Billion Dollar Revenge (The Lincoln Brothers #2)

26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Evan

I’m talking to the security firm. They set up cameras at the new office.

I’m trying to pay attention, but my focus is on the person on the screen. Bobby’s on the sidewalk of my new office building.

“Can we get audio?” I ask without moving from my position. I’m leaning on the desk, my hands curled into fists, and I continue watching the computer screen with a hard-set jaw.

Bobby’s wearing black jeans and a gray shirt. One hand is in his pocket, and the other’s holding his phone to his ear.

I run my hand through my hair. Why is he there?

“Yeah,” the security guy answers calmly, then hits something, and Bobby’s voice echoes in the room.

“I’m calling to ask if we can have dinner together?” Bobby asks, walking in circles on the concrete.

I frown, not only at the words, but his tone.

The awfully fake seductive tone that I hear around the office.

But as I let his words sink in, my stomach drops. Have Bobby and Chelsea been talking behind my back? Would she be interested in him again?

My brain continues to come up with a million scenarios until he speaks again.

“What do you mean?” he says, pausing on the spot, clearly annoyed.

I’m holding my breath, waiting for her to prove she’s just like my ex, and I shouldn’t have believed Chelsea would be different. But his next words have me standing up.

“You won’t give me a chance to explain?” Bobby snaps, pacing the sidewalk again. His hand is out of his pocket now. “I even sent you roses.”

I fucking knew it was that slimy bastard.

“Is it because of him?” he says as his hand flies out of his pocket and punches the wall.

My eyes bulge from their sockets at his angry outburst.

“Don’t be dumb, Chelsea,” he says.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears as my body grows hot.

He called her dumb. She’s not dumb. He’s fucking dumb.

A throat clears behind me. I turn my head as he asks. “Do you still need me?”

For a moment, I forgot the security guy was still here.

“No, I need to go,” I mutter, spinning back around and taking a final look at Bobby on the screen. He’s pissed, but I’m fucking outraged at what I just witnessed. As much as I want to continue watching, icy fear grasps my throat at what could happen if I don’t get down there. I take off down the stairs, not bothering to see if security followed.

I tell Gabby as I pass her desk that I’ll be back. I don’t wait for her reply. The elevators are too slow, and I don't want to get stuck talking to anyone. Pushing the heavy metal door, I take the fire exit stairs. I get outside, where I welcome the cool air on my perspired skin. Opening the door of my car, I tell the driver to drive as fast as possible to the new office.

I peel off my suit jacket in the car, tossing it to the side. Then I remove my cufflinks and unbutton and roll up my sleeves.

Five minutes later, I push the door open before the car is completely parked and call out, “I’ll be back.”

I storm the pavement and, thank fuck, Bobby’s still here. He’s not on the phone anymore, though. So why is he still here? Is he waiting for her? Will he hurt her? I shake my head, not letting that happen. I’ll handle this.

When I storm closer, my heavy footsteps and labored breaths give me away. His head lifts and his eyes widen slightly.

Gotcha .

“You weren't expecting me, were you?” I say, my voice dripping with venom.

“No,” he replies calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

My lips curl as I sneer. “You’re meant to be down on Broadway covering the firing of the princess’s bodyguard. Instead, you’re here calling to talk to Chelsea.”

“I wasn’t,” he lies.

My rage claws to the surface. I try to keep the anger inside and stay professional. I point to the camera. His head turns to follow my finger.

“I could see and hear you,” I say smoothly, my lip curling.

He twists back to me with a frown, unbothered. “Why were you watching me?”

His accusatory voice irks me. I’m the CEO. I don't have time to watch employees. Does he actually think I have nothing better to do?

Through a tight jaw, I spit out, “I wasn’t watching you. I just had these installed and the security firm was showing me the setup when I saw you.”

Not that I had to explain myself to him. I’m not in the wrong.

He squints his eyes at me, as if assessing if I’m lying.

I move closer to him. “You’re stalking and harassing her, Bobby.” My voice is quiet, as I see a group passing us and staring.

“I’m not!” Bobby shouts, his hands flying out and making a scene. “I’m on my way to take pictures.”

I freeze, eyes wide at his outburst. Suddenly, I realize his composure is slipping. His usually neat hair is messy and oily. His eyes are bloodshot like he has been drinking all night.

I take a deep breath, trying to regulate my breathing and gain control of the situation before Chelsea comes down. “You're going in the wrong direction for that.”

“I’m going now.”

The tone of his voice makes my jaw twitch. He’s being a smartass.

I check my watch, which adds to my disappointment. Keeping myself calm, even though inside I’m vibrating with anger, I answer scathingly, “It’s too late.”

“It’s not,” he spits.

My temple throbs from the conversation, the dull ache growing with every word he spews. He’s arguing with me now, and I can’t take a moment more of this, of him. I worked too hard for him to ruin everything.

“You know what, I’ve had enough. Your behavior is unacceptable,” I grumble, annoyed by his lack of professionalism.

An alert comes through my phone. Pulling out my phone, I curse. “Are you fucking kidding me!” Our competition has photos and an article covering the firing.

“What are you saying?” he asks, his shoulders dropping as realization dawns on him.

“You’re fired. Go pack your shit, and I’ll call HR.” I lift my chin, clutching my phone tighter. I’ll have to deal with the fallout later.

“What about the pictures?” he asks, dropping his arms, but his body remains rigid.

I rub the back of my neck, frustration building as I take in his bleeding knuckles, a reminder of his outburst. “Fuck the pictures. You’ve missed her anyways.”

I turn my phone and show him the article with the headline glaring back at us. His eyes widen, and his face turns white as paper, his shoulders sagging further. He knows he has no leg to stand on. But just as I thought I won, he spits one last remark.

“Fuck you. Enjoy my sloppy seconds.”

I squeeze my fists, hold my breath, and stand still. I’m telling myself not to punch him in the face. That Chelsea is not sloppy fucking anything. She’s a graceful, intelligent, bubbly person, who deserves love, not a cheating scumbag like him.

When he realizes I’m not biting, he turns around and walks away.

Letting go of the breath I was holding, I call HR as I climb into the car. I urgently need to restructure our photography team and rehire a replacement. His sudden departure will disrupt the department by adding more work to some employees, but it won’t be for long, and I’ll give them all bonuses.

But fuck, I’m happy. I finally feel like the dead weight has been lifted. That's what he brought to the company. And fuck, I kept him longer than I wanted to. But harassing and stalking his ex on my time is unacceptable. But it’s even more than that. He’s hurting the woman I’m falling for.