Billion Dollar Revenge (The Lincoln Brothers #2)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Evan

Her head twists to face me, eyes widened slightly. “Now?”

“Yeah, unless you're busy?”

Now, I wish I had kept my mouth shut, but the moment I saw Bobby, her face dropped. Seeing it reminded me of how I felt like when I discovered my fiancée fucking another man. Devastation.

I knew Bobby was dating, but I had no idea he was with Chelsea. If I had, I would’ve told her he was cheating on her and to break things off. No one deserves to feel like that. Bobby told her the same lies my ex told me. Working late.

What a cop out. What's worse is she gave Bobby a way to come clean after she caught him almost kissing Shyla. Karma will get him, just like it did my ex. Knowing the guy Connie cheated on me with and left her for someone else was the best revenge.

“I’m not busy…”

“But?”

“I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Why?” I ask. We’ve hung out before so it shouldn’t be a big deal.

“I thought you’d have somewhere to be.”

Does she think I’m with someone?

We exit and stroll through the lobby. I text my driver to take us to a bar I know has private spots. I’d like to talk to her more, and I don’t want a lot of people around. There’s something about Chelsea that reminds me of myself. A strength in her ability to keep moving forward and stand her ground when the odds are against her. I find it incredibly compelling and attractive. And it’s frustrating because I haven’t been with anyone since my ex, and that was eight years ago. I’m unable to move on from the betrayal.

“Where are we going?” Her sweet voice pulls me away from my phone.

“A bar nearby. It felt like the right private spot.”

“Are you just pitying me?” she asks, almost hesitantly.

“How could you think that?” I ask, my voice steady and sincere. “I want to be here with you.”

“It will be nice to have a chance to get to know you better.”

I doubt that…

I was always the solemn, brooding one. In big groups, you’ll forget I’m there. It’s not that I don’t care. I do, I’m just more comfortable inside myself. I find comfort in my own thoughts and feelings. It helps me handle situations with a calm, centered approach, but it’s also safer. A place I can’t be hurt.

“If I can get to know you…”

She offers me a small smile.

We arrive twenty minutes later, and she pauses before turning and grabbing my suited arm with a gentle squeeze.

“This is around the corner from the studio space.”

I nod.

“This could be trouble,” she murmurs.

I want to reply, but my brain isn’t working properly, her hand is still on me, and I swear the temperature has increased. There's a spark between us. I thought it was just a one-off, but the same thing is happening again.

I’m definitely losing it. I remain silent, as my brain tries to work out what my body is doing. She giggles before shaking her head and removing her hand from me. I want to catch her hand to continue holding her just to see if this weird heart-thumping, overheating feeling will fade. Surely, over time it will, and then I’ll go back to…back to what?

We arrive at a set of steps that leads down to a dark wooden door. It’s an underground bar. Reaching for the handle, I open it for her.

Her eyes flick from me to the door. I see the wheels turning in her head. Instead of speaking, she surprises me by walking past me, her tall frame brushing my chest. My nostrils flare as I follow her inside. I’ll take a guess that no guy has opened any fucking doors for her.

I try to let that wash over me as we make our way inside. I follow behind, watching as she takes in the bar for the very first time. It’s unlike most bars, not dingy or sticky. They have the best cocktails and vibe. If anywhere can get me to relax, it’s here.

The server spots me and ushers us to the corner, where the burgundy lounges are surrounded by curtains. The tealight candle in the middle of the table adds to the mood.

Chelsea takes a seat, and I sit beside her. The server hands us each a menu, but I know what I want.

He says he will come back in a few moments to take our order.

“I feel out of place,” she whispers, her brown eyes inspecting the place before looking down at her sneakers.

I tilt my head to the side, not understanding.

She runs her hand over her training outfit. “I’m not wearing the right outfit for a place like this. Maybe we should go somewhere else?”

My eyes have traced the outline of her delicious curves?enhanced by the figure-hugging material that fits her like a glove?more than just a few times today.

Each time I catch myself, I remind myself she just broke up with Bobby.

“No. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing.”

Her teeth graze her bottom lip, and I watch with fascination. I bring my gaze up to her eyes, noticing they’re heated.

“Thanks, but you’re in a suit.”

It’s silent, but her eyes scan the area around us as she settles into the chair.

“I don’t care what you wear with me.”

Her gaze radiates affection, and silence descends upon us once again. But our eyes stay on each other’s. My mouth suddenly dries from the intensity passing between us.

Like she’s snapping out of a daze, she shifts her attention. “This place is cool.”

“It is.”

“And this menu, I’m going to have trouble deciding what I want.”

“I have a few suggestions.”

Her lips tip up in a smile. She’s incredibly sexy when she gives you one of her genuine smiles.

“Sure.”

I nod and point on her menu at the few that are gin or tequila based. “Women usually want this.”

“I’m not like other women,” she replies with a teasing smirk.

I lean closer, my voice barely a whisper. “No, you’re not.” The electricity between us thickens, a spark of something unspoken hanging in the air.

Her throat works as she swallows. “What are you ordering?”

“Whiskey’s business.”

Her eyes drop to find the name.

“Mmm, cinnamon is my favorite. I think I’ll get that too.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” I want to say, you order vanilla lattes, are you sure you don’t want a sweet drink? But instead, I say, “Order whatever you want.”

Her tongue runs along the base of her full bottom lip, and my mind wanders to what she would taste like with whiskey on her tongue.

I drop my head to the menu and rub my forehead, trying to control my racing heart.

What’s happening to me?

My brain seems to be on a loop of thoughts about the way she smells, what she would taste like, what she would feel like beneath my hands.

Thankfully, she decides to ask a question.

“Can we order something to eat? I’m a little hungry.”

I nod. “They don’t have much for a menu, but we can go somewhere later.”

Her eyes widen as she drops the menu to the table with a thud, fixing me with a sharp gaze. “Later?” she repeats, her tone laced with surprise and curiosity.

I drop my gaze to the menu, focusing intently on the words to avoid the conversation. “They have olives, cheese, and bread.” My fingers fidget with the edge of the menu.

I wasn’t insinuating anything other than if she needed to eat, I’d take her to get food. I don’t know why she acted like I asked her to jump on a plane to Paris.

The server comes back, and we order our food and drinks. I’m supposed to be looking for reasons to find her unattractive because she just broke up with someone else, but I can’t find a single flaw.

“Sorry about the scene I caused with Bobby.”

“I would’ve told you about him…if I had known he was the boyfriend. I mean, your ex-boyfriend.”

Saying those words feel like swallowing poison. The boyfriend .

She dips her chin and laughs. “The older you get, the more lessons you learn.”

“You almost sound…grateful?” I tilt my head to the side, fascinated.

The relief that follows once something toxic ends is a feeling I know all too well.

“I let myself slowly morph into the woman he wanted,” she says. “I used to be fun.”

I don’t know what she was like before. But the few times I’ve seen her, she seemed fun to me. Well, more fun than me…

“I’ve seen you laugh,” I murmur, and it’s probably not the right thing to say, so I add. “I meant…you seem to be happy now.”

Fuck, that sounds so stuck up. Like of course she’d be having a great time with me.

“I feel at ease around you. Like I’m safe… That’s probably weird, sorry.” The tip of her nose flushes the cutest shade of pink.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s actually, um, nice to hear that. I’m normally too intimidating for anyone other than my family to be around.”

She snorts. “I can see how people might think you’re intimidating.”

“Really?”

She opens her mouth to say something else, but the server comes with our drinks and walks away. Picking up her drink, she holds it out, waiting to clink glasses. I can’t remember the last time I had fun just being out and about with someone.

I follow and pick up my glass and clink. “To a good night.”

Nodding, I bring the glass to my lips and welcome the burn down my throat. I watch her over the rim of my glass, expecting her to wince or splutter the drink, but she does neither. Her dark eyes hold mine and we sip while holding gazes. It makes a tingle spread over my skin. Lowering the glass, I clear my throat.

“What do you think?”

She licks her lips, and it's so distracting. I can see her lipstick is coming off, and the natural shade of pink is peeking through on her lips. “It’s delicious.”

Swallowing hard, I shift uncomfortably in my seat, reminding myself that I’m not looking for a relationship. Trust doesn’t come easily to me, and I’m not ready to open my heart.

“What were we saying before the drinks came?” she asks as she settles back into the reddish-brown velvet chair.

“You said people think I’m intimidating.”

She glances away uneasily.

“Is that how you feel about me?”

That has her eyes moving to meet mine. I don’t miss how wide they are.

“Yeah, but mine’s a little different,” she mumbles.

“Start then with why others do.”

The server quietly lowers our snacks down and walks away. I grab a piece of cheese and chew as I watch her do the same.

When she swallows, her eyes flicking up. “I think your quietness can make them unsure about how you feel, so it feels like a threat. People have a hard time reading you.”

“Which is probably why I have a problem with people not giving me their opinions or disagreeing with me. Unless it’s Bobby.”

She giggles at that. Adorably.

I take an olive and pop it into my mouth. “And why are you intimidated by me?”

Her eyes remain fixed on mine, but when her hand trembles to pick up her drink, I smile inside at her nervousness. I’m curious if she’ll be honest or hold back her thoughts.

“You’re successful, strong, intelligent, wise, and confident,” she replies, the flush on her nose spreading to her cheeks.

A slow smile breaks on my face.

“I’m so embarrassed. You probably think I’m envious of you. I promise I’m not. I just admire you.” She picks up her drink and takes a decent sip.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that you intimidate me?”

“No way.” She shakes her head in total disbelief.

“I’m serious. The way you stood up to Bobby, your femininity, your health, your uniqueness, and your hobbies.”

She beams as I trail off the list. I know how damaging to your self-esteem getting cheated on can be. I could barely look at myself in the mirror some days. I wish I had someone there to remind me that I was enough.

“You’re honest, and I can’t tell you how unnerving that is to me.”

“Why?” she breathes, and I feel my own lungs burning with words I’m unsure if I want to speak.

I pick up my drink and take a sip before lowering it and cradling it between my fingers on the table. “I have a past too.”

“We all have one. You know mine.”

I nod. That's the problem, hers is too similar to mine. The only difference is she wasn’t engaged to be married to Bobby.

My teeth grind together. Why does that thought anger me?

“Yes, and mine isn’t so different.”

I can’t believe this is seriously leaving my mouth right now. I blame the way her firm dark eyes bore into mine, and I can’t help but blurt everything to her.

I want to help her heal.

But how can I tell her how to heal if I’m still not quite there yet? And it’s been almost eight fucking years.

When I’m around Chelsea, I act differently, and it’s something I can’t ignore. The honesty in my admission catches me off guard because I haven’t felt this way in a long time…if ever. It leaves me feeling conflicted. On one hand, she challenges me to open up, but on the other, I worry that it could mean I’m losing control. What makes Chelsea special is how unafraid she is to be herself; it makes me want to push past my fears and see where this connection could lead. So, I take a deep breath and share my humiliating past.

“My fiancée cheated on me, and I found out the day we were getting married.”

She heaves an audible breath, and her eyes widen at the same time her hand flies up to cover her open mouth.

“I had naked photos sent to me as I was getting into my suit.”