You Looked Down on Me Once Now You Look Up (Patricia and Oliver) novel Chapter 121

The conference room was huge and painfully quiet. All the executives sat stiff as boards, barely daring to breathe. Except for the man at the head of the table. He looked completely relaxed, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world.

Oliver: “Pick one up for Aunt Patricia while you’re at it.”

Sara: “It’s so expensive. I can’t afford it!”

Oliver: “Just put it on my card when you get back.”

Sara: [Kneeling emoji]

“Thank you, Uncle Oliver!”

At ten thirty, Patricia crawled into bed and pulled the covers up. On her nightstand was a bottle of rose essential oil—a bit of a fail, since she’d bought the pure kind by mistake. You couldn’t use it straight on your skin. She thought about finding something to dilute it, but after searching around her room she came up empty.

Ever since her leg had healed, Patricia had gotten into the habit of massaging her joints. It kept her limber, and honestly, her legs had never looked better. It had just become part of her routine.

She stood in her doorway for a second, then decided to go ask Sara if she could borrow some oil. The moment she stepped out, she nearly ran right into someone.

She staggered back, almost losing her balance, but a strong hand caught her by the shoulder.

“You okay?” The voice was deep, steady.

“I’m fine,” Patricia said, a little breathless. She looked up. Oliver was standing there, perfectly put together in a sharp three-piece suit. Everything about him was crisp and expensive, but not flashy. Compared to Theo’s model good looks, Oliver had the vibe of an old-school British gentleman from the seventies.

“Heading downstairs?” he asked.

Patricia quickly looked away. “No, I just wanted to see if Sara had some essential oil I could borrow.”

A moment later, Oliver came out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower. He was wearing a robe, steam still curling around him, all the sharp edges of his business persona softened.

“Need any help?” His voice was gentle, just like that first day she’d met him on the private jet.

Patricia hesitated. She still didn’t know how she felt about Oliver. Sometimes he seemed so genuine—other times, it felt like maybe he was just playing a part. She didn’t quite trust him with her heart.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

Oliver sat across from her and reached for her ankle, resting her foot on his knee. The sudden touch made her flinch, but he held her gently.

“You say no to me a lot, Patricia.” His tone was calm, almost tired—not angry, just a little sad.

He took the oil from her hands and began to help, steady and sure. “I’m not Theo. I don’t do sweet talk or empty promises. But with my wife—with the woman I love—I’m always honest. That’s my promise to you.”