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“What—” I start to ask him what he’s doing here, but he barely glances in my direction before he aims his glare at something behind me. I don’t even have to look to know he’s zeroed in on James.
He steps clear of the car and into the reception area, feet planted while he tracks James movements behind me like he’s prey. Like he’s here to rip out his throat with his bare teeth. I look down at the bat he has in his hand, gripped so tight it looks like he’s choking it to death.
“No,” I shout, pushing the flat of my hands against his chest, shoving him backward. I drop my keys, but I don’t stop. I keep pushing until we’re in the elevator. He’s glaring down at me, a mixture of surprise and rage—like he’s surprised I’m here. Angry that I stopped him from doing what he came here to do. In the reception area behind us, people start to cough as the chemical cloud I unleashed in James’s office starts to drift into the open area.
“Move,” he growls in my face, trying to shove me out of the way so he can do what he came here to do.
“Please, Patrick—” My voice breaks on a sob. I suddenly don’t feel like I’ve won the Boston Marathon. I feel like my ex-boyfriend just beat me up and tried to blackmail me. “please, just take me home.”
He finally looks at me, really looks at me.
Shifting his gaze, he stares at James over my shoulder. “She just saved your fucking life,” Patrick says to him, just as the elevator doors slide closed.