Page 28 of Billion Dollar Revenge

Her eyes shift away before meeting mine again. “Bobby didn’t see it as a career; he thought Pilates was just a hobby.”

I shift in my seat, giving her my full attention. I can sense the hurt in her words, and it pisses me off that he’d diminish her passion that way. “I met Bobby shortly after arriving in New York,” she says quietly.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” I ask. I wonder if her friends and family knew what kind of man he was.

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Anna. She’s younger, studying psychology. She also hated Bobby.”

“Weren’t your parents bothered by him?” I ask incredulously.

“My parents are incredibly kind; they just wanted me to be happy. I actually wish Bobby had met them.”

“He never met them?” I grunt, gripping the arm of the chair.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Two years.”

I glare at her and grit my teeth so hard, my jaw aches.

She sighs, though there’s strain in it. “And all he did was leave me hurt.”

“You mean humiliated,” I correct gently.

She nods, her eyes dropping.

I want to hurt him too. My fingers curl into a ball on my lap. The other one settles on the back of the chair.

“And your family?” she asks, her eyes lift to mine again.

I’m the quiet Lincoln child who always had his head absorbed in a fiction book under an oak tree while my rowdy brothers played together in the backyard.

“I’m close with mine too. I’m the eldest of three brothers, and I inherited the business from my father, but I suppose you already know that.”

She nods, her teeth catching her lip. “Does your dad involve himself with the business?”

I shake my head. “No, I grew up working with him. I’ve expanded it since taking over. If anything, my father is proud of what I’ve done with it.” I sigh before adding, “But that’s because I’ve sacrificed everything.”

“So that’s why you mentioned being intimidated by my social skills,” she teases.

“Exactly. I’ve given everything to The New York Press. I love it, but I’m almost forty, and all I have is money and a successful business.”

Holy fuck. She does it again, effortlessly drawing out information. The way she listens, the genuine curiosity in her eyes—it makes it impossible to keep my guard up.

I wipe my face with my hand. “What is it about you?”

Her eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“You make me spill my secrets. I sound so fucking depressing.”

“It sounds like you haven’t trusted anyone enough to speak about these things,” she observes, and her soft expression warms me from the inside out.

“And I can trust you?”

“Yes.”

I stare deeply at her, half expecting my body to scream at me that she’s lying. But it doesn’t. I still feel oddly warm and a strong attraction to her.

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