Page 115 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
Ava sips her iced tea thoughtfully.
“Sounds familiar,” she says wryly, a knowing look in her warm brown eyes. “When Gideon and I got married... and I’m not talking about the fake marriage, but the real one... when we got married, he tried to purchase another gallery for me as a surprise. I panicked. Felt like he was trying to buyme.”
“Exactly! How did you handle it?”
“Boundaries,” she says simply. “And honesty. I had to be clear about what I needed versus what felt like… annexation. It wasn’t easy, especially when you’re falling for the Annexor-in-Chief.” She smiles gently. “It’s okay to accept help. Especially from someone you trust, someone who clearly cares aboutyou, not just the asset. The trick is structuring it so you still feel in control. Partnership, not patronage.”
Partnership, not patronage. I chew on that, literally and figuratively.
Maybe there’s amiddle ground.
Later that afternoon,I visit Dad at the hospital. He’s looking better, with color returning to his face. He’s sitting up, watching some boring news channel.
“Hey, CEO,” he greets me, a weak but genuine smile reaching his eyes.
“InterimCEO,” I remind him. “Until your return. How are you, Chairman of the Bored?” I kiss his cheek. It smells like hospital soap. “Feeling better?”
“Actually, I’m feeling like I wrestled a truck and lost. But yes, better.” He gestures for me to sit. “Tell me things. How’s the company? Morgan behaving himself?”
I give him the edited highlights. The team restructuring I initiated. The positive feedback from a couple of key clients. I mention the board meeting, confirming my interim appointment. I deliberately skirt around the SPE deep dive and Morgan’s specific threats. No need to stress him further.
“Good. Good work, Lucy,” he says. He reaches out, pats my hand. “You always had good instincts. Better than mine, lately.” He sighs. “All those years… I thought I was protecting you by keeping you out of the tough decisions. Turns out, I was just protecting my own ego. Should have trusted you sooner.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Trust yourself, Lucy. Whatever comes up, trust your gut. You’ll know the right thing to do.”
His words land squarely in my heart. Maybe… maybe Idoknow what to do.
Back in Dad’squiet office that same day, feeling strangely centered after his unexpected vote of confidence, I pick up the phone and call Christopher.
“Blackwell,” he answers instantly.
“It’s Lucy.” I take a breath. “About your offer. The forensic accountants.”
“Yes?” His voice is carefully neutral, waiting.
“I accept,” I say. His silence prompts me to continue quickly. “Well, sort of. I need the expertise, Christopher. You were right. This SPE situation is… complex. And potentially explosive. Your team’s experience would be invaluable.” I pause, gathering my courage. “But they report tome. And to Hammond’s legal counsel. They operate under our direction, with a clearly defined scope focusedonlyon identifying and mapping the SPE structure and associated risks. We retain control of the overall strategy, the remediation plan, and any necessary disclosures. It’s Hammond’s problem, and ultimately, Hammond’s solution. We need your resources, your best people, but as expert consultants, not as controllers.”
There.
Boundaries.
Partnership, not patronage.
Please don’t be offended. Please understand.
Another pause. Longer this time. I can practically hear the gears turning in his powerful brain. Is he insulted? Annoyed?
“Acceptable,” he says finally. “Your parameters are clear. Smart, Lucy. Very smart.” Relief washes over me. He gets it. “I’ll have Tatiana coordinate the engagement protocols with your counsel immediately. My team will be briefed and ready to begin by tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Christopher,” I say, meaning it more than words can convey. “For the help. And for… understanding.”
“Always, Lucy,” he replies, and there’s a warmth in his voice that makes my cheeks flush for an entirely different reason.
We disconnect, and I lean back in Dad’s oversized chair, a real smile touching my lips.
Okay. Maybe these CEO shoes aren’t too big after all.
Maybe, with the right help, accepted on the right terms, I can actually walk in them.
One careful step at a time.
