyebrows fly up into his red hair. “Going back for sec—?”

“Don’t even finish that thought.”

He shrugs, then starts to head back to the entrance.

“And go feed your fat ass, will ya? You’re wasting away.”

Red flips me the bird as he disappears into the night.

I take a sip of the custom cocktail, and the bubbles tickle my throat on their way down. I tilt my head. Huh. Not bad. Like... more refreshing than whiskey, but still a damn good burn.

“Delightful, isn’t it?”

My ears perk up at the sound of her voice. My dick perks up as well. The woman from the plane.

I turn slowly, wetting my lips with my tongue. At least I know who to thank for the invitation to this shindig. I should have known.

When our eyes meet, she smiles, and my dick nods his hello. She rakes her gaze down my body, her eyebrows rising just slightly when she reaches my pants, like she’s remembering my dick in her mouth, then she reaches out to run her fingers over the lapel of my coat. “Fioravanti,” she practically purrs, meeting my gaze once more.

She knows her suits. I was right; she comes from a lot of money.

Shiny fabric covers her from shoulders to toes, flowing out around her body with the wispiness of fog. Ethereal.

Fuck me, I sound like a douchebag. Chris is right; lyrics and poetry are his thing, not mine.

But this dress is something else. It’s white like the rest of the room, draping from each shoulder, then connecting at the waist, leaving a deep V of pale skin that draws my eyes to her navel.

“How are you, Atlas?” She pats my lapel, then clasps her hands lightly at her waist. “I see you received my invitation.”

“How did you know where I was staying?”

She smirks. “I have my ways.”

“Well, if you wanted to ask me out—”

She raises one slender hand. “Oh no, honey, you’ve misunderstood.” She tilts her head, holding my gaze. “That little tryst of ours was fun.” She looks around the room focusing on nothing and everything all at once, then brings her gaze back to mine. “But I have something else planned for you entirely.” She leans forward, bringing her lips to my ear, and I can’t help but look down at the unobstructed view of her breasts as each side of the loose fabric drapes open. “Someone else.”

Oh? I lean back a bit and she straightens. With a satisfied grin, she pats my chest. “This girl means a lot to me. Don’t let me down, Atlas.” With that, she turns slowly and strolls away from me, and something tells me that’s the last conversation we’ll ever have.

I still don’t even know her name.

I watch after her for a few long seconds, then slowly make my way around the room. I have a feeling she brought me here to schmooze, and with the amount of playmates I’ve already spotted—seven, if you count next month’s centerfold—I’m just the guy for the job.

Which one of these girls is for me? She said someone else entirely, so... Eenie meenie miney moe...