Page 20 of Billion Dollar Revenge

“That would work.”

Evan’s phone rings. He steps away, and I move toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking over the streets and buildings as people go about their day and in their work suits. I used to wear office attire, but I’m so glad I don’t have to go to that miserable job anymore. I’m lost in my thoughts, so I don’t hear the footsteps that come up behind me. I think it’s Evan, but when I hear Mitchell’s voice, I close my eyes for a moment. Disappointment floods my senses.

What is wrong with me?

Mitchell begins talking numbers, and I take the contract to read over tonight with my parents over a video call.

“I need to go,” Evan announces.

“We are done here right, Mitchell?” I ask.

“Just read and sign the contact. Then send it to me when it’s all done,” Mitchell says smiling with victory.

“I will, and thanks again.”

I follow Evan out to the elevator. He hits the up button, and then starts madly typing away on his phone.

He finishes the moment we enter the elevator. Tension in the air swirls as we stand side by side. I’m watching the floor numbers move up and sip my latte. We’re almost there when he tucks his phone away. “I’m unsure about this spot.”

I turn my head, baffled by his declaration. “Why?”

The views and the big open floor space are to die for. I saw it online when I was looking to buy the second floor. If he doesn’t want it, maybe…No, don’t be ridiculous, I can’t afford it.

“It seems too big just for me.”

“This would be a place just for you?” I ask, sipping and enjoying the sweet, warm drink.

“Yeah.”

The elevator stops, and the door opens. I walk out along the light brown tile concrete floors and stare out through the floorlength windows, glancing at the view of the river. Wow, this is so much better than my spot on level two.

Turning to scan the rest of the space, I take in the brown timber cupboards, black lighting fixtures, and brown timber shelves. It’s all dark, yet at the same time very inviting.

“What’s your plan for the space, if you go ahead with it?” I ask.

He scratches his temple, and his eyes move around the empty floor. I expect him to clam up and give me only a few words, so the next breath of words shocks me.

“This will be my hideaway, so I want it filled with things that bring me comfort. Over there,” he continues and points to a bare wall, “I’ll have a bookshelf for all my favorite books. And over here...” He gestures to the corner by the window. “I’ll set up some weights and a treadmill for working out.”

“Definitely,” I murmur, staring out the window again.

“Kitchen, bathroom, closet, and maybe a bed.”

“What would you need all that for?” I ask, lowering my cup to remove my sweater and tie it around my neck, before picking my drink back up.

“My work hours are all over the place; it would be nice to have somewhere to crash between media blitzes.”

“What are your normal hours?”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat. “My normal hours are no sleep or social life.”

“Isn’t that the life of a CEO?” I give him a playful wink and gently tap him on the arm, ignoring the flex of muscle when I do.

His eyes hold mine. There's softness there and a hint of humor hits his face.

“You seem ready to be one too.”

“Born ready,” I say, dropping my eyes away from his intense stare, suddenly shy under his inspection, as if he can see straight through me.

---