Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 35

Oof. If only he didn't say ‘please.'

It's weird, seeing him respond like a real person. Dangerous, too, for reasons I prefer not to dwell on.

Calling him Patton feels even weirder, but somehow, I don't quite know how to just shut it down.

He's technically right. Everyone else here does call him that.

There's an odd sort of chain of command with names and titles at Higher Ends.

For him, it's younger brother syndrome, I suppose. That's what our lead cleaning lady told me last week when I mentioned it.

"If you insist." I try not to smirk as I shake my head. "Patton it is."

Part of me thinks I should offer the same thing back and tell him to call me Salem. Not that he's needed permission lately. But it brings back memories of a night that never should've happened on a riverboat casino, and asking him adds a layer of intimacy.

"Thanks." He leans against the wall. "Mr. Rory's my old man's name and Archer's sometimes. I want nothing to do with it."

I'm surprised he sounds so harsh. Huh.

I've also never heard anyone mention a Rory senior before.

There are the three brothers, and I've heard of a Mrs. Rory floating around town like a very rich social butterfly, but there's never been a patriarch figure making his presence known.

Bad blood, maybe? Or is his dad no longer around?

I hate how I want to know, and how he keeps humanizing himself without really trying.

"I get it," I say. "Miss Hopper feels like my mother sometimes. She's Mrs., of course, but you know what I mean."

He nods like he understands. Must it always be so awkward?

But Patton Rory stands in my office and looks at me like he can read the thoughts in my head. Worse, like he doesn't hate what he sees.

Who are you and what have you done with my grumpybutt boss?

It almost makes me think of that night again and the easy laughs we shared—until I remember my promise to never go there again.

"What else is on your mind lately?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

My eyes snag on his figure as he slouches.

God, even when he isn't trying, he slays.

I wonder if I've messed up. Maybe it's weird hearing about his mom from me and getting so personal.

"Patton, I just meant—" "It's not a bad thought."

I do a double take, blinking.

"It's not? Am I dreaming?" Yes, my mouth runs away with itself again.

His eyes brighten. Their glacial, soulless blue doesn't feel as arctic as usual.

"Don't get carried away," he says with a sly whisper of a smile. "I'll ask my mother for recommendations. If you can find enough room in the budget to get these soaps into every room, it's a deal."

"Of course I will!" I'm gushing confidence now. All because a man whose approval I'm not supposed to care about hasn't blown my idea out of the water.

If anything, he seems surprised, but in a good way. Not like when Arlo kicked him in the shin.

"Before I ask, do you have any sellers in mind?"

"I can have a look around locally and see what matches our aesthetic.

Otherwise, I'm happy to check out whatever you bring back."