Chapter 559 The Budding Affection Between James and Patricia
James caught sight of Patricia's embarrassed countenance, her cheeks aflame as if she wished to vanish into the ether. A fleeting flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, quickly concealed as he averted his gaze.
"What will it be, Patricia?" he asked, his voice laced with mirth. "Shall we venture out for breakfast, or would you prefer I warm something up for you?"
Patricia, in an attempt to regain her composure, shook her head vigorously, her palms cupping her heated face, seeking solace in the coolness of her hands.
"I think I'll just grab something casual here at the hotel," she managed to utter.
"Very well," James responded, nodding in agreement. "You freshen up, and I'll see to our breakfast."
He turned to leave, but abruptly paused. With a few purposeful strides, he was standing before Patricia. He bent down, his gaze unwavering as he peered into her moist eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Your face is quite flushed. Were you perhaps dreaming of something?" he teased.
"Ah..."
His words, though innocent, painted a vivid picture in Patricia's mind - an image of the two of them, entwined in sleep. Her eyes darted guiltily, her cheeks deepening in hue as she shyly avoided his gaze.
For reasons unknown to her, even without seeing his eyes, she could feel his gaze lingering on her face. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath hitching slightly. James found this side of Patricia endearing, his amusement growing, fueling his desire to tease her further.
"Did I guess correctly? Were you dreaming? And was I, perchance, the protagonist of your dream?"
A loud 'bang' echoed in Patricia's mind, akin to an explosion. She felt a sudden surge of embarrassment, as if she stood bare before James. If this continued, her secrets would undoubtedly be laid bare. A cocktail of nervousness and shyness coursed through her veins.
In a sudden burst of energy, she sprang from the bed, pushing James towards the door. "My face isn't red; you're imagining things! I'm famished. Get to breakfast already. A big guy like you, always thinking such nonsense..."
Half pushed, half willingly, James found himself being ushered out of the room. Patricia quickly shut the door, leaning against it with her left hand clutching her pounding heart, while her right hand fanned her heated cheeks.
That was a close call.
She had almost let James discover her secret.
If he knew about her dream, about them sleeping together, she would be mortified to face him again. But the dream had felt so real, it was hard to believe it was merely a figment of her imagination.
Patricia retreated to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and dousing her face with cold water until the heat gradually subsided. Embarrassed to face James, she lingered in the bathroom as long as she could, until she could delay no longer. With a heavy sigh, she slowly emerged from the room.
By this time, James had reverted to his usual demeanor. He was ensconced on the couch, engrossed in the documents pertinent to the impending collaboration with Nexus Holdings Corporation. The sound of the door opening didn't distract him; he merely called out without lifting his gaze, "Breakfast's ready for you. It's on the table. Help yourself."
Patricia, entering the room, found herself twisting the hem of her dress nervously, biting her lower lip. She was suddenly aware of a palpable awkwardness that seemed to reside solely within her.
It was clear that someone hadn't taken the matter to heart at all.
A strange, indescribable emotion began to stir within her.
She felt a flicker of anger.
Yet, she felt she had no right to be angry.
Regardless, she found it difficult to suppress her feelings.
James, completely absorbed in the documents before him, remained oblivious to her discomfort. He continued, "I've asked Nathan to arrange a hospital visit. After breakfast, we'll take Charlotte for a check-up."
Patricia's response was indifferent, her mood unaltered, and she failed to notice his authoritative manner of issuing orders to Alan and Nathan.
James, still not meeting her gaze, added, "Alan has already reached out to Maximilian. We'll meet him in his hotel suite at seven o'clock tonight."
Patricia responded faintly once more before moving towards the dining table to eat.
It was only then that James finally registered her unusual demeanor. He lifted his gaze from the documents to look at her with concern, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
Patricia picked up a piece of toast and took a bite, shaking her head.
James was puzzled.
If he still thought she was fine, then all his years of experience were for nothing.
Setting aside the documents, James walked over and sat opposite Patricia, reaching out to feel her forehead, only to have her evade his hand.
"I'm not feverish."
"Then what's wrong?" he asked, "You look pale."
Patricia forced down the dry toast.
She had a preference for soups.
But she wasn't opposed to Western meals either.
When she had traveled abroad with Charles and Fannie years ago, she had quickly adapted to having toast for breakfast. But at that moment, the toast tasted bland and was difficult to swallow.
"I just had a nightmare last night and didn't sleep well. I'll be fine after some rest at noon."
"Are you sure?" James pressed, still worried.
She nodded.
James watched her for a while longer, but seeing no other signs of distress besides her pale complexion, he eventually relaxed and returned to the couch to review the documents.
Patricia sat in silence, her mind awash with unspoken questions.
After breakfast, James and Patricia headed to the police station to pick up Charlotte and took her to the hospital.
On the journey, Patricia maintained a stern expression, not uttering a single word.
James, bewildered, scratched his head, finally realizing that Patricia was angry with him.
But why? He hadn't offended her, had he?
He attempted to initiate a conversation, to break the awkward silence.
Unfortunately, Patricia flatly ignored him, turning her head to look out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.
James sighed inwardly, unsure of how to proceed, feeling nothing but helplessness.
Charlotte's condition was still severe. She cowered in a corner at the sight of James as if she had mistaken him for Martin. She kept apologizing and begging for mercy, as though James was Martin's ghost, coming for revenge.
Nathan had consulted with Lachlan, one of the nation's top neurology experts, for Charlotte.
After conducting a series of thorough examinations on Charlotte,
Lachlan, while sighing, explained, "Based on the examination, she has post-traumatic stress disorder, which is typically categorized into six levels. She's currently at level four, and the likelihood of recovery is not very promising. All I can suggest is that we start with medication and see how it goes. You should brace yourselves for the outcome."
His words were gentle, but both Patricia and James understood the grim implication.
Charlotte's condition seemed beyond healing.
However, as a doctor, Lachlan could not give up on any patient.
Patricia's brows were furrowed tightly.
If Charlotte couldn't recover, remaining unhinged, how would Patricia get the truth out of her?
What Charlotte had been through lately held no interest for Patricia.
She just wanted to know if it was Charlotte or Hunter who had killed Martin.
If Charlotte were responsible for Martin's death, Patricia wouldn't let her go unpunished.
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