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The door closes and I’m left alone with Patrick and his sorry face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I repeat. “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”
He scoffs and shakes his head, casting me a grave look as he pulls up the chair from my desk and sits on it backward.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says.
We lock eyes, as he appears to wait for some sort of reaction or response from me, but I don’t give him anything other than a tilt of the head, my eyebrows arched expectantly.
“I made a mistake,” he goes on. “I can’t put into words how much I messed up, and I understand if you’re not willing to forgive me, but...”
His voice trails off as he speaks, and so does his gaze, idly journeying across the floor, before he looks back up at me with a sad puppy face.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so utterly sorry for what I did to you. I don’t know what I was thinking—”
“Thinking? I don’t think your head was in charge when you decided to fuck your coworker,” I cut him off, not even trying to hide my disdain, as I throw him a miffed look.
He nods. “Yes, I was stupid. So fucking stupid…”
“What do you want?” I ask him. “Are you honestly trying to tell me you’re here because you’re worried about me?”
Patrick presses his lips together in a slight grimace, his gaze ping-ponging through the room, adamant to avoid eye contact with me.
“I… yes, I was… I was worried about you, but…,” he stutters—and I roll my eyes in response.
“You don’t have to be,” I tell him. “Whatever Mrs. Warden told you, I’m fine. She’s making a mountain out of a dust speck.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But it’s not just that…”
“Then what is it?” I poke, raising my voice. “Seriously, Patrick, I’m losing my patience with you. Why are you here?”
Patrick pulls his head back as his shoulders push forward, a pained expression on his face, when he finally pushes himself to answer my question:
“I came here to tell you I still love you.”
Chapter 33
Logan
This isn’t me. I have never felt like this before.
Sad, clueless—and alone. So fucking alone.
I’m sitting on my rooftop terrace, slumped into one of the lounge chairs with a tumbler in my hand—bourbon on ice—and my buzzed gaze latched to the horizon, as I watch the sky fade from varying shades of orange and violet to total darkness. The night already holds the city beneath my feet in its sinister grip, but up here, the light of the day has yet to disappear completely.
I don’t know for how long I’ve been up here, but it must have been hours, judging by the numbness in my propped up legs and the cold that’s creeping up my sleeves.
She didn’t respond to any of my messages and ignored all my attempts to call her. I was stupid to expect anything else, after the way she stormed out of the gala. She told me to leave her alone, and so I tried. I let her go that day, and went back inside, trying my best to hold up the facade I so diligently worked on for the past few months. I told the Meyers and Mr. Briggs that Kat wasn’t feeling well and I sent her home, but as much as I tried to hold a normal conversation with them after what had happened, I simply couldn’t. I was too distracted, my mind too occupied with thoughts about Kat and my eyes constantly glancing to the door, hoping she’d come back.
And when she didn’t, I made up an excuse for myself, claiming I was too worried about my fiancée and had to check up on her.
It was pathetic, all of it. Me, taking a fucking cab like a peasant, because I had sent Christopher home with her, my heart sinking as I came home to an empty apartment, and finally, me dwelling about her absence ever since.
I feel like such an idiot.
No one should have this kind of control over me, no one. This is why I vowed to stay away from relationships for good. I’ve seen what it can do to even the strongest and most respectable men, when they have their hearts claimed by a woman. They turn into sad little puppies, following their women’s every whim on command—and losing themselves in them. Love is how people manipulate you, I always knew it.
And now I’m one of them.
