Page 128 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
She turns to me, a softer look in her eyes. “Yeah. Stubborn as ever, but okay. Safely dispatched home with strict instructions not to even think about jogging.”
“Good.” I watch her for a moment, gauge her mood. She seems relieved, steadier now that he’s home.
“What did he want to talk to you about?” she asks.
I pause, then set down my suitcase on a nearby table. I open it, and pull out the bound copies of the Project Nightingale agreement. “Richard gave his blessing, Lucy. To us. And to this.”
I hold the documents out slightly.
Her eyes widen slightly. A faint blush touches her cheeks. “He… he did?”
“He did.” I nod towards the small office where Richard and I spoke earlier. “Shall we make it official?”
We walk into the quiet room, away from the bustle. I place the signed documents on the small table, next to my suitcase.
I hand her my pen. She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.
A spark, familiar and potent, travels down my arm.
I bury the sudden need that flows through my veins.
This isn’t the time, or the venue.
She sits down, skims the document, then flips to the signature page.
She takes a breath and signs her name.
Lucy Hammond,
Interim Chief Executive Officer,
Hammond & Co.
Then she pushesthe documents towards me.
I countersign quickly, decisively.
Christopher Blackwell,
Chief Executive Officer,
Blackwell Innovations.
Done.The partnership is official.
Forged in crisis, cemented by unlikely trust, signed in a quiet room off a glitteringballroom.
A tangible symbol of our intertwined futures.
Professional.
Personal.
I pick up the signed agreement, the weight of it feeling somehow substantial.
A sense of accomplishment settles over me.
Wedid this. Against sabotage, against family history, against my father’s machinations.
