by Whitley Cox
She’d dealt with jerk parents before who thought art therapy was a joke, but none that made her skin tingle or her heart thump the way Aria’s father did.
He’s a widower. He’s a jerk. You’ve sworn off men.
She needed to repeat that to herself until it sunk in, because she was tired of falling for the jerks. She was tired of falling, period. Because no matter how hard she thought she’d fallen for someone, thinking they would be there to catch her and hold her for the rest of her life, she always seemed to wind up face-first in the dirt.
No, she was going to have to find a way to be happy on her own. Her late-night text messages with the stranger were enough. He was kind. He was supportive. He was interesting. They never got too personal, but that was okay. They’d spoken every night that week, sometimes for a few hours as she went about her evening routine. But what made her go to sleep with a smile on was that they always said Good night to each other. He never left her hanging, and she never left him.
She doubted Mr. Stark even said thank you.
She unlocked the door to her studio, and Aria took off toward her now-labeled drawer. Tessa stepped inside, but then for some stupid reason, she peeked her head back around the corner.
He was there. Standing at the end of the hallway, staring at her. Even from that great a distance, she could see the fire in his eyes, and it was hot enough to torch the entire building.
Damn it. She’d always had a weakness for a good smolder.
Atlas stared down the hallway until he saw her head disappear back into the studio. His brain was running a million miles a minute, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest.
He didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but whatever it was, he fucking hated it.
She’d put him in his place, and it had been hot as fuck.
He hated that he thought that.
He hated that another woman had made him feel something he never, ever thought he’d feel again. Never wanted to feel again.
That ship was supposed to have sailed, crashed into the rocks and caught fire. How was it still afloat? How was it still seaworthy?
And what was even more fucked up was this was not the first time he’d had these stirrings in the last twenty-four hours. He’d had them last night too, and they were over someone he had never even fucking met. For all he knew, the person he thought was a thirty-five-year-old woman who’d just had her life come crashing down around her was actually a fifty-year-old guy who still lived with his parents and had a collection of human teeth—that weren’t his. He could be catfishing Atlas, trying to get them to meet, only to skin him alive and harvest his teeth to make a new necklace.
He really needed to stop watching those serial-killer documentaries before bed. That was one of the few things he and Samantha had disagreed on. She hated them, thought they were freaky as hell, and would leave the room when he put them on. He couldn’t get enough of them, even listened to serial-killer podcasts when he was alone in his car.
It was his obsession with serial killers that dissuaded him from going into prosecution or defense. He didn’t want his work to interfere with his fucked-up obsession. Because yes, he knew it was fucked up. Oh well, he wasn’t the one doing the killing; he was just interested in the stories.
He was back in the lobby in less than a minute, a snoozing Cecily on his chest. The kid had been up all fucking night again screaming about her teeth. Tylenol didn’t work, a frozen washcloth didn’t work, nothing. Nothing besides being held by Atlas, that is. All. Fucking. Night.
He was goddamn exhausted.
Normally, Jenny would have had the girls this time of day, but she needed to go and get emergency dental work. Apparently, a crown had broken at dinner last night. So there he was, at ten past nine on a Friday, wandering down the sidewalk in his suit, wearing a sleeping baby.
It was hot and sunny out, so he threw on his shades and set his jaw tight. He needed to head into the office and see if his secretary could move a few of his meetings until Monday. He should probably just take off the whole day. He was too tired to fucking function as a human being, let alone a family lawyer.
Luckily, his office was not more than four blocks from the therapy office, and he was there in ten minutes, sweat on his brow and a tension headache growing in his temples from having clenched his jaw the entire way there.
His dentist and doctor told him to cut that shit out, but it was better than the alternative—losing his shit entirely.
That Tessa chick rounding on him in the elevator had set his nerves right off—and it made him think and feel things he fucking hated.
Clenching his jaw until the ache pulsed and blurred his vision was one of the only things left that he had any control over in his life. The headache was painful, but he took it as punishment for how he felt about the therapist—and the woman he was texting with.
After speaking with his secretary and having her move his meetings, he headed down the hallway toward Liam’s office.
Liam Dixon, name partner at Wallace Dixon and Travers, was not only a fucking incredible lawyer but also one of Atlas’s best and closest friends. For all the man’s faults—because he had a fuck-ton of them—he was loyal to the end and had seriously saved Atlas’s ass and sanity, bringing him into Liam’s single-dad fold.
He’d been reluctant at first and rebuffed Liam’s offers for months after Samantha had died. He just hadn’t been ready to face the fact that he was a single dad. That he was part of a new club. But eventually Liam’s “nagging” wore him down, and he started attending the weekly poker games on Saturday nights.
It was a small blip in time where he felt remotely normal. Where he felt sort of human. There was no judgment among the guys, just ribbing and support. Those nine other men got what it was like to be a single father. They were all just trying their damnedest to not create sociopaths that in fifteen or so years they would have to release into society with nothing more than their fingers crossed the kids didn’t end up with their own Netflix documentary. And the guys had covered his ass more than once, taking Aria for a few hours so he could take a deep breath and not lose his shit.
Cecily was still asleep on his chest in the carrier when he rounded the corner into Liam’s fancy corner office, with its abundance of windows overlooking the water and the shipping yard to the southwest. A bunch of fancy diplomas lined one of his two walls, along with a few pictures of Liam and his son Jordie.
“Well, you look like shit,” Liam said before Atlas was even completely in the room.
“And you’re a dick,” he replied, rolling his eyes. He went to take a seat across from Liam’s desk, but Cecily protested, so he remained standing. He also began to sway.
Liam’s rebuttal normally would have been witty and sarcastic, accompanied by a cheesy grin, but it wasn’t. His face sobered. “Dude, you seriously look like shit. When was the last time you slept for more than two hours in a row?”
Atlas’s brain was so fucking foggy, he had no freaking clue. He shrugged.
Liam pursed his lips together, his expression turning grim. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“I just came in to take the rest of the day off and have Donna move my meetings to Monday. Cecily was up all fucking night teething.” He yawned and blinked, his eyes protesting the need to be open and stinging with each blink.
Dark brown eyes focused on him, and Liam narrowed his brows. “I was going to come talk to you later. In fact, the partners and I were. But since you’re here … ” Exhaling, he grabbed his phone. “Judy, could you see if Jerrika and Rocky are free for a quick meeting? Atlas is here … Thanks.”
What the fuck? They weren’t going to make him name partner now, were they? He knew they needed the buy-in money for that and that his workload would double if not triple once he became name partner. It was something he wanted more than anything in the world, but he just wasn’t sure he could take it on right now.
Possibly ever.
And that thought gnawed at his insides more than the
ulcer he was sure he was developing because of all the stress.
“How’s Aria?” Liam asked, sitting forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his desk and pressing his hands together like he was praying.
What the fuck was going on? Liam was acting really fucking strange. Any other time Atlas had wandered into Liam’s office his friend would have poured him a drink and then kicked back in his chair with his feet on his desk. Liam was a shark of a lawyer, but he was also laid back as fuck.
“She’s fine,” he said with a grunt. Something was up, and it wasn’t the good news that he was finally being made name partner. He cracked his neck side to side when the sensation of what he could only describe as a spider crawling across his skin made his whole body go ramrod-straight.
Liam eyed him warily. “Didn’t you have her starting with an art therapist this week? The one Zak recommended. How’s that going?”
“She’s there now.”
Liam’s brows rose. “And she’s enjoying it.”
“So far. This is only the second session. Too soon to tell.”
“Well, Zak said the therapist did a great job with Aiden, so I’m sure she’s going to work wonders with Aria, too.” His lips flattened out again, and he pinned his gaze on Cecily. “Baby sleeping?”
Atlas grunted and nodded.
A light knock at the door behind him announced Jerrika Wallace and Rockwell Travers. The other name partners at the firm Wallace Dixon and Travers.
Atlas made room for the two of them to enter.
“Atlas,” Jerrika cooed, resting her cool, dark hand on Atlas’s arm. “How are things?” She leaned in to take a better peek at Cecily, then pulled back and made that face that everyone makes after they’ve seen a cute baby. Her hand went to her chest. “Such a sweetheart. How’s she sleeping?”
She wasn’t. That was the fucking problem.
“Not great,” he muttered.
Rockwell Travers gave Atlas a handshake but gripped his elbow with his other hand. “Good to see you, Atlas.”
Atlas murmured something similar and forced the corners of his mouth to lift a touch.
“Shall we sit?” Jerrika asked, taking a seat across from Liam. She was a pretty woman. Mid-forties with curly dark hair to her shoulders, dark brown eyes and the whitest teeth and most genuine and friendly smile Atlas had ever seen—until Aria’s therapist anyway. It was one of her biggest tools in the courtroom. She flashed her smile, batted her lashes and won the jury over with her can-do, anything is possible, unicorns do exist if you just believe attitude.
Atlas liked her, but he could only handle being around that much optimism for about sixty minutes, tops. After that, his skin began to crawl as if rainbows and sunshine were trying to burrow into him. Nobody was really that happy and positive, were they?
“Yes, let’s sit,” said Rockwell, or “Rocky,” as he preferred to be called. He sat next to Jerrika, and then both their eyes, and Liam’s, drifted to Atlas as they waited for him to take the third and last chair.
“I’ll stand,” he said. “She doesn’t like it when I sit.”
“Very well,” Rocky said, propping one ankle on his knee and leaning back. Even though he was probably only a year or two older than Atlas, the man had gone gray early. He’d also grown a bunch of facial hair recently and lost probably thirty pounds. Atlas heard murmurs around the office that Rocky had turned into a “silver fox” almost overnight. Atlas chalked it up to Rocky’s recent divorce and the fact that he was now on the prowl. To each their own.
Liam cleared his throat, tapped his pen on his desk, clicked it a few times and then finally lifted his gaze to Atlas. The man looked tortured.
What. The. Fuck. Was. Going. On?
“We understand that you’re under a lot of pressure right now,” Liam started. “What with Aria and now baby Cecily, and work—”
“I can handle it,” Atlas said, cutting him off. Fuck, were they firing him? Was this what the impromptu meeting was about? Were they fucking firing him?
Oh, he was going to fucking sue all their asses if that was the case. Yes, his life was chaos right now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a damn good lawyer. The best senior partner at that fucking firm despite the pandemonium he had going on at home.
Liam shut his eyes.
“We know you can handle it,” Jerrika said smoothly, her voice calm and deep, like a well-aged port. “What we’re trying to tell you is that you don’t have to.”
“What?” His eyes darted back and forth between the three name partners so fast, he was starting to get dizzy. “Is this your fucked-up way of telling me I’m fired?”
“No!” all three of them practically shouted. Cecily stirred in the carrier from the noise, but thankfully her eyes remained glued shut.
“We’re not firing you,” Rocky said, shaking his head. “Not at all.” He stood up and stepped in front of Atlas. “Atlas, you are one of the best lawyers at this firm. We don’t want to lose you. But we also see that you are struggling.”
“We want to suggest you take a short leave of absence,” Jerrika said from her seat, careening her head around Rocky’s body. “A month, just to decompress and get some rest.”
“Maybe hire another nanny, a live-in one. Just temporarily,” Liam chimed in.
“You want me to go on fucking stress leave, is that it?” Atlas asked, heat infusing not only his words but his limbs and gut. He blinked a bunch of times when spots began to cloud his vision.
“A sabbatical,” Jerrika corrected. “There’s no shame in taking some time for yourself. For your family.”
Atlas clenched his molars and glared at the three of them. They didn’t meet his glare though and looked back at him with nothing but compassion. It deflated a bit of his ire.
“What if I refuse?” he asked, determined to not go down without a fight.
Rocky stepped to the side so Jerrika could be in full view. She was managing partner and had the lion’s share of the power. “It’s not a request,” she said softly. “As of today, you are on a thirty-day sabbatical. After thirty days, we will have this meeting and conversation again and see where things stand.” She stood up and smoothed her hands down her white and gray pinstripe pencil skirt.
“This doesn’t mean name partner is off the table,” Liam said, looking like he was ready to puke. “It’s just postponed until things settle down a bit. The associates will take care of your cases, and anything they can’t handle, we will.”
He was going to chip a fucking tooth if he gnashed his molars together any harder. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he fought his shoulders down from his ears. “You making me see a shrink again?” he ground out.
“Not unless you give us reason to,” Jerrika said, heading for the door. “Though it might not be a bad idea if you saw one of your own accord.”
“We all love you, Atlas,” Rocky said, right behind Jerrika. “We want you back, one hundred percent, and right now, you’re just not. Take some time, buddy.” He slapped Atlas on the shoulder, then he and Jerrika left.
Atlas lifted his gaze back up to Liam. He wanted to punch his “friend” in his fucking face.
“I’m sorry,” Liam said, his complexion pale and his eyes sad. “I do think it’s for the best though.”
He was too furious to say anything and just stood there, his head shaking, his body a Coke bottle ready to explode. “I’m fine,” he gritted out.
Liam rose from his chair and came to stand in front of Atlas. “Dude, you’re not fine. Your kids aren’t fine. After Samantha died, you took two weeks off work and then were back in the office. Everyone thought you were fucking crazy.”
That was because not everything at the office reminded him of his dead wife like it did at home. At work he could lock himself in his office and smother his grief with other people’s problems. At work he didn’t have to stare into the sad, confused hazel eyes of his daughter—the same eyes as Samantha—and come up with yet another tortuous way to explain where her mam
a was and why she wasn’t coming back.
“You need to take care of yourself, and in turn that will take care of your kids,” Liam continued, stepping forward and resting a hand on Atlas’s shoulder.
Atlas jerked him away and snarled. “Did your wife die?”
Liam didn’t respond.
“Did. Your. Wife. Die?” he repeated.
Liam released Atlas’s shoulder and cast his eyes to the floor. “No, she didn’t.”
“Then you have no FUCKING clue what I need. No FUCKING clue what I’m going through.” He tried his damnedest to keep his voice low so as to not wake Cecily, but she must have felt his rage because she began to stir and whimper.
Liam’s head lifted, his gaze probing. “I didn’t lose my wife, no. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see when a friend, when a brother, needs help. And you, Atlas, need some fucking help.”
Fucking fuck.
Of course he was fucking right.
Atlas just hated to admit that he needed this time off work. He needed to get his head on straight, get his family sorted and organized. Maybe hire another nanny so he could sleep more than two fucking hours in a row. Because between working late and getting up with the kids, he was well past running on fumes. He’d damn near worn a hole through the gas tank.
“Does McGregor owe you any favors?” Atlas asked, the tension in his jaw subsiding a little.
Liam’s eyes softened, and his interest piqued at Atlas’s sudden change of subject. “He does, in fact. Why?”
“That favor is mine now. Let him know.” He turned to leave.
“What do you need a PI for?”
Atlas didn’t answer.
“You still coming to poker tomorrow night?” Liam called back, humor back in his voice.
All Atlas could do in return was grunt.
Of course, he was going to be there.
He wouldn’t miss it for the world.
6
“Daddy has to go now, Aria,” Atlas said Saturday night, peeling his whining three-and-a-half-year-old off his leg as he fought his left foot into his shoe near the front door. “You know the drill, kiddo. Kimmy comes over on Saturdays, and you get to stay up a little bit later, watch a movie and have popcorn while Daddy goes out.”