Page 182 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
I stand back, observing the easy affection between them.
“The grand re-opening went well?” Richard asks, his voice stronger than the last time I saw him.
“Perfectly, Dad,” Lucy assures him, showing him photos on her tablet. “We’ve got full occupancy already. The investors are super happy.”
Richard nods, satisfied.
He looks over at me. The old animosity is completely gone, replaced by a grudging, almost paternal respect.
“Good work, Christopher,” he says. “Thank you for taking care of my girl. And my company.”
“We’re taking care of each other, Richard,” I reply evenly.
He nods slowly, and winks at Lucy as he says, “I suppose you are.”
Later that afternoon,back in my office at Blackwell Innovations, Dominic Rossi drops by, sprawling comfortably on one of the chairs opposite my desk. He pours himself a drink from my bar withoutasking.
Some things never change.
“So,” he begins, swirling a glass of bourbon. “Heard the ceremony was a roaring success. The happy power couple, rebuilding New York one historic brick at a time.”
“Something like that,” I grunt, signing off on a final directive regarding board restructuring.
“Big plans now that the dust is settling?” he asks casually. “Thought maybe we could finally hit that new underground poker game…”
“Busy,” I state flatly. Consolidating the new joint venture structures. Overseeing the final stages of my father’s complete extraction from Blackwell Innovations. And… enjoying the fact that Lucy is actually, finally, completely moved into my penthouse. She’d held onto her old apartment up until last week, even though she hadn’t actually lived there in six months.
“Right.” Dominic grins. “Domestic bliss.” He takes a sip. “Actually, speaking of other kinds of bliss, I’m heading to Vegas next weekend myself. Marco’s finally tying the knot, if you can believe it.”
“Vegas?For a wedding?” I look up. An ironic destination for Marco, given his history.
“Yep,” Dominic replies with a shrug. “Met her there.”
I nod. “I guess that makes sense. Funny. Tatiana mentioned she’s also heading there next weekend. Taking a rare few days off for some ‘Girls’ Trip’, she called it.”
When she’d told me, my first thought was surprise.
After all, this is Tatiana we’re talking about.
In Vegas, letting loose?
It’s hard for me to imagine my ruthlessly efficientexecutive assistant doing anything involving sequins or impulsive decisions.
I glance at Dominic, and raise an eyebrow, a flicker of the old mischief surfacing. “Maybe you two will run into each other at the roulette wheel. Could be fate.”
Or a fucking catastrophe.
Dominic bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his bourbon. “With your assistant?” He shakes his head. “She’s brilliant, terrifyingly competent, but ‘relaxing spontaneous fun?’ Not the first words that leap to mind.” He drains his glass. “Besides, my truly wild Vegas days are mostly behind me now.”
Mine too.
The thought lands with surprising lack of regret. Vegas used to be the default escape hatch. Me, Dominic, the jet, the penthouse suite at the Aria or Bellagio, a constantly rotating cast of beautiful, interchangeable women ensuring my bed never lacked for temporary company back.
It was a way of filling the silence between deals. Chasing the next empty thrill because lasting fulfillment felt like a fucking myth perpetuated by greeting card companies.
Now? The thought of that entire scene holds zero fucking appeal.
The noise, the superficiality, the endless chase… it seems exhausting, in retrospect. Pointless.
