Page 140 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
“Can I see him?” I whisper.
“Yes. He’s weak, but he’s awake. And he’s asking for you. Insistently.”
Dad looks impossibly fragile against the starched white pillows. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors sounds more ominous today. His eyes find mine as I enter, filled with a weary resignation I’ve never seen before.
“Lucy-bug,” he rasps, his voice thin.
“Oh, Dad.” Fresh tears fall when I hear his endearment for me, and sink into the chair beside his bed, sniffling as I take his hand. It feels papery, cool. “I’m so glad you’re okay. So glad.”
He smiles sadly. “I’m sorry to put you through this.”
“Why did you go running?” The question bursts out, laced with anguish and guilt. “Why?”
He manages a weak, self-deprecating smile. “Old habits. Thought I could outrun the stress, I guess.” He squeezes my hand weakly. “Turns out, the stress won.” He takes a shaky breath. “Lucy… the doctor tells me I can’t come back. Not interim. Not ever. This job… it almost killed me. Twice.” His eyes hold mine, suddenly filled with a fierce, albeit tired, determination. “But Hammond & Co. needs a Hammond at the helm. Needs stability. Needsyou.”
“Dad, no…”
“Yes,” he insists, the tightnessof his grip surprising me. “Not interim, Lucy. Permanent. Effective immediately. I spoke to my lawyers. They’re drawing up the papers. It’s the only way. The board will accept you. The company needs decisive leadership. You’re ready. You’vebeenready. I was just too blind, too proud to see it all these years.”
Permanent CEO.
Me.
Not as a placeholder. Not until Dad gets better.
But forever.
The weight of it crashes down on me. The responsibility, the legacy, the SPE nightmare I now have to fix entirely on my own watch.
The escape route I’d secretly clung to, handing the reins back to Dad, just vanished.
I feel dizzy. Trapped. Honored.
And terrified.
All at once.
“Dad, I… I don’t know…”
“Youdoknow,” he says firmly. “You can do this. Youhaveto do this. For the company. For the family legacy. For me.” His eyes plead with me.
What choice do I have? Say no? Let Morgan Weiss swoop in and dismantle everything Dad, Granddad,Iworked for? Let Dad worry himself into another attack?
“Okay, Dad,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”
Relief floods his face. He sinks back against the pillows, exhausted but seemingly at peace.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
The door opens quietly.
Christopher steps inside, his presence instantly filling the small room. His face is red, and he’s breathing hard as if he ran all the way here.
His eyes take in the scene. Me crying, Dad looking relieved but utterly spent.
Then he walks over and places a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” he says, taking a seat beside me. “I came as soon as I was able. The traffic... I ended up jogging to the helopad.” He glances at Dad. “How are you?”
