Page 36 of Billion Dollar Revenge

After showing her some pictures, we leave the studio, locking up behind us, and then we walk a few miles to mine. As we pass a restaurant, my steps falter. A familiar face catches my eye through the window, and I stop in my tracks, my breath hitching.

Bobby.

“What are you doing?” Evie asks when she realizes I stopped walking.

My eyes are glued to Bobby because he’s not with Shyla; instead, he’s with a stunning red-haired woman. Another woman. I know that because as they sit opposite each other, they both lean in, smiling. Their hands on top of the white linen table, their fingers entangled as they chat.

What happened to Shyla?

And once again, he’s out and about. Not working late into the night here either.

Does this mean he’s cheating on Shyla, or is he just hooking up with a bunch of different girls?

“Who’s that?”

“Bobby.”

She has only heard about him because he only met my roommates or co-workers from recruiting. He never wanted to meet anyone from my Pilates job.

“Oh fuck. Your ex.”

I giggle at her reaction, but it’s strained. He’s not only moved on, but he’s on a date at the same bar we first met.

I don’t bother explaining the situation with Shyla. It would be a waste of my breath. Bobby will get to see me exactly how I am seeing him now. My stomach flutters from both nerves and excitement. This vision in front of me confirms how much he deserves it. I’ve never been the revenge type, but he’s a douchebag who deserves to feel the way he makes women feel.

Chapter 12

Chelsea

Evan:Are you free for coffee?

Me:Sounds great. I can meet you in forty minutes. Where are you thinking?

Evan:Cafe Brew?

Me:Done. See you soon.

I enter the cafe through the glass door and peer around, searching for Evan. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans surrounds me. The space is warm compared to the cool breeze outside. I spot his tall figure on the right, the sunlight catching his hard profile. His eyes are focused on me. As I approach, he rises to greet me. “Hi.”

“Hey, this is a cool spot,” I say, shrugging off my coat and hanging it on the back of my chair before sitting down. Our chairs are close together, and I wonder if he arranged them that way on purpose.

Don’t be ridiculous…

“It’s the best place for coffee in this part of Manhattan,” he says, his tone casual as he settles back into his seat.

“What do you usually get?” I ask, glancing at the menu board above the counter, which lists a range of specialty brews.

“An iced brew.”

I scrunch up my face. “I’ll get a vanilla latte.”

“I’ll order it and be right back,” he says, slipping out of his seat and moving to join the line. I admire his outfit today—a blue suit with a white shirt and a pink tie. He looks good. I’m still watching him as he reaches the counter and orders. The barista gives him a bright smile, but when he turns back and notices me staring, his expression softens and a slight smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. My stomach flips in response.

He knows me well…that’s why he’s smiling. There’s no other reason.

He returns with our drinks, handing me my latte before sitting down again, our chairs practically touching. I grab the drink but the warmth from the cup onto my hand tells me it’s too hot to take my first sip.

“So what’s the plan of attack?” I ask.

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