𝒹𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝒾𝑜𝓇 .•* PATRICK BATEMAN

11. I feel lethal

Paul Allen loomed in front of you with his arms crossed and a wide stance.  Your heart raced, heat rising to your face, although you knew you didn't have anything to be embarrassed about.  Your eyes lingered on his porcelain forehead for no reason other than it was easier to look at than his eyes.

"Halberstram doesn't even work on this floor," you stated, shooting a glance toward Patrick who chose not to engage in the conversation at all. 

"My apologies, there's just so many of you," Paul laughed, shifting forward on his feet. His apology sounded too light hearted to be genuine.  "Bateman, then, right?"

Patrick nodded stiffly, much like a soldier. His voice, which you'd hardly realized had become more expressive with you, was suddenly cold again. "How's the Fisher account?"

You shot him a pained look, desperate to avoid hearing about that all over again. Patrick had no clue, too busy giving Paul a stern stare.

"It's excellent, but I don't think either of us wants to hear about that," Paul Allen replied with a wave of his hand. You were grateful for that, at least.

Patrick's teeth clenched. His eyes were hard, staring down Paul Allen like he might make him explode. Only you seemed to notice his hackles raised, though, as Paul's eyes were trained on you.

With a charming smile, Paul redirected the conversation. "What we're both interested in, I'm sure, is what you're doing for dinner tonight."

You pursed your lips at the question, trying to generate a response that would shut him down without getting caught in a lie. "Oh, I'm doing something with family. You know how it is."

The lie came out smoothly through your teeth, almost as though it really was truth. You hoped he wouldn't start asking for names.

"That's a shame," Paul Allen replied, something similar to a frown crossing his face. It seemed more sinister, manipulative. "I have a reservation at 1500 tonight and nobody to share it with."

Patrick stood there, running the kill he could've sworn he committed through his head. Imaging Paul's head exploding off his face. Imagining him falling out the fiftieth story window.

You clearly already said no. He clearly wasn't going to get whatever he wanted from you.

Paul Allen was going to die twice, that fucker. Patrick would make sure of it.

You allowed him a tight smile and held your hands in front of you.  "That's a very generous offer, but family comes first and-"

"I don't appreciate your frequent attempts to ask out my girlfriend," Patrick remarked.  His voice was  more confrontational than you'd ever heard it and as you looked up at him, his features seemed to darken.

Girlfriend?  Your heart swelled at the term, something that would've seemed like a dream a few weeks ago.  You weren't sure how much it meant, considering he had yet to officially dump Evelyn (and the fact he was talking to you with a fianceé), but it was definitely a step in a direction you'd like to take.

It's safe to say you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

"Girlfriend?" Paul Allen asked, an eyebrow quirking ever so slightly.  His voice spiked, likely unintentional.