Page 71 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
Again.
“Send them through.” I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples.
Tatiana doesn’t move. “Mr. Blackwell,” she begins, her tone still professional but with anunderlying edge I rarely hear. “Forgive me for observing, but your focus during the European acquisitions call seemed… divided.”
Divided. That’s one fucking word for it.
Shattered is more like it.
Or maybe compromised.
“The call was tedious,” I deflect. “Bureaucratic nonsense.”
She raises a single, impeccably shaped eyebrow. The Tatiana Cole equivalent of screaming ‘Bullshit!’
“Perhaps, sir. Or perhaps your attention is increasingly directed towards… other acquisitions?” She lets the implication hang there. She knows. Of course she knows. She probably knew about the Hamptons trip before my helicopter even cleared city airspace. She knows about the flowers. The late night visit to Hammond & Co. The unscheduled trip to the disaster site. Tatiana knows everything. It’s her job.
Fuck it. Denying it is pointless. And frankly, insulting to her intelligence.
“It’s… complicated, Tatiana,” I admit, the words feeling foreign, grating. I don’tdocomplicated personal entanglements.
“Complicated how, sir?” she presses gently, but firmly. “The optics of the CEO of Blackwell Innovations becoming personally involved with the primary stakeholder of a potential multi-million dollar acquisition target are… challenging. It presents significant conflict of interest vulnerabilities.”
There it is. Laid out cold. Conflict of interest. Vulnerability. Everything my father warned about. Everything my instincts scream against. “I’m aware of the optics, Tatiana.”
“Are you also aware of the potential legal and financial ramifications should this relationshipunduly influence the terms of the Hammond deal? Or be perceived as doing so?” she counters, ever the pragmatist. “Your father…” she trails off, but the unspoken threat is clear. Mark Blackwell would exploit any perceived weakness, any hint of impropriety, to undermine me or the deal itself if it suited his agenda.
She’s right. Of course she’s fucking right. Getting involved with Lucy isn’t just personally risky, it’s strategically idiotic. It hands my enemies ammunition. It compromises the very deal I’m trying to structure, the deal meant tosaveher company, not exploit it.
What was I thinking? That I could compartmentalize? That I could fuck her senseless one night and negotiate across a boardroom table the next without consequences?
Amateur. Fucking amateur.
“Your concerns are noted, Tatiana,” I say, my voice all cool authority, when inside I’m reeling. “Manage the schedule accordingly. Project Nightingale remains the priority. Ensure all protocols regarding potential conflicts are strictly adhered to.”
She nods, satisfied for now. “Of course, sir.” She turns to leave.
“Tatiana,” I stop her. She pauses, looking back. “Thank you.”
A flicker of surprise crosses her features before it’s smoothed away. “Just doing my job, Mr. Blackwell.” She disappears back into the outer office.
Doing her job. Which includes protecting me from my own goddamn stupidity. I stare out the window, the city spread below like a circuit board. Complex. Interconnected. Full of potential short circuits.
Speaking of which, Lucy Hammond is a shortcircuit I can’t afford. A vulnerability I deliberately exposed myself to.
So what now? Cut it off? Retreat fully behind the walls, treat her like any other business contact?
The thought leaves a cold, hollow ache in my chest that has nothing to do with market analytics.
Or… do I try to navigate this minefield? Acknowledge the conflict, manage the risk, but refuse to let my father’s manipulations or my own ingrained fears dictate my choices?
My secure line buzzes again. Not Tatiana this time. The direct line from building security downstairs.
“Mr. Blackwell,” the security chief’s voice is tight. “Mark Blackwell is in the lobby. He’s demanding access.”
Since the last time my father showed up unannounced, I’d decided that allowing him unfettered access to my office was no longer something I’d put up with, and I’d given security specific instructions not to let him up without my explicit permission.
I consider turning down his request, but decide against it, for the moment.
