Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You can’t afford me now

Chapter 903:

Then she spotted Eric, which only worsened her mood. “You’re no better! Tell me, can you bring Hadley back?”

Eric shrugged, completely candid. “Nope. I can’t.”

Nyla huffed. “Get out! Looking at you two gives me a headache!”

She then picked up Locke. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go see how Kira’s doing with the gifts.”

“Okay.”

After she left, Ernest exchanged a look with Eric.

“Why are you here this early? If it’s company stuff, forget it—I’m not in the mood.”

After the holiday, Ernest would officially take over the business. Though he hadn’t officially taken over yet, he’d already been shouldering most of the work. It made him irritable every time he saw Eric.

“You’re really something,” Eric said with a laugh. “Relax. I’m not here about company business. Someone was following me this morning.” He pulled out his phone and showed Ernest the photo.

Ernest’s brow furrowed. “Looks like one of the Scott family’s people again.”

He immediately called Quentin, who had connections all over Srixby.

Quentin took one glance and shook his head. “Not a Scott. He’s a hired gun. Probably doesn’t even know who’s paying him.”

That made things more complicated.

“Then…” Ernest considered. “Let Quentin shadow you for a while.”

Eric waved him off. “Not necessary.”noveldrama

“Don’t be stubborn,” Ernest snapped. “There’s only the two of us left. We can’t afford to lose another Flynn. You want to end up like me—unconscious for years?”

Author’s version available at g𝒶ln ov els.𝓬𝓶

“That’s not it,” Eric replied. “I just think… if we don’t know what they’re after, keeping Quentin close might scare them off. I already have Phillips, Xander, and…”

“Theodore. And now Quentin? With that kind of security, they’ll be too careful to make a move.”

Ernest was quiet. His brother had a point.

Better to draw them out and uncover their intentions than live under constant tension.

“Fine,” he relented. “Just be careful.”

“Will do. I value my life, you know,” Eric said with a grin.

Ernest chuckled. That cold, ruthless version of his brother was long gone.

After Eric left, Ernest opened WhatsApp and stared at his last message to Linda.

“Christmas is coming. Come home.”

It had been two days. She still hadn’t replied.

Around 7 p.m., Eric was driving toward Millland Road.

On the way, he sent Hadley a message.

“Almost there. Just dropping some gifts and holiday stuff. Nothing more.”

He hadn’t left the Flynn Mansion empty-handed—his trunk was full of carefully selected holiday presents.

“Mr. Flynn,” Phillips said from the front passenger seat, turning around. “We’ve got a tail.”

Eric checked the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing. “They’re keeping pretty close.”

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