You Looked Down on Me Once Now You Look Up (Patricia and Oliver) novel Chapter 310

Atticus and Maggie were coming, and they weren’t the type to mess around. There was no way Patricia could get out of seeing them.

She hung up the phone and shot a cautious glance at Oliver.

“My uncle’s here. I have to go over.”

“I’ll come with you?”

Patricia almost jumped. Together? Oh, absolutely not. No way.

With the way things were between them, if Atticus found out, he’d either break Oliver’s legs or hers. Possibly both.

She shrank back, shifting her legs awkwardly. “It’s all a bit last minute. Maybe another time?”

Oliver’s eyes locked onto hers, intense and searching. “So is it really ‘another time,’ or are you just scared to introduce me as your husband to your uncle?”

He studied her face, drinking in every little flicker of emotion. He loved how she’d get all twisted up inside, her expressions fluttering across her face. According to Sara, he had a thing for her conflicted looks—kind of twisted, honestly.

Patricia frowned, wrestling with herself. “You think I wouldn’t? Would you really go if I did?”

Oliver moved closer, a teasing smile on his lips. “I’d go. Would you actually bring me, Pattie?”

Of course she wouldn’t. She didn’t have it in her.

If she brought along some harmless, baby-faced guy, Atticus would just scold her for being careless. But Oliver? That would be asking for disaster.

Total disaster.

She grabbed her coat and made a break for the door, calling Aiden to come pick her up. She made sure to drag Jackson along, too.

In the back seat, Patricia leaned her head on her hand, lost in thought.

Jackson kept glancing at her, looking like he had a million things he wanted to say.

“What’s got you all worked up, Miss?”

“Nothing,” Patricia said with a sigh.

Jackson swirled his lollipop around. “You don’t have to say it—I already know.”

Oliver staying behind meant he couldn’t show up in front of Atticus, and whatever the old man said was obviously what had Patricia so tied in knots.

Patricia hustled Jackson and Aiden upstairs.

Jackson leaned against the elevator wall, grumbling, “I’m the patient here, remember?”

Patricia shot back, “You’re a patient, not a corpse. With the way you’re talking, I’d say you’re fully healed.”

Jackson pouted. “It’s my arm that’s hurt, not my mouth.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’ve got a problem, go tell Chelsea yourself.”

Jackson shrank back. No way was he going to do that.

Inside, the housekeepers were working like their lives depended on it.

Patricia pitched in, changing the linens in the guest room. Jackson and Aiden rushed to haul bags of trash downstairs.

They managed to get everything spotless and send the cleaners off with five minutes to spare.

Patricia threw open the windows, hoping to air out the strong smell of cleaning products before Atticus and Maggie arrived.