Page 154 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
He listens intently, his expression unreadable. When I finally run out of steam and look up, his eyes hold a surprising depth of understanding.
“You were put in an impossible position, Lucy,” he says quietly. “By my father. By your father’s history. By the circumstances. Establishing your authority, especially in that moment, was critical.” He pauses, then continues, his voice dropping slightly. “Which is why I took steps to reinforce it.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“After I spoke with you at the gala, after your father threatened you…” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I knew Mark wouldn’t stop. I suspected hewas already maneuvering against me on my own board, using our relationship as leverage. So, I preempted him. I called an emergency meeting of the board athiscompany, Blackwell Holdings.”
My eyes widen. “You did what?”
“I presented evidence that his hostile bid against Hammond was driven by personal vendetta, not sound business strategy,” Christopher explains calmly. “That it jeopardized Blackwell Holdings’ reputation and resources, and potentially damaged the synergistic value of the Project Nightingale partnership with Blackwell Innovations.” He meets my gaze. “The Blackwell Holdings board agreed. They voted to block further company resources from being used for the takeover attempt.”
I stare at him, stunned. He went head-to-head with his father, on his father’s own turf, andwon? Not just for himself, but effectively hamstringing the attack onmycompany? Because he respected my leadership? Because he wanted to protect me?
The sheer audacity, the strategic brilliance, the underlying loyalty… it takes my breath away.
“Christopher…” I whisper, unsure what else to say.
“My father’s threat isn’t entirely gone,” he cautions. “He still has personal resources, other avenues. But his primary weapon has been significantly weakened. It gives you breathing room. Time to implement your strategy. Time to deal with the… legacy issues.” He means the SPEs.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice thick with emotion. “I… I had no idea.”
“You didn’t need to,” he replies simply. “You needed to focus on being CEO.” He leans forward slightly, the intensity back in his eyes. “Which bringsus to the ‘potential solution’ I mentioned in my text.”
My heart gives another nervous flutter.
Here it comes.
“I meant what I said in my note, Lucy. I understand why you drew the line. I respect your position too much to ask you to compromise it, especially now.” His gaze holds mine. “But I’m not willing to lose what we have to corporate politics or my father’s bullshit, either.”
He slides a single sheet of paper across the table. It’s not a legal document. Just a few concise bullet points.
- Communication Protocols:Designated channels for business discussions (via liaisons like Tatiana/your counsel for sensitive matters) vs. personal communication (direct, private).
- Conflict Recusal: Formal recusal by both parties from any direct negotiation or board vote where Hammond & Co. and Blackwell Innovations have clearly opposing interests.
- Transparency: Mutual agreement to disclose potential conflicts immediately to relevant legal counsel.
- Project Nightingale Oversight: Joint steering committee with clearly defined roles, focusing solely on partnership execution, insulated from other business conflicts.
It’s…thoughtful. Practical. It acknowledges the real conflicts but proposes clear structures to manage them, allowing for professional integrity while creating space for… something else.
Forus.
“This framework,” he explains quietly, “allows us both to perform our duties as CEOs withoutcompromising our companies or ourselves. It creates firewalls where necessary. It demands transparency. It respects the boundaries you need.” He pauses, his expression surprisingly vulnerable. “But it keeps the door open, Lucy. For us. If that’s something you still want.”
Relief, sharp and overwhelming, floods through me. He’s not demanding I choose. He’s offering a way to have both. Acknowledging the complexity, respecting my role, but fighting forusin his own strategic, controlled way.
He found the middle path Ava talked about.
“Yes,” I breathe out, and smile, chasing away the shadows of the past few days. “Yes, Christopher. That’s definitely something I still want.”
The tension finally breaks. He lets out a slow breath, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in that rare, devastating half-smile. The weariness seems to lift from his eyes, replaced by a cautious hope that mirrors my own.
The path forward is still treacherous.
Mark Blackwell is still out there.
The SPEs still need defusing.
