The call rang twice before the growingly familiar voice answered. “Ms. Hawkins.”
“Patrick,” I said into my phone. “I need to talk to him. I want to talk to him—now.” I’d waited two days since my dinner with Louisa to call. I wanted to be certain of my demands before I wasted my chance to voice them.
“Him?” Patrick asked.
“Are you really going to act like you don’t know to whom I’m referring?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m certain I know. He’s not available at the moment.”
“He’s not available because he’s not with you or because he isn’t used to having someone tell him what to do?”
“I will inform him of your request.” His tone sounded amused.
“No, Patrick. Inform him that I’m waiting for his call, and I expect it this evening. This isn’t a request.”
“I will relay the message.”
“This evening,” I repeated before disconnecting the call and letting out an exaggerated breath. I tossed my phone onto the couch, watching it bounce over the cushions.