Billion Dollar Revenge (The Lincoln Brothers #2)

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Evan

“Here is the write-up you asked for, Mr. Lincoln,” Shyla says. I turn away from the monitor to face her.

“The one about the new Lincoln Gallery?”

She nods. “Yeah, your brother Oliver answered all my questions.”

She obviously didn’t expect him to be so forthcoming. I bet she thought he was like me. None of my brothers are, though. I’m most similar to Harvey, because of his cool demeanor.

Thinking about it, Harvey has that same calculated calmness I do, but there’s a warmth to it that I lack. He’s the kind of guy who can win people over with just a smile; he’s effortlessly charming. The others? Each unique in their own way. While I keep my cards close to my chest, they wear their hearts on their sleeves.

“Can I have a look?” I hold out my hand, ready to take the paper.

“Oh. Sorry.” She steps closer to my desk and hands it over.

I read the interview, and I’m damn impressed. She’s been with us for six months after I poached her from our competition for double the salary.

“Take a seat,” I command, pointing to the chair opposite my large wooden desk.

“You’re not happy, Mr. Lincoln?” She sits down, and her fingers interlace on her lap.

Her back is ramrod straight, and her professionalism makes me wonder why she’d let a weasel like Bobby distract her.

Fucking Bobby…

I close my eyes and suck in a cleansing breath. What is it about him that had two intelligent women fall for him?

“This isn’t about the interview. This”—I hold the paper up—"is fantastic. You’ve been a wonderful addition to the team.”

Her shoulders drop, her posture not so stiff anymore.

“Thank you. I’m really enjoying working here.”

I don’t like having long conversations, but this one is important.

“Is anyone making you uncomfortable?” I ask, ignoring the way a muscle beats in my jaw, thinking about Bobby.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Obviously, this conversation is strictly confidential.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “No. But is there something you want me to be aware of?”

I lower the paper to my desk to give myself a moment to collect my thoughts. “I just wanted to affirm that you can always bring any issues within the office to me.”

Relief floods her face, and she smiles kindly at me. “Thank you, Mr. Lincoln. It’s nice to work for someone who cares about their staff.”

I nod. Some would say I care too much. But I’d rather be on the floor and hands-on, than a pencil pusher. “Here, take this and publish it on the allocated date.”

Standing promptly, she takes the paper from my hands and turns to leave.

When I’m alone, I spin back to face my computer so I can continue working, but I can’t concentrate. My mind is back on Chelsea.

Why would Bobby cheat on her?

I come up empty before I’m shaking my head at myself. I can’t believe I went to a Pilates class of hers.

It’s because I remember after my breakup, things were rough. I spent days wondering when and how it all went wrong. I threw myself into work, trying to drown out the pain. My family was my lifeline during that time. I remember Jeremy being the first to come over; he didn’t say much, just sat with me, sharing a drink in silence. His way of letting me know he was there for me, no questions asked.

Next was my brother Harvey. He’d drag me out of bed on the weekends to run with him. I was never in the mood, but he wouldn’t leave my house unless I did it. I must admit the fresh air and exertion did help me sleep better.

Oliver was there with my parents and Gram; they were the practical thinkers, sharing their optimism and offering emotional support. They helped me pack and move houses. I could have stayed and paid her off, but I wanted to escape the memories we shared in that place. They would talk to me about which items needed to be divided, and Gram made sure I was eating properly.

All of them reassured me I could get through it and didn’t allow me to drown in self-pity. They pulled me through the darkest of days. Now, I’m doing the same for Chelsea, as well as Nova and Summer. I know her family isn’t able to help her.

I grab my phone that’s sitting on my desk and see an alert for a new message. She replied to a text I sent her earlier. I’m fighting this attraction I feel for her because I don’t want a relationship, but fuck, I can’t stay away.

Me: You’re right. I’m in so much pain today. I can barely move.

Chelsea: I warned you. Take a magnesium bath, go for a walk and stretch.

Me: I don’t like baths.

Chelsea: Buy the magnesium tablets or the topical spray.

I don’t get a chance to reply before I get another text.

Chelsea: Or you could come in for another class. (Smiley face emoji)

Me: You’re kidding, right. How would another class help?

The damn thought makes my muscles quiver.

Chelsea: It helps your muscles recover quicker.

Me: I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.

Chelsea: You’re so dramatic.

Me: You’re crazy for thinking that’s a form of exercise. It’s more like a form of torture.

Chelsea: Alright, if you change your mind before Friday, let me know.

A knock sounds at my office door, so I lower the phone to my desk. “Come in.”

The door swings open and reveals my brother Oliver.

“Hey. Big E.”

“Hi.” I grumble at his nickname for me. Gram calls me E and he calls me Big E.

Striding in, he closes the door. “I finished my interview with Shyla.”

“I just read her write-up about you.” I stand up and walk over to make a drink.

“Is it good?” He follows me over to the bar cart.

“Yeah, you’ll like it.”

I hold up a glass, and Oliver nods.

“Will it help drum up business for opening night?”

I pour two glasses of bourbon into tumblers. “Yeah, she’ll create a buzz with this article.”

“I need all the art to be sold at auction.”

“Your mug on the front page will surely bring in extra eyes.”

He beams at me before his brow furrows. “I haven’t gotten my photo taken yet.”

I hand a glass of bourbon to him. “Why?”

He takes the drink from me and sips the amber liquid before answering. “They’re busy at the moment.”

I can’t understand. This article needs to be finished ASAP. I don’t like work strung along; I expect it to be done quickly and efficiently.

Walking back to my desk, I lower my glass with a thud. “Wait a second.” I pick up my phone and call Bobby.

He doesn’t answer, so I hang up. Irritation prickles my skin.

My desk phone rings, and my personal assistant Gabby informs me Bobby is on the line.

“Hi, Mr. Lincoln,” he says when I answer.

“In thirty minutes, I expect someone to take a photo of Oliver Lincoln for his upcoming news article.”

“Yes, sir, we just—”

I close my eyes and try not to let my personal feelings about Bobby become too apparent, reminding myself I’m at work. But I can’t keep all my irritation out of my words.

“I don’t want to hear it. Finish what needs to be done, and he’ll be there soon.” I hang up after he mumbles his agreement.

“Look at you being all fancy and shit.” Oliver snickers, sinking into the chair.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Oliver is more of the goofy, relaxed one. He’s the second youngest of the four Lincoln brothers, and he knows how to flirt his way into anything.

“Tell me, what do you need help with for opening night?” I ask.

“Nothing, everything is ready to go. I just need to convince an artist to come.”

I frown. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“She won’t answer my calls, emails, nothing.”

“Hmm, do you need any help?”

“Do you think she’ll listen to you? Owner of The New York Press?” He laughs, but before I can ask what’s funny, he expands. “I think the problem is she doesn’t want to be identified.”

“But you said you have a few pieces of hers?”

He dips his head as he straightens across from me. “Yes. Her lines and paintings are something I’ve never seen before.”

“How do you know they’re by a she ?”

“There's a flower in the corner of the picture where the signature should be. No dude is going to do that.”

I run my hand over my jaw thinking. “Hmm. You never know.”

“Yeah. Either way, I want them at my opening night. I’ve emailed the person every week.”

“What if you keep turning up to the studio?” I offer as I let the bourbon warm me up and calm my Bobby irritation down. Which then easily shifts to thoughts of Chelsea. And how drinking reminds me of what her lips looked like sipping on her glass while drinking my favorite drink.

I must have zoned out because I have to get Oliver to repeat what he said.

“Will I see you at Gram’s for dinner tonight?” he replies with a curious look.

I straighten in my chair, refocusing on him. “Yes, and are you coming to poker on Thursday at Jeremy’s?”

He drains his glass. “Yeah, but I’ve practically seen you every day.”

My lips roll together as I return my gaze to my computer screen. “Yeah, it’s way too fucking much.” Jutting my chin toward my office door, I tell him, “Get out of here and get your mugshot taken.”

He flashes me a cocky wink. “Sounds like you're bitter, brother.”

I sigh, eyeing him over my screen as I answer. “Wouldn’t you be bitter if you were almost fucking forty?” With nothing but a job to make you happy? I want to add.

He purses his lips in an expression of discomfort. “Now that you say it, that sounds depressing.”

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, holding his gaze. “Right? You’re a baby at thirty-five.”

His lips twitch as he runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck, it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Being a CEO is never easy, but it’s worth it. I promise,” I announce as he stands and offers me his hand. I shake it, and he leaves.

I walk over to the window, taking in the city views. Yeah, this is definitely worth it. I have a wonderful family, great friends, and a fulfilling job. Then why am I not happy?