I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself down.
“None of this makes any sense, Atlas.”
His smile was soothing. I felt as though he understood that I felt better by looking at him.
“I’m going to make it make sense. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Atlas knocked twice on his window and then the two men waiting outside the car turned and opened the doors. I stepped out of the car onto the tarmac and followed Atlas to the stairs leading to the jet. I wrapped my hands around the handrailsand looked up as I stood at the base of the stairs. Somewhat awestruck, I took a moment to stare at the lavish jet with the O.A. logo beside the door. While I wondered if it was called a door or a hatch, I realized the two suit guys were standing behind me. I let go of the handrails and stepped to the side.
“Go ahead,” I said and gestured to the stairs.
“It’s okay, we’ll wait,” the guy who had been in the passenger seat replied. Atlas walked back down the steps to us.
“Everything all right?” he asked me.
“Yeah. I was just looking at the jet. I’ve never been on one. Or a plane.”
“Well, I think you’ll enjoy it.” Atlas smiled warmly, and I followed him up the steps and onto the jet.
He walked down the aisle and stopped beside a set of two huge seats. He gestured for me to sit by the window and then he took the spot beside me. While I reached for my seat belt, I caught Atlas looking at the red marks Roger had left. I pulled the seat belt across my lap to click it into place, effectively moving my arm out of Atlas’ sight. I noticed the two suit guys took seats close to the front of the jet. A guy wearing black pants and a black vest with a white long-sleeved shirt under it approached us.
“Good evening, Mr. Christos and Mr. Smith.” I glanced at his name tag. Lance.
“Hello,” I said and smiled at him.
While Atlas spoke to Lance, I noticed how perfect Lance’s slicked-back hair was. There wasn’t a piece out of place. He also wasn’t the tallest of guys—maybe 5’7”—but I noticed the length of his sleeves and pants seemed to be a perfect fit for him. Maybe their uniforms were tailor-made.
“Flight time is about forty-eight minutes this evening. May I interest you in a beverage?” Lance asked.
Atlas looked at me and then I looked at Lance.
“Just water, please.” Lance nodded and then looked at Atlas.
“Sparkling water, please.”
“Mr. Smith, do you prefer sparkling water?”
What the fuck was sparkling water? Was that carbonated? Who wanted carbonated water?
“Plain water for me. The non-sparkling stuff.”
“Very well. I’ll bring them by shortly after takeoff.”
“Thank you,” Atlas said.
Lance left us alone, and I looked out the window to take everything in. Atlas remained quiet as we moved slowly down the runway. I counted seven large commercial planes that we passed along the way. Were we cutting in line, or did we use a different runway since the jet was smaller? As the jet turned, I realized we were using the same runway and had just jumped the line. Moments later, I was thrust back into the seat as we sped down the runway and then lifted into the air.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled.
I glanced at Atlas to see if he heard me swear. The last thing I needed was for Roger to find out I swore in front of this polished rich guy. His laugh proved that he’d heard me. A few minutes later, Lance carried a tray with drinks to us. He set a few coasters down on the wooden table in front of us and then put glasses with ice on them. Lance twisted the cap off our bottles of water, poured the liquid into the glasses, then put the lids back on the bottles before setting them beside the glasses. From the tray, he handed Atlas a pen and a black folder with O.A. on the front in gold print. Then he left us again.
“You have many questions. I’m going to try to clear a lot of them up.”
“Okay.”
Atlas opened the folder, pulled out a piece of paper, and set it between us. I stared at the words at the very top and read them out loud.
