Billion Dollar Revenge (The Lincoln Brothers #2)

16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Evan

I’ve gone from almost kissing Chelsea to her ex wanting to punch me square in the face.

Bobby’s hands are curled into fists by his sides.

I’m not a fighter. Even if I’ve thought about punching him myself, I’d never act on it.

“Why does who I’m with matter to you?” Chelsea says.

Bobby doesn’t answer her because he’s too busy glaring at me. He finally moves his eyes to her, but instead of looking at her gorgeous face, his gaze drops straight down to her chest. Her exposed cleavage is enticing, but watching him looking at it sends blood rushing to my brain. If I don’t calm down, I might get physical for the first time in my life.

“He’s my boss,” Bobby says, finally bringing his eyes to hers.

So that’s the issue. Not the fact he let a good woman go—of course not.

“So?” she replies.

His eye twitches at her.

“Watch how you talk to me,” he spits.

The rise and tone of his voice sends the hairs on the back of my neck rising. “No, Bobby, you’re the one who needs to think about how you’re talking to her.”

He’s irritated but bites his tongue. He knows he needs to be careful right now or he’ll lose his job. I’m past the point of caring. I won’t have abusive people working for me.

HR will need to figure it out.

“Why him?” Bobby asks Chelsea.

“It wasn’t planned, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says, keeping her voice steady and strong, even though I can tell she’s nervous.

“How do I know that? You’re going for someone twelve years older,” he sneers, his voice dripping with venom. “Are you that desperate, or just looking for a sugar daddy?”

“Don’t be pathetic, Bobby. I get it, you're hurt, but let me be real clear, I’m not her sugar daddy. Grow up and stop making excuses.”

“You’re seeing other women, so why do you care about me?” Chelsea asks.

“I don’t.”

Bullshit.

“Unless you want me to let Shyla know about your dinner date with the redhead the other day,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

My lips turn up at that. I’m proud of her. She’s not giving in to him.

I want to kiss her again, get her out of my system because I don’t want attachments. She’s the first person I’ve connected with in a long time so it’s natural for me to want more.

“She’s a friend.”

“You seem to have a lot of them,” Chelsea mumbles.

“I’m not wasting my breath repeating myself to someone who clearly thinks I’m a cheater.”

“You are! But I’ve had enough. Get the fuck out of here and leave us be,” I command, unable to listen to any more of his lies.

His face is tight, and I expect some pushback, but to my surprise, he flicks his gaze from mine to Chelsea’s before storming back inside.

And fuck, his stomping reminds me of a toddler.

Once he’s completely gone from our sight, her eyes come back to mine. A hint of shame settles on her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, dropping her crossed arms.

“What are you sorry for?” My fingers brush her arm, which earns me a small smile.

“Bringing this much drama to your work function. I didn’t think he’d care this much.” Her chin dips again.

My fingers touch her jaw, and she looks up. “That’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

Regret fills her, and I hate that I forced her into getting revenge because of my own past.

“It’s mine, actually.”

I drop my hand and rub the back of my neck, self-disgust filling me.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”

“I thought of this revenge idea. This isn’t something you’d naturally do. You’re kind, and I’m bitter.”

She comes closer, and she leans her hands on my chest. My heart beats faster as she stares up at me with her brown eyes.

“No, you helped me realize he was hurting me. I agreed to the revenge and, to be honest, I wouldn’t take it back.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Biting her lip, she shakes her head. “No, I enjoyed hanging out with you. It’s the first time I’ve felt something real.”

She means butterflies, and I understand because I have that same feeling with her.

“I like being with you too,” I say quietly.

Her face brightens as her eyes grow wide.

I don’t want to end tonight here on this note, but we don’t want to return to the party.

“Did you want to go do something?”

I want to spend some more time with her before she goes home.

“Can we go back to my studio and order takeout?” she asks.

“Sounds perfect.”

I turn, and we walk side by side to the car. I want to hold her hand, but I don’t know if she wants to. All my reasons for not wanting a relationship fade away. Because I want her in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else. There’s never been a time I wanted to hold hands, yet with her, I do.

Inside, she makes me feel young again. Light, fun, and as if we’re in high school. When Chelsea cares about something or someone, she gives it her all. What would it be like to be on the receiving end of that attention?

It wouldn’t be lonely?she sees me, touches me, she could heal me.

Before her, all I was, was a hollow version of myself, and now, I don’t think that’s true. Since she entered my life, I’m more trusting. From the way she wears her heart on her sleeve, no hidden agendas, and more importantly, no fucking lies. She makes me want to try for the first time in my life.

As I’m in my head, debating what to do, she links her arm through mine.

I tilt my head, and she peeks up at me at the same time. We continue walking, but her face is tight with discomfort. I can’t help but wonder if those high heels are killing her feet.

I squat down and say, “Jump on my back. I’ll carry you.”

She falters, eyes wide. “You’re going to give me a piggyback ride.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“That's what a real boyfriend would do,” she teases.

I grin. “Exactly. Come on.”

She hesitates for just a moment before climbing on, linking her arms around my neck and resting her body against my back. Her warmth seeps into me as I straighten up, and I can feel her relaxing slightly. I walk slowly, feeling her hot breath on my neck, and we continue this way until we arrive at our building. Once I stop, she slides down, I try to ignore that I know she's not wearing a bra and that I could feel her erect nipples as she slipped down my back.

Her hands shake as she opens the door to her studio. Inside, she turns on the lights, which sets an elegant dim glow over the entire room.

Shrugging off my jacket, I sit down on the floor. She tracks my movements with her eyes, and when our gazes meet, she quickly shifts her focus to her phone, clearly aware that I caught her checking me out.

I sit back and watch, her eyebrows pulled together as she’s deep in thought. She lifts her head as she sits down opposite me. “Do you eat Thai?”

“I’ll eat anything,” I answer, leaning back on my elbows, my eyes focused on her.

She orders our food, and while we wait, she shows me Pilates sitting boxes that she needs to order.

“What do you do with those?”

She grins and shifts into a seated position, hands behind her, chest pushed up, knees tucked. Her body looks amazing in that tight dress. I shift to get comfortable and try not to imagine her naked in those positions, but I can’t help it. All the things I could do to her…

“I’m not flexible enough for that,” I rasp, failing miserably to hide my thoughts.

She rolls her eyes. “Which is code for ‘I’m scared I’ll pull something.’”

My mouth twitches with how spot-on she is.

Her phone chimes, which means the food’s here.

“I’ll be back,” she says, reaching for her purse.

“No. I’ve got it.” I stand and head outside, grab the food, and come back up. As I enter, I take a moment to admire how delicate she looks tonight, lost in thought as she gazes out the windows.

She catches my eye, and it causes the corner of my lips to lift.

“Are you feeling better now?” I ask, sitting back down on the floor. I need to know how she really feels. Bobby said some fucked-up shit to her.

She nods and walks over to join me on the floor. “I’m happy you're here.”

I can read between the lines. I’m taking her mind off things. “You know I understand what you’re feeling. You don’t need to be a martyr.”

“I know, but I don’t want a pity party.” She sighs as if she can relax again.

I remember when I was in her shoes. “But if you had left…”

“I’d be replaying his words. Feeling worse than I do right now.”

“He doesn’t deserve any space in your pretty head.”

Her eyebrows squish together. “What do you mean?”

“We need to replace the shitty memories with new ones.”

She squirms at the intensity of my words.

“I would love that.” She smiles shyly. “But I’m sure you don’t have time.”

My stomach hardens at her insinuation that I’m always working.

“I always make time for those I care about.”

“But your job is important,” she murmurs, lost in thought, I bet unable to fathom someone making time for their family when Bobby made no time for her.

I lean over, grab her chin with my hands, hold her face still, and swipe my thumb across her rosy lips. Her warm breath on my fingers, soft skin, and wild eyes leave me imagining what she’d look like surrendering to me.

Her breath hitches as my hand stays on her chin for a moment longer. “So are my Sunday dinners with my family or poker nights with my brothers. I make time for the people I love,” I say in a strained voice, dropping my hand.

My chest rises and falls as anger burns inside me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around why Bobby didn’t treat her like the intelligent woman she is. Now she thinks she’s stupid, when he was the one in the wrong. I have wanted revenge on my ex, but not in the same way I do when it comes to Bobby. The desire to destroy another person is like acid and so unlike me. The desire to protect Chelsea is taking over. She deserves to be treated like a princess, and I suddenly want to be the knight in shining armor.

I shut down my wayward thoughts about hurting Bobby and be fully present with Chelsea. She deserves my full attention.

“We should’ve ordered dessert.” She sighs as we begin opening the containers of food.

It surprises me she isn’t a calorie-counting or no-carb kind of woman like my mom. “You eat dessert?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a massive sweet tooth.”

“So you’re not going to be the mom who bakes sugar-free stuff?”

She laughs. “No way. Some of my best memories are of me and my sister helping my mom in the kitchen. I want that for my kids too.”

“Same here. My gram was the baker in our family.”

“Your mom didn’t bake?”

I laugh at the memories of the countless times my mom tried to bake, but her cakes, pies, or lemon bars would end up burnt or dry. “God, no. She’s hopeless at cooking.”

“At least you have your gram.”

“Yeah, but being the oldest of four boys, I was expected to look after my brothers.”

“I’m sure growing up with three brothers was—”

“As crazy as you’re imagining.” I finish her train of thought. Remembering one summer afternoon, I was reading my book when I heard their fit of giggles. I caught them hiding Gramps’ false teeth in the cookie jar while he napped in the chair.

“But I bet you're protective of them.”

“I’d say I’m the negotiator. Which helped me in business.”

“Did you always want to take over your dad’s company?”

I shrug. “It just happened.”

“How?”

I sip my drink and explain. “He was my role model. I followed him around, so naturally after high school I studied journalism and business management. Then when Gram got older, my dad wanted to be with her more, so he retired and asked me to take over.”

“Did you ever think about turning it down?”

“Never. I love what I do, but I think a big part was because I watched him my whole life. I was hands-on, always asking questions, and I was fascinated by it.”

She’s smiling as if my story is the most interesting thing in the world. I haven’t felt like a woman was interested in my story?ever. My family, my money, yes, but never me. It unravels me from deep inside.

We finish eating and I realize it’s getting late, and we both have work tomorrow.

“We should go.”

She nods, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

I stand and hold out my hand, which she takes and rises. Our touching feels natural now.

“Can I visit your office between classes next week?” she asks, her voice pulling me back to the present.

I twist my body to face her. “I thought you were working?”

“I am, but during my lunch break?”

Her teeth nibble the corner of her lip. Again, she distracts me without trying.

I clear my throat, enjoying her initiative to catch up again. “Sure. I’ll check my calendar.” I pull out my phone and look at the schedule for next week. “Will one on Tuesday work?”

She scrunches up her face. “My afternoon class starts then.”

I nod and look back down to the meeting, and I know I can move it by an hour. “How about twelve?”

“Don’t move things around for me.”

“I’m not,” I lie, swiftly sending an email to Gabby to reschedule the meeting.

“Are you ready to go?” I step closer instinctively, unable to simply say goodbye.

Her hands grip my neck, holding me close and begging for me to kiss her. Her touch triggers a wave of doubt and memories of past betrayal.

But despite the alarms ringing in my mind about trusting people, I’m unable to resist her allure. What is it about her that I can’t shake?

She’s honest every time I’ve asked her a question; even the difficult ones she answers straight away with complete transparency. And compared to my ex who used to avoid my questions, or if I think about it, avoided me altogether.

Why was I so fucking stupid not to realize she was sleeping with another man. I didn’t see the guarding of her phone, the sudden changes in her work schedule…and the worst was the defensiveness when I asked a simple question like where she was going that night. She’d turn it around on me and make me feel bad for asking. When all I did was care.

I trusted her too easily because I’d known her all my life. We were friends. And now, looking back, it was only ever friendship. I wasn’t in love with her. I was in love with the idea of love. When I compare my ex-fiancée to the way I feel about Chelsea, it’s like fire and water. Two different elements. Chelsea lights me up from within. I’m attracted to her mentally and physically. I can’t get enough of her. We laugh and have fun together. With my ex, she never laughed with me or kissed me like she truly wanted me. My thoughts about Chelsea are so different. I don’t think about just being her friend or fake boyfriend—no, it’s more than that, which scares the fuck out of me. I see a future with Chelsea, but my emotional walls, built over eight years, seem too strong. It’s going to take some more time before I’m ready to take that risk again. These thoughts cause me to keep my head on straight. I clear my throat. “I’ll take you home.”

She bites her lip and nods, and I can sense the disappointment in her, so this time instead of her slipping her arm in mine, I grab her hand and entwine our fingers.

I turn my head and catch her pouty lips in a soft smile when her hand squeezes mine. My heart aches as we stand facing each other at her studio door, neither of us ready to let go.

We lock up and my driver takes us to her place, where I walk her to the doorstep.

“Thanks for tonight. I had so much fun,” she says, her cheeks flushed.

I stare down at her, my lips tugging up as I realize she’s nervous. “Same. I never have fun with people like this.”

“Work parties will never be the same for you.”

“Never.” Pulling on her hand, I bring her body close to mine, and as I’m about to give her a goodnight kiss, the TV turns on. Summer must be waiting for her.

I close my eyes briefly as disappointment she’s not alone floods me.

She whispers with a tremor in her voice, “I better get inside.”

I close my eyes, pressing my lips to her forehead, before I suck in a deep breath and reluctantly pull away from her. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight.” She disconnects her hand from mine, and I watch her open the door and give me a wave before she clicks the door shut. I leave knowing I’ll see her in eighty-four hours, but it doesn’t seem soon enough.