Pampered by my three brothers: the return of the neglected heiress novel Chapter 1392

Chapter 1392: Atlas’ spying skills

[Pierson Corporation]

Jonathan stretched his neck from left to right, massaging it as he dragged his feet out of the elevator to the parking lot. His tie was already loosened, and his blazer hung open, offering some comfort as he finally headed home. As usual, the day had been exhausting, juggling whatever errand Dean threw at him while also handling real work.

It was a hassle. A real hassle.

However, this was the last week Jonathan would be working under Dean. Yet, he wasn’t even looking forward to transferring to Atlas’s office. If Dean had already proven himself a complete jerk, then Atlas would surely double down.

"Damn it," he muttered, clicking his tongue as he fished out his keys and slid into the driver’s seat. He tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat and adjusted the rearview mirror—only to nearly jump out of his skin.

His eyes widened in horror.

"..." Slowly, he turned to look at the person sitting in the backseat. "What the hell are you doing in my car, Atlas?"

Atlas, looking entirely unbothered, met his gaze lazily. His mouth opened slightly as if to respond, but then he closed it again, seeming to have changed his mind.

Jonathan scowled. "You are in my car." He harrumphed, twisting his body further to look at the backseat. "At least give me a reason why you’re trespassing on my property."

Atlas sighed and glanced away. "Too loud. Just drive."

"!!!" Jonathan almost choked on air.

First of all, Atlas had no right to act like Jonathan was the one who got into the wrong car. This was his car. And if Atlas was going to just sit there, the least he could do was offer a proper explanation. Instead, he acted like he had every right to be here.

Also—why the backseat? Did he think Jonathan was his driver? Or... was this some sort of preview of next week’s horror special?

"Haa!" Jonathan scoffed, gripping the steering wheel. "Atlas, I know I’m going to work under you next week. Next week. But I’m sorry, you have no right to be in my car just because you’ll be my direct boss. Office hours are over."

He forced a smile. "And I am not driving you home." _{frёewebnoѵēl.com}

"Who said I’m heading home?"

"I’m not driving anywhere—wherever it is you want to go."

"Who said I want you to drive me anywhere?" Atlas blinked, looking mildly bored. "Just drive."

Jonathan furrowed his brows, staring at the man through the rearview mirror. "If you don’t want me to drive you anywhere, then I’m driving myself home."

Atlas nodded. "Suit yourself."

"..." Jonathan opened and closed his mouth, too stunned to respond. His head ached. He was already exhausted, and now Atlas was just making it worse.

"God forbid..." he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All day, I have to deal with that jerk Dean Pierson, and now..."

Jonathan winced in frustration. How was he supposed to drive home with this unwelcome passenger? More importantly, why was Atlas okay with him going straight home?

’He’s not—’ Jonathan glanced back at Atlas and nearly gasped. "You’re not thinking of staying at my place, are you?"

"Drive."

"Atlas Bennet."

’Don’t tell me he’s in my car just to... sightsee?’ he thought before shaking his head. ’Impossible. Was he thinking?’

"Don’t talk to me," Atlas responded coldly. "I’m thinking about how my sister can avoid prison if she murders me."

Jonathan sighed, exasperated. "You’re still on that?"

His face soured. He would never understand the bizarre "bonding" between Penny and Atlas. If this was some kind of mental exercise, then they both had insane imaginations.

"Apparently, I am," Atlas muttered, as if genuinely troubled by the logistics. "A gruesome death... without getting caught. A perfect crime."

Jonathan smirked, letting out a dry laugh. "There’s no such thing as a perfect crime."

Atlas raised a brow, intrigued.

"If she kills you, she’ll get caught. Mainly because I’ll make sure she gets caught." Jonathan sneered. "I hate your sister and her husband."

Atlas remained silent.

"Even if I wasn’t involved, she’d still get caught," Jonathan continued, the mockery in his voice softening slightly. "There’s no perfect crime. She can try to cover it up all she wants, but it’ll catch up to her faster than she expects."

His expression darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his eyes. "So, either she kills you and goes to prison... or she deals with being your sister. Either way, the best option might just be for you to shoot yourself and give everyone the peace they deserve."

Atlas didn’t even flinch. "I’m not a genie. I don’t grant wishes."

Jonathan twitched. He flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror—Atlas was back to staring out the window.

Shaking his head, Jonathan clicked his tongue and decided never to speak to the man again for his own sanity.