Kayla

The cocktail reception portion of this event is set to last twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes of standing behind these sheer curtains and holding as still as a statue.

Collette could get me to do just about anything she wants. I swear.

I’m not wearing a watch—it wouldn’t go with this landing strip of lace covering my crotch, or the matching bustier—but I feel like I’ve already been behind this curtain for way longer than twenty minutes.

And I don’t think Atlas is coming.

Sure, I high-tailed it out of there, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want more. Disappointment shouldn’t grip my heart the way it does, but after this morning and the night we spent together last night, well...

I sigh and transfer my weight to my other foot. If this lasts much longer, Collette’s going to have one pissed off headliner on her hands and a lot of disappointed guests when I walk my ass out that door and right back into my retirement.

Her guests mingle about the room, and I watch them, making mental notes of who’s here. A lot of faces I recognize, but at least half of the men and women in the room are unfamiliar. There are at least a dozen playmates mixed among them.

None of them know that the entertainers watch them from behind the curtains that line the walls. Draped in sheer white fabric that stretches from floor to ceiling, we wait for the cue. When the lights dim, and the guests take their seats, we’ll emerge. They should be able to see us, but Collette is a goddess when it comes to detail and she’s somehow rigged the lighting in such a way that our silhouettes are completely invisible.

Hiding in plain sight. She’s an evil genius, really.

I scan the crowd again; disappointment tightens its cold fingers around my heart. What if Collette was wrong? What if he doesn’t show? A few heads turn toward the entrance, so I follow their gaze as Collette steps in from the cocktail lounge.

And Atlas walks in behind her.

Excitement bubbles up in my chest. I bite my lip as heat rushes south and all of the memories from last night threaten to drop me to my knees where I stand. Dressed in a crisp, black suit, perfectly tailored to his frame, Atlas is perfection personified. His dark hair and dark eyes, that tortured gaze... he’s every bad decision I could ever make wrapped into one delightful package.

I’d hoped the image of him in my mind wouldn’t live up to the vision of him tonight, that somehow I’d fabricated his beauty since this morning, made him seem even better than he is, but no such luck.

And to make matters worse, I am all too aware of what he can do with those hands. He played my body like an instrument, and I’ll never watch him perform without looking at his fingers in a whole new light.

And that mouth. Don’t get me started on that mouth of his.

Collette steps toward the center of the room, and a spotlight turns on, bringing all eyes toward her. I flick my gaze over to Atlas and frown. He watches her with more than casual attention.

They did more than just sit next to one another on the plane, that much is obvious. My chest tightens, but I ignore the ridiculous pang of jealousy. Collette loves her flings, and if it was anything more than that, she would have told me. And Atlas, well, if the reputation preceding him everywhere he goes is even slightly true, he doesn’t say no.

To anyone.

Ever.

I should know.

Atlas takes a step forward, drawing my gaze back to him.

I give my head a little shake to clear my mind, then focus on Collette as she welcomes the guests. I’m here to entertain, nothing more.

But if any of the other entertainers think they’re getting close to him, they’re going to get another thing entirely. My elbow, for starters.

And maybe a swift kick in the ass.

The lights start to dim and conversations die down to a low murmur.

A spotlight illuminates the center of the room as the staff hurries to set up small tables and chairs in a large circle around the ring of light.

“Please find a seat and the entertainment will find you.” Collette’s voice echoes around the room.

I watch Atlas so I know where to go once the lights go off, and it’s my lucky day; he chooses a spot almost directly in front of me. I get ready to step out from the shadows, then the lights turnoff completely, shrouding the room in pitch black. A few girls squeal in delight or fear, and the murmurs slowly die down to a hush.

I walk toward him, careful not to lose my sense of direction and end up dancing for the wrong guy. My heart thunders in my ears, because this is no ordinary gig. This is no ordinary guest at some ordinary party.

This is Atlas Reynolds.

And I haven’t been able to get him off my mind all damn day.

I stop behind the chair, twenty paces like we practiced, and his cologne confirms I’m in the right place. I inhale as quietly as I can, then lick my lips and get ready to rock his world.

Or, at the very least, enjoy the hell out of this second chance to be close to him.