Page 25 of Atlas
“Maybe…” I spoke the word out loud as a plan formed in my brain. Atlas was a private man, and it would be best if I could get him to tell me about his past of his own accord. Pressuring my boss was a bad idea. But if I could find a way to make him relax and then ask him the right questions, I might get him to open up to me.
Since he wasn’t a client, I didn’t have to go about this the traditional way. I could take a short cut that had worked in the past when my friends were clammed up and needed a bit of help to open up.
The answer was the truth serum alcohol. On Sunday, when we went to the Super Bowl, I would try to get Atlas a little drunk. If Atlas were like the rest of us, alcohol would lower his ability to reason and contemplate the repercussions of being brutally honest. If I could get him intoxicated, there was a chance that he wouldn’t care about the consequences of my knowing about his past, and maybe I could get him to tell me his real agenda for our research.
CHAPTER 7
Super Bowl
Atlas
Miranda from the event department organized the Super Bowl event for Solver Industries, and as always, she made it a smooth ride.
A driver picked me up at noon and took me to Jolene’s place. She didn’t come out when I texted her that we were here, so I walked up to the small townhouse and knocked on the door. That’s when I learned that she was renting the basement and had a separate entrance. It was just five steps down from the sidewalk, but when Jolene opened the door, I got a peek at the place, and it stood in sharp contrast to my penthouse apartment with panoramic windows. Jolene’s place was dark with limited daylight, and although she seemed to keep it neat, it confused me that she would live here. I paid her well enough, didn’t I? Surely she could afford something better than this.
“You ready?” My question was redundant, as she was wearing gear like a true superfan. She had even painted her face with orange, white, and blue stripes.
“I’m nervous and excited at the same time.”
“I feel a bit underdressed next to you,” I joked, but Jolene misunderstood and bit her lip.
“Wait.” She took off her colorful scarf and placed it around my neck. “Take this, and I can paint your face in the car. I brought the coloring set with me in case it got smeared or something.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said as she closed the door and locked it.
“Don’t be silly. You can’t go to the Super Bowl and not take part in the fun.”
The driver was on the sidewalk, holding the door open for us.
“Oh, thank you. This makes me feel like Pretty Woman, except I’m wearing a Football shirt instead of a fine dress.”
I smiled and motioned for her to go first. “My lady.”
Jolene gave a laugh that made me smile. This morning I had regretted saying yes to going because there was so much work to be done, and large, noisy events had never been my thing. But now that I was here, seeing her enthusiasm was infectious.
I managed to avoid her painting my face by distracting her on the way to the airport, but once we were seated with the fourteen other Solver VIP’s and the small plane took off, she brought the paint out of her bag.
“If anyone needs face paint, I have some,” she offered, and to my surprise, the husband of one of our largest clients raised his hand and spoke in a southern drawl. “Ma’am, I’m so happy y’all are gearing up. Karen told me to keep it down because these things can be a bit dry, you know?”
“Oh, I’ve got your back, my friend. You take as much paint as you want. Atlas here is Irish, and it’s his first Super Bowl experience. I’m making sure he’s getting his full immersion into American culture tonight.”
With Jolene and me, there were sixteen of us. Some were sitting around a large table, others in regular seats.
“Excellent.” The middle-aged man beamed at me. “My great grandfather immigrated from Ireland. Karen and I went a few years ago. It’s a mighty, fine place.”
“Yes, it is.” I smiled back at him.
He pointed to my scarf. “It’s just a shame that y’all are cheering for the losing team.” Raising his shirt, he revealed a player’s T-shirt underneath. “See. Dallas Cowboy all the way.”
“I should have guessed as much with that charming drawl you have.” Jolene gave an amused chuckle, and then she turned to me. “What do you think? Should we let the competition borrow our war paint or let him suffer the humiliation of bare cheeks at a Super Bowl?”
The other passengers who had been following the conversation smiled.
“Hmm…” I played along. “I feel like he should get points for revealing his true nature. It would have been worse if you had let him use your paint and found outafterhe had the Dallas Cowboy colors on his face.”
“Good point.” Jolene handed the man her paint. “Here you go, good sir, as long as you promise to cheer for your team as loud as I’ll be cheering for mine. That way, I won’t look like a complete nutcase.”
After a glance at Karen, his wife, the man stuck out a meaty hand to Jolene. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Ma’am! The name is Jeff Brown by the way, nice to meet you.”
