Chapter 147 Confrontation in the Stairwell

Chapter 147 Confrontation in the Stairwell
Christina: POV

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. 

Maybe if I wished hard enough, Patrick Brown would just disappear. 

I'd been successfully avoiding him for nearly a year, and now here he was, materializing at my office like some ghost from my past.

When I opened my eyes and tried to slip away, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, spinning me around before I could escape. 

Patrick's eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip.

"Going somewhere?" He asked.

His suit jacket hung casually over one arm, the crisp white dress shirt underneath highlighting his athletic build in a way that was seriously unfair.

I tugged at my blazer, trying to look anywhere but at him. 

"I, um... have a design meeting to get to."

Patrick reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. 

The screen clearly displayed a call log with "Christina P." listed over twenty times—all from this morning, all unanswered.

"A meeting?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression caught between amusement and irritation. 

"Your priorities seem pretty scrambled. Didn't notice you being this busy."

Panic flooded through me. 

I frantically rummaged through my handbag. 

"My phone died."

Without missing a beat, Patrick dialed my number. 

Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" immediately started blaring from inside my purse, completely betraying me. 

I bit my lip, mortified as the irony of the ringtone wasn't lost on either of us.

"Can we not do this here?" I glanced around nervously. 

We were standing in the middle of my office, and several colleagues were already looking our way with undisguised curiosity.

I grabbed Patrick's wrist and pulled him toward the emergency stairwell, my heels clicking rapidly against the floor. 

Once inside, the heavy door swung shut behind us, sealing us in the cold, concrete space.

Patrick tossed his suit jacket over the handrail and backed me against the wall, effectively trapping me. 

"Okay, no audience now. Tell me why you've been dodging my calls."

"Last night wasn't... I wasn't myself," I stammered, pressing my back against the cool concrete.

"That's not how I remember it," Patrick's voice dropped lower, his eyes darkening. 

"Last night, after a few drinks, you said I was the sexiest man in New York. You also mentioned my abs were the best in the world."

My face burned hot enough to set off the fire alarms. 

"I don't remember saying that."

"You also said I looked 'criminally good' in my Tom Ford suit." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

"Then you kissed me and called me 'Pat-brother.'"

"Enough!" I covered my face with both hands, mortification washing over me in waves. 

Without thinking, I suddenly rose onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his in a kiss that was equal parts defiance and desperation.

When I pulled back seconds later, I shoved at his chest. 

"It's all your fault! You seduced me! Who told you to keep looking at me like that?"

Patrick stared at me for one stunned second before leaning down to kiss me again, deeper this time. 

The cold stairwell suddenly felt way too hot as I found myself responding, my hands clutching at his shoulders.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathing hard. 

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

His fingers gently traced my cheek. 

"You know I'd never force you into anything. But I'm not going to let you keep running away either."

"You can't just walk back into my life after a year and expect—"

"You're not leaving New York, Christina," Patrick stated with absolute certainty. 

"Jane needs you. Your design business is here. Everything that matters to you is here." His fingers lightly traced my jawline. 

"Including me."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore how his touch sent shivers down my spine. 

A year apart hadn't changed anything—my body still responded to him like we'd never been separated.

Patrick leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes intensely focused. 

"So, want to date? Continue dating, actually. A year ago, you just disappeared on your own. We never officially broke up. So technically, you're still my girlfriend."

My mouth opened to protest, but nothing came out. 

Was he serious? After everything, after a whole year of silence, he was acting like we could just pick up where we left off?

The worst part was... a small, traitorous part of me wanted exactly that.

"Patrick, you can't just—"

"I can," he said with maddening confidence. 

"And I am. Ball's in your court now, Christina."

Patrick stepped closer, his voice dropping to that persuasive tone that had always been my weakness.

"Look, I'm not pressuring you to get married," he said, his eyes holding mine. 

"We can just date. And you could move in with me. Manhattan rent is ridiculous, and that shoebox apartment you're in—how much are you blowing every month just to live there?"

Of course he remembered my complaints about rent. 

I'd told him during those nights in Colorado about my dream of owning my own place in the city.

"Move in with me," he continued, his confidence somehow both infuriating and attractive. 

"I'll cover all the expenses. We're just dating, not getting married."

The way he emphasized "not getting married" told me he knew exactly what buttons to push.

"And if you ever get sick of me, you can just walk away," he added with a shrug that didn't quite match the intensity in his eyes. 

"No strings."

Yeah, right. 

As if anything with Patrick Brown could ever be "no strings." But I couldn't deny the logic was appealing.

"You don't want marriage, fine. We'll just date," he pressed, sensing my wavering resolve. 

"And last night... are you really going to tell me you didn't enjoy it? Because your body was pretty clear about how much you liked it."

My cheeks burned at the memory. 

Damn him.

"Who else knows exactly what you like?" he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against my ear. 

"You even smell like me right now. We still fit together perfectly."

He wasn't wrong. 

I'd used his shower gel last night, and the familiar scent clung to my skin, a constant reminder of where I'd been and what we'd done.

My mind was a mess. 

Logically, everything he said made sense, but...

But what? 

Free housing, no utilities to pay, access to Patrick's gourmet kitchen, and his body heat on cold nights.

It was the deal of a lifetime.

And most importantly: NO MARRIAGE. 

No commitment. 

No being trapped.

Only a fool would say no to this arrangement, and I definitely wasn't a fool.

"Okay, okay, okay," I nodded quickly, the words tumbling out before I could overthink it.

Patrick's face lit up with triumph before he leaned in to kiss me again, his lips warm and insistent against mine.

"Stop kissing me!" I pushed him back, suddenly aware of where we were. 

"I have to work. You need to go!"

Patrick almost laughed, and I couldn't blame him.

Hadn't I just kissed him first a few minutes ago?

My inconsistency was giving me whiplash; I couldn't imagine how it felt to him.

He made a low sound of disapproval but stepped back, running his hand through his hair. 

"I'll pick you up after work."

"Fine," I said, gesturing with my eyes for him to leave.

And then he was gone, the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

Only when I was alone did I allow myself to press my hand against my chest, feeling my heart racing beneath my palm.

God. Patrick. Patrick. Patrick!

How did he get like this? 

He wasn't this persuasive one year ago! 

What happened in the time we were apart?

I covered my face with my hands, rubbing vigorously as if I could erase the flush I knew was there.

Back at my desk, I couldn't control the happy little hum that escaped me. 

I needed to tell Jane about this immediately.

After disappearing with Patrick in front of everyone at the wedding, she must be worried.

I quickly opened my messages, only to find several texts from Jane already waiting.

[Jane]: [Christina, what's going on with you and Patrick? Fill me in ASAP!]