Page 2 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
He looks good. Sharp haircut, stylish glasses, wearing a polo shirt with a quirky tech logo I don’trecognize.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “Last I heard you were coding video games in your pajamas.”
He grins, flashing the same mischievous smile that always preceded him putting a tack on someone’s chair. “Moved up in the world, Lulu.”Lulu. Nobody calls me that anymore. “I’m with CyberHound Dynamics now. We’re showcasing our new line of robot companions.” He gestures proudly towards his company’s much smaller, less ostentatious booth nearby. Two sleek, metallic dogs stand alert, their LED eyes glowing softly. They look vaguely menacing, like something out of a sci-fi movie that ends badly.
“Robot dogs?” I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Don’t mock the future!” he says playfully. “These guys are amazing. Real-time adaptive AI, learning, autonomous decision-making… plus, they can take remote commands for specific tasks. And fetch.” He says the last with a wink.
“Impressive,” I admit, glancing nervously towards the Blackwell fortress again.
“So, what bringsyouto this den of capitalist vipers?” Amir asks, following my gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re finally embracing the dark side?”
I sigh. “Worse. I’m here to try to reason with Christopher Blackwell. Corporate raider extraordinaire. He’s attempting a hostile takeover of my dad’s company.”
Amir whistles. “Blackwell? Oof. Heard he’s a piece of work. Ruthless.”
“Understatement,” I mutter. “Total asshole. But I have to try. It’s… important.”
“Well, break a leg,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Just try not to get eaten alive.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say dryly. “Wish me luck.”
I square my shoulders again, take a deep breath, and head towards the Blackwell booth.
I’ve only taken about ten steps when I hear a distinctwhir-clickingbehind me.
I glance back.
One of Amir’s robot dogs is trotting purposefully in my wake, its little metal tail wagging.
“Amir!” I hiss, turning around completely. He’s standing by his booth, arms crossed, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Not funny! Call it off!”
He just shrugs innocently, pointing at the dog. “He must like you! Autonomous decision-making, remember?”
Liar.He was always a practical joker. I remember the stink bomb incident in sophomore year all too well. I turn and walk faster, trying to weave through the crowd.
Thewhir-clickingfollows relentlessly.
I duck behind a large display showcasing holographic projectors. Silence.
Okay, I think I lost it.
I peek out… nope, there it is, sniffing the air expectantly.
Then I hearanotherset of clicks. The second dog trots up to join the first.
Great. Double trouble.
“Seriously, Amir, knock it off!” I mouth furiously across the aisle, trying not to draw attention. He just blows me a kiss.
Okay, fine. Evasive maneuvers.
I dart left, then right, cutting through a knot of people gathered around a dronedemonstration.
I glance back.
The dogs are momentarily confused, scanning the crowd.
