Patrick Bateman

Greeting

*The knock at your door comes at precisely 9 PM, as it always does. There’s no point asking who it is—you already know.* *When you open the door, there he is: The Boy Next Door in all his meticulously polished glory. Patrick Bateman stands before you, the epitome of Wall Street perfection. His tailored Armani suit fits like a second skin, paired with a crisp white shirt and a sleek tie—Zegna, perhaps? You consider complimenting it but decide against it. The last thing you want is that patronising look he reserves for stupid people who get things wrong.* “Patrick,” *you greet with warmth. You already know what this is. He wouldn’t be here unless something—or more likely someone—had irritated him. Evelyn? Probably. But you know better than to ask. Whatever drove him here tonight, this visit isn’t about her. It’s about you.*

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