Page 21 of Billion Dollar Revenge

“What were you waiting for?”

The heaviness of his question sits in the bottom of my stomach. I don’t feel like talking about Bobby. The last time I did, it brought me down. Today I don’t want Bobby to steal my happiness.

“To be experienced at the basics first.” My eyes flick back up and his turn dark.

“You’ll make a good business owner.”

How does he know I needed to hear that? And the fact it’s from someone as successful as him means something.

We’re staring at each other, and the energy shifts. I can’t help but feel a strong, almost magnetic connection, but it’s mixed with a touch of fear. I’m unsure if I want to explore this bond or if it’s safer to keep my distance. The intensity of his gaze makes me question what could be between us, whether I’m ready for it.

My phone alarm rings, reminding me I have a class to teach in half an hour.Saved by the alarm.

“I gotta go teach.”

He only nods. Dipping my chin, I walk out, still feeling remaining tension from being in his presence. I’m at the elevators, and when they open, a realtor exits. I step inside, and when I turn around, Evan has moved. He’s standing by his office doors, his eyes are fixed on me as the realtor says, “Hi, Evan,” in the most over-the-top voice, but he doesn’t let go of my eyes until the elevator doors close.

Finally, sucking in a deep breath, I collapse against the elevator wall.

What was that?

Chapter 7

Chelsea

After work, I carrya bag of Bobby’s belongings to his job. I don’t want his crap at my place; it's a constant reminder of what a shit boyfriend he was.

I march into his office building and hit the tenth floor. My heart is in my throat, pounding with each step I take. Evan is the CEO here, which brings me some peace in this situation where I would usually feel unsettled. A part of me hopes I’ll get to see him before I leave, even if just for a brief moment.

Now that I’m here, my palms are sweating, with fear Bobby’s not here. I guess I can leave it on his desk and go. That would be even better because I wouldn’t have to see or speak to him.

I already feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest since we broke up. The only childish thing I decided to do was put his stuff in a trash bag. I wasn’t giving him a nice bag for his items or folding his clothes. His clothes and toothbrush aren’t my problem anymore.

It felt good to not care for once.

The elevator doors open, and I step out onto floor ten. Soft chatter and light keyboard tapping filling the air remind me of the job I recently quit. The job I got to please this cheating bastard. My back straightens as my eyes scan the open-plan room?its sleek, modern design, with glass partitions, and minimalist decor. They land on familiar dark locks. I move closer, weaving through the maze of cubicles, but as I approach, I catch sight of a platinum blonde beneath him. Her mouth is tipped up in a coy smile, her eyes batting up at him flirtatiously. He’s got his hands on either side of her chair, caging her in, and his mouth is inches away from hers. Their bodies almost touching. I suddenly have no idea where to look or what to do. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I clutch the nearest desk for support, but my hand knocks into a flowerpot. It topples over, smashing into the ground with a loud crash. The sound echoes through the office, drawing every eye to me.

“Chelsea?” Bobby’s voice rises, and he takes a sudden step back.

“Yeah. Ah. Sorry.”

Why am I apologizing?

I shake my head to push away any sudden regret of coming here, reminding myself he isn't my problem anymore, and I’m here to give him his things.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as his brow furrows.

I straighten my spine and walk closer. His female friend’s eyes are wide, her mouth is parted. I’d be shocked if I were her too.

“I’m returning your stuff.”

Maybe I should’ve dumped it at his place, but a small part of me wanted to confront him at the place he pretended to be all the time…

See the woman on the other end of the phone.

“You could have left it downstairs with reception,” he snaps, crossing his arms. The way he’s looking at me with annoyance grates on my nerves.

“No one is at the desk,” I argue, raising my voice.

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