Page 47 of Texting the Possessive CEO
“Yeah?”
He strolls in, forehead furrowed in concern. “A man named Sebastian Goodfellow is here to see you. He wouldn’t give a reason, just said you’d want to see him. Between you and me, I didn’t like his tone.”
I swallow a ball of tension. Sebastian goddamn Goodfellow, the man who bankrupted my family, who was like an uncle to me before he revealed his true evil side.
“Send him up,” I practically growl, walking to the window.
“Uh, okay,” Ethan mutters, clearly sensing my dark mood, but knowing better than to question it.
I haven’t seen Sebastian in years, since before my father died. He vanished off the face of the earth after stealing my family's fortune.
Uncle Sebwalks into my office like he owns it. He’s a tall man, bald, head dotted here and there with liver spots. He leans on a cane with a silver pommel carved into a wolf’s head. His suit is immaculate, pin-striped, and tailored to his firm build.
“Beautiful offices,” he mutters, tapping his cane on the floor. “Notquitewhat I would’ve chosen, little man, but beautiful nonetheless.”
Little man. That was what he called me when he first entered our life, before he ruined it, before he killed my mother and father without laying a finger on them.
“May I sit?” he asks.
I keep my face neutral as I walk to my side of the desk, then gesture at him. “Go ahead,Goodfellow.”
He smirks at the emphasis, then takes a seat, resting his cane against my desk.
“I understand your frustration,” he says.
I shrug. “Frustration? There’s nothing like losing your inheritance to a two-faced snake to give a man the motivation required to make even more money.”
He inclines his head. “I must admit, little man, you’ve done exceedingly well for yourself, especially when you consider, as you say, where you started. It must’ve been very difficult to put it all behind you and focus on your work.”
I never put it behind me, but I’m not going to tell him that. He clearly wants a rise from me, hence thelittle manstuff.
“Hmm,” I mutter, shrugging.
“You’ve become the strong, silent type in your old age, then?” he says, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and placing an envelope on the table.
“Is this the part when I ask what that is?” I grunt.
“I thought you’d be curious,” he says.
I grind my teeth. “Just spit it out, old man.”
He laughs, delighted at my outburst. I curl my hands into fists, promising myself it won’t happen again, hoping it’s true.
“Your bloodline?—”
“Mybloodline?” I cut in. “How medieval of you.”
“It’s sick,” he goes on, shrugging. “It’s twisted. None of you deserves to be happy. Not your father, nor your mother. And definitely not you.”
“I think you’re forgetting who bankrupted whom,” I snap. “We weren’t the ones who infiltrated your family and stole your business.”
“That was business,” Sebastian hisses. “But what came after? That was just downright ugly.”
“Why haven’t I been able to find you?” I say. “I’ve hired private investigators in the past.”
“Goodfellow,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows. “If you haven’t worked it out by now?—”
“It’s a false name,” I interrupt.
