I got out of the Buick before he made it to his German sedan.

“Patrick.”

He stopped three feet from his driver’s door, his brows drawing together into a hard line.

His right hand went straight up to adjust his expensive gold cufflinks.

“What are you doing here, Serena?” he asked, his voice sinking into the quiet, condescending tone he used whenever anyone questioned his authority.

“This is a private corporate facility.”

“We need to talk about the March fourteenth addendum,” I said, keeping my coat wrapped tightly around my middle.

“The signature on that legal page is forged.”