Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
His grin is disarming. “Exactly who do you think was telling Rowan what foods we wanted for each meal?”
Until that very moment, I had absolutely given Rowan all of the credit for the incredible cuisine we’d been enjoying for each and every meal. It never dawned on me that Atlas was placing the orders with her.
“Neither of us left the room. How in the world would you have had time to talk to her without me hearing you?”
“You see, there’s this technology called email. It works quite efficiently, and when that wasn’t enough, texting got the job done.”
I am speechless. Just when I think this man can’t surprise me any more than he already has, he discloses yet another tidbit of information that rattles the foundation of preconceived assumptions I’ve made about Atlas over the years.
“I’d much rather be eating you though,” he says with a sly grin on his face.
And there is the Atlas I’ve always known. He has a one-track mind, but I don’t exactly hate it. “I will admit you have great taste.”
Atlas sputters on his first sip of water and I smile, leaning back in my seat in satisfaction because for once I’ve stunned him into silence, giving me the chance to ask him a question that I’ve been wanting to ask.
“If your entire family is in Europe, and you love it here so much, what made you decide to move to Boston for college?” I ask, knowing that I’d almost certainly have never met him if he hadn’t moved.
“You have my father to thank for that decision, and believe me, I wasn’t happy about it at first. Looking back, I’m man enough to admit he did me a huge favor. Not only did it open my eyes to how big this world is, but that’s when I met Dex.”
The waiter bringing a breadbasket interrupts him. I wait for him to continue, but he chooses to eat instead. An awkward silence stretches between us for a few seconds until he expertly fills the void by sharing funny stories from his time at college.
We are one bottle of wine and two courses into the meal when I realize just how much fun I’m having. I truly don’t remember a time where I could just let my guard down and enjoy a meal—laughing and sharing pieces of myself I’d almost forgotten where hidden inside me.
Eventually, I find it hard to listen to what Atlas is saying because all I can think about is how different our lives have been, and yet we share this unique profession that we are both so good at. And even hearing story after story, I somehow know I’ve still just scratched the surface of what makes this complex man tick.
It isn’t until after the waiter has cleared away the empty plates of our feast that I throw my napkin down on the table and push to my feet.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room. Can you order me a latte when he gets back?”
“Sure, but don’t be gone too long,” he warns before adding, “You won’t want to miss dessert.”
“Seriously? I can’t eat another bite.”
“Excellent, more for me,” he teases, his grin lighting up his face playfully.
The ladies’ room is as opulent as the rest of the restaurant. I’m relieved that I have the room to myself, giving me the chance to touch up my makeup after I’ve gone to the bathroom.
I’m slow to leave the ladies’ room, trying to tamp down the almost giddy joy coursing through my brain as I see how handsome Atlas is seated at our table. My focus is on him until movement to my left draws my attention away from our table.
A patron is rushing through the restaurant, taking long strides as if he were in a hurry. On the surface, it doesn’t seem amiss—not until the man walking in the direction of our table reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out a handgun. It takes a full second for me to register the danger, allowing him to get within a few feet of Atlas who is looking down at his cell phone.
I start to sprint at the same moment I cry out, “Atlas!” as loud as I can.
Things happen so fast. I’m moving on autopilot as I run full-out toward the assassin who clearly isn’t paying me any attention, giving me the opportunity to crash into his body just as he pulls the trigger. The boom of the shot hurts my ears in the confined space as I feel myself falling towards the floor in an almost slow-motion out of body experience.
Only after I’ve crashed to the carpeted floor does the sharp pain in my shoulder register. Knowing we are still in danger, I ignore the pain. Patrons around us are screaming in the chaos. I see the assailant is still standing just a few feet away—between me and Atlas.