Billion Dollar Revenge (The Lincoln Brothers #2)

9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Evan

Reaching across the table, she lays her hand on top of mine. “I am so sorry.”

I nod, remove my hand, pick up my drink, and take a sip.

The alcohol warms me, but whether it’s the alcohol or just Chelsea’s presence, I can’t quite tell, though I find myself relaxing more than I thought. I’m shocked I confided something only my brothers know to her. I usually keep that part of my past to myself, as it’s too humiliating to speak about. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, but that’s not what’s happening here. Chelsea’s reaction isn’t pity; she’s genuinely shocked.

I fall silent, not wanting to delve deeper into that topic. There’s nothing more to say. We separated, and I haven't seen or spoken to her since.

“Let’s not talk about it tonight,” Chelsea suggests, grabbing a piece of bread and taking a bite.

I’m glad she doesn’t push for more. I appreciate how she respects my need for space; she has no idea how much that simple little gesture affects me. I feel like I’ve known her all my life…We share the same values, want for complete honesty, and the way we appreciate genuine communication.

Chelsea looks beautiful under the dim lights, as she reclines in her chair. I shift my gaze to the bread, contemplating what to say next.

What do I really want to know?

“Are you close with your family?” I ask, grabbing a piece of bread and chewing it slowly. Her face lights up.

I ease back, relieved we left the ex conversation behind.

“I’m extremely close with my family. They are everything to me.”

I nod, my heart pounding. Another commonality we share.

“My parents actually gave me the money for the studio.”

“Where are they?”

“They don’t live here. I left my hometown in Connecticut to come to New York two years ago. I knew there were more opportunities for me as a Pilates instructor here.”

I nod once more, agreeing. The wellness scene here is thriving, so her studio has great potential to be successful.

“Why did you wait this long to start a studio?”

She seems intelligent and capable enough to have already purchased and be in business already.

Her eyes shift away before meeting mine again. “Bobby didn’t see it as a career; he thought Pilates was just a hobby.”

I shift in my seat, giving her my full attention. I can sense the hurt in her words, and it pisses me off that he’d diminish her passion that way. “I met Bobby shortly after arriving in New York,” she says quietly.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” I ask. I wonder if her friends and family knew what kind of man he was.

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Anna. She’s younger, studying psychology. She also hated Bobby.”

“Weren’t your parents bothered by him?” I ask incredulously.

“My parents are incredibly kind; they just wanted me to be happy. I actually wish Bobby had met them.”

“He never met them?” I grunt, gripping the arm of the chair.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Two years.”

I glare at her and grit my teeth so hard, my jaw aches.

She sighs, though there’s strain in it. “And all he did was leave me hurt.”

“You mean humiliated,” I correct gently.

She nods, her eyes dropping.

I want to hurt him too. My fingers curl into a ball on my lap. The other one settles on the back of the chair.

“And your family?” she asks, her eyes lift to mine again.

I’m the quiet Lincoln child who always had his head absorbed in a fiction book under an oak tree while my rowdy brothers played together in the backyard.

“I’m close with mine too. I’m the eldest of three brothers, and I inherited the business from my father, but I suppose you already know that.”

She nods, her teeth catching her lip. “Does your dad involve himself with the business?”

I shake my head. “No, I grew up working with him. I’ve expanded it since taking over. If anything, my father is proud of what I’ve done with it.” I sigh before adding, “But that’s because I’ve sacrificed everything.”

“So that’s why you mentioned being intimidated by my social skills,” she teases.

“Exactly. I’ve given everything to The New York Press. I love it, but I’m almost forty, and all I have is money and a successful business.”

Holy fuck. She does it again, effortlessly drawing out information. The way she listens, the genuine curiosity in her eyes—it makes it impossible to keep my guard up.

I wipe my face with my hand. “What is it about you?”

Her eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“You make me spill my secrets. I sound so fucking depressing.”

“It sounds like you haven’t trusted anyone enough to speak about these things,” she observes, and her soft expression warms me from the inside out.

“And I can trust you?”

“Yes.”

I stare deeply at her, half expecting my body to scream at me that she’s lying. But it doesn’t. I still feel oddly warm and a strong attraction to her.

Can I trust her?

We order another round of drinks from the server before she speaks again. “I envy your ability to stand up for things you believe in.”

“I wish I had stood up for myself more when it happened to me.”

I see the acknowledgement in her eyes. Eyes that say, me too .

“Have you been with anyone else?” she asks, taking a sip of her drink.

I hesitate. Am I about to admit my dry spell? Fuck it. “No.”

“Why?” she probes, watching me over her drink.

I stay silent for a moment.

“I don’t trust easily. But it’s more than that…I don’t want to lead anyone on.”

“Maybe falling in love with someone would help rebuild your trust,” she suggests.

I pick up my drink and drain the glass. This conversation is so hard for me. I keep my eyes down, lost in thought. “Maybe.”

She takes another sip, and I order us another round.

I’m not ready to end the conversation. It feels good letting it all out.

“I fell out of love with my ex the moment I found out. The thought of touching her made me sick.”

“How do you do that?” she wonders out loud, swaying slightly.

I frown.

“How do you fall out of love?” I repeat, realizing she wants to do the same with Bobby. Who can blame her? She deserves a great guy who values her, who wants her happy and doesn’t hold her back.

“Hatred does that to you.” I chuckle bitterly as I rub the back of my neck. When was the last time I did that?

“I need to hate him more,” she mutters, her eyes glassy from all the alcohol she’s consumed.

It’s Bobby. I’m sure he hasn’t finished fucking up.

But I don’t want to see her get hurt again.

“These drinks are going down too easily,” she tells the server as he lowers another two on our table.

“You chose the most popular drink. Do you want more food?” the server asks.

Chelsea glances at me, as if to see what I want to do.

I’m not ready to go home. “Yes, bring more.”

Chelsea's face lights up with a big smile. “You’re not sick of me yet?”

“No,” I reply, picking up my drink and wondering why that is. I haven't spent this much time talking to a woman in years. Definitely not like this. Alcohol, food, good conversation—I’m surprised I’m enjoying it this much.

I haven't even felt the slightest urge to check my phone. Sitting here with Chelsea makes me forget I have a job.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says.

“I’ll be right here,” I reassure her.

She gives me a smile that forces my heart into overdrive, and I watch her slip out of our area and wander through the place. I can’t stop myself from letting my gaze linger on her, and I can’t help the way they stop on her luscious, firm ass. She has a great figure, no doubt from all the Pilates.

Even after she disappears into the bathroom, I can’t stop staring. It's only when the server comes to clean up and refill our drinks that I snap out of it. I give him a generous tip.

Chelsea rejoins me not long after the server leaves, but I immediately notice something is wrong. Her glow is gone.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She plops down with a huff. “You noticed.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She gestures toward the bar where Bobby and Shyla are standing. I hadn’t even noticed them walk in; I was too focused on the stunning woman in front of me. I wish I’d seen them first and told them to leave, just to keep her safe.

“He never took me out anywhere. Actually, this is my first time in a bar with a guy since I met him,” she says, her voice shaking from the nerves.

She’s angry. “I wish he could feel as humiliated as I feel.”

I slowly take a final sip of my drink, an idea forming. “What if I told you we can do that?”

“I doubt it. He doesn’t care about anything but his job.”

She grabs her hair, sweeping it to the side. I try not to stare at the slope of her delicate neck. Licking my lips, I shift my focus to her eyes.

I mull over that information once more, and I barely believe the sentence that comes out of my mouth.

“I can help you. He should know what he lost. He deserves to see you happy, looking good, and that you’ve moved on.”

Her getting revenge on him will also work in my favor. He’ll want to quit working for my company and, well, honestly, I’m trying to live vicariously through Chelsea. I was cheated on too, and seeing her get even feels like my own form of justice.

She sits up eagerly as her dull eyes come to life. “How?”