[Editing]
He's the grumpy CEO of the company she works for. The very boss, no one gets enough words with before he pushes them far away. And then Sierra Bloom happens. She's the complete opposite of him, and he hates it. But something about her is w...
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I'm not quite sure when we got back home, or how I got into the living room, but here I am.
The TV is off, and Atlas isn't anywhere near me, so I assume he's somewhere working on whatever. Probably checking his mails. Or maybe not.
My eyes fall to the bucket filled with chicken wings on the coffee table, next to it yet another package of donuts. He bought them. Both. Maybe, deep down, Atlas Storm might actually have a heart.
"Atlas?" I say, or shout. This is a mansion after all, talking in a normal or quiet tone won't get me anywhere.
I look down at myself, discovering to be covered with a super soft and fluffy blanket. God, he does have some boyfriend potential. I hate that he does. It makes disliking him a lot harder.
Perhaps I don't exactly dislike him anymore. We're friends. I think?
What if he still dislikes me? That would be awful. I might have to ask him.
"Atlas!" I repeat, this time sounding as though I'm in pain and something has happened. I'm still just lying on the sofa, but he doesn't know that.
I hear a glass break, a short moment later, Atlas comes marching into the living room. He's out of his suit, wearing a loose t-shirt and...sweatpants.
Don't get me wrong, I know even business men wear other clothes than suits, but not Atlas. I assumed he was born in a suit and never changed out of it.
And I think seeing the few tattoos on his arms just took my breath away. How have I not seen them the morning after?
Well, I saw some, but I figured maybe he had only a few... not so many.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" he asks, sounding rushed. He doesn't stop to walk closer to me, even though he already has a clear view on me.
"Are you?" I return the question. "You dropped something that was made of glass."
Atlas clears his throat, probably to get back to his usual self. The one that can't be shaken, with the thick ice-exterior and large walls, closed-up persona.
He lifts my legs off the sofa, quickly sitting down before setting my feet down onto his lap. I kind of want to pull my legs in, but at the same time I don't. I'm not even sure why either of those cross my mind.
"I take it you're fine?" I nod. "Then how about that movie you wanted to watch?"
Excitement fills me. It was a joke. I never thought Atlas Storm would be the type to spend his Wednesday evening watching a movie with the mother of his still unborn child, the one he's fake-dating and just a couple hours ago spent quite the money on.
But then again, he seems to surprise me a lot. I barely know anything about this man. Except that his mother is still alive, maybe. And that he has a sister. And Taco. And he is a billionaire.
