You Looked Down on Me Once Now You Look Up (Patricia and Oliver) novel Chapter 554

Patricia had Oliver all figured out by now.

If you asked him for permission, the only right answer was yes. Say no, and he’d throw a fit. Seriously—he’d get mad every single time. Then you’d have to bend over backwards to calm him down. Might as well just agree and save yourself the hassle.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come get you. Just wait for me,” she said.

Jackson came back, juggling a giant cup of frog-milk bubble tea, just as Patricia told him to head to Pacific Capital.

He nearly dropped his drink. “Are you kidding? We’re almost home, and you want to drive half an hour in the opposite direction to pick someone up at Pacific Capital?”

“For what? Picking up Mr. Padilla? What, does he not have a car? Or a driver? Can’t you find something better to do with your life?” he complained.

Patricia didn’t even blink. “A thousand. Shut up.”

Jackson’s mood did a complete 180. “Thank you, boss!” He couldn’t say no—he was desperate for cash these days.

Ever since Patricia took his cards, he’d been living off a tiny monthly allowance. Going from having six figures in savings to barely scraping by on five grand a month was pure torture. He wanted to cry every time he checked his account.

By 8 PM, Riverdale’s second rush hour was in full swing. They snaked their way off the side street and onto the cross-district bridge, crawling through bumper-to-bumper traffic. Jackson kept glaring at the navigation, which kept repeating, “Speed limit seventy.” He finally snapped, shut it off, and muttered, “Seventy? I’d be lucky to hit seven at this rate. How about you come push the car yourself?”

Patricia just let him rant. She knew Jackson was all talk, no action.

After what felt like forever, they finally inched off the bridge, but just as they thought they could catch a break, the main road into the financial district was jammed up too.

“Oh, come on! This is tighter than the hair on Aiden’s arms,” Jackson grumbled.

“So annoying,” Patricia said, cracking a smile.

She was about to say something else when Jackson’s phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen, then quickly looked away, giving Patricia a shifty look.

She immediately got it and held out her hand. “Hand it over.”

“Huh?”

“Do you have some time soon? Mom’s thinking of making some pie. Come home for dinner, okay?”

Jackson was ready to agree—he just wanted to end the call as fast as possible. But then he caught Patricia’s death glare and froze.

“No time,” he said, stiff as a board.

“Well, then, I’ll just say it now. Do you have any money left, sweetie? That house I bought still needs some renovations. I’m just a little short—not much, just thirty grand.”

Patricia actually laughed, more out of disbelief than anything.

She pressed a hand to her chest, took a deep breath, and let loose. “Cecilia, if you had even a shred of shame, you wouldn’t be calling Jackson for money. You bought a fully renovated house and now you need renovations? What are you fixing, your own grave? Weren’t you the one who said you just wanted to live a simple life? So go live it! When you decided to ditch your own son, did you think about what you’d do now?”

“Thirty grand isn’t much? Then go ask someone else. Honestly, do you even have any self-respect?”

“And just so you know, bank transfers leave a paper trail. You’d better return the fifty grand you already took, or I’ll see you in court.”