"no," patrick scoffed with distaste, his eyes narrowing almost in accusation. you'd just called him your sugar daddy— how tacky. although, it was true. you were handful of years younger than him and yes, he kept you around by flaunting his money and letting you use his shiny american express platinum card on whatever you wanted.

you thought it was only skin deep; he knew you were attractive, you knew you were attractive, everyone knew that much. truth be told, however, there were... other feelings. strange feelings bateman had never felt before. love? no, impossible. possessiveness? perhaps, more likely than one might think. and yet, he remained painfully confused.

you were more than just a pretty face; you were smart, you were actually funny, you had class and morales. most importantly, however, and his main point— you were his. not just some sugar baby to keep around for a quick fuck and some arm candy.

"you're my..." he exhaled deeply from his nose, waving a hand nonchalantly in the air, "significant other." the statement was not convincing, however. it sounded more like a question rather than what he was trying to pass off as common knowledge. god, this dinner was going worse than he thought. "enough about that," he slid his hand over the table, his fingers intertwining with your own, "how is the wine? you look lovely tonight." thanks to his bank account.