Page 153 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
What’s the dress code for potentially reconciling with the billionaire you’re falling for while simultaneously fighting his father for corporate survival?
I settle on tailored black trousers and a silk blouse. Professional, but not entirely fortress-like.
My own security guys, Frank and a quiet woman named Maria, follow me down in the elevator.
I arrive at La Fenice fifteen minutes early, because apparently my anxiety has its own schedule. Frank and Maria exchange subtle nods with the maître d’, then melt discreetly into the background near the entrance.
I’m shown to a small, elegantly appointed private roomin the back.
It’s quiet, dimly lit, and smells a little like expensive wine and beeswax (the latter would probably be the candles).
I sit down, fiddle with my napkin, and try to remember how to breathe normally.
Stay calm. Be professional. Be open.
And maybe try not to blush too much.
Right on time, the door opens.
And Christopher enters.
My breath catches all over again.
He looks… gorgeous. But tired.
There are faint shadows under his eyes I haven’t seen before, and the usual tightly controlled energy around him feels banked, somehow weary.
His gaze is as intense as ever. Behind him, Elijah Reeves lingers for a second before taking up a position down the hall.
“Lucy,” he greets me, his voice carefully neutral. He doesn’t smile.
“Christopher.” My voice sounds ridiculously formal.
At least I didn’t call him Mr. Blackwell.
He stands there for an awkward moment, the silence stretching, thick with unspoken things.
Then he sits, taking the chair opposite me.
A knock, and a waiter enters, pours water, and offers menus we both ignore. He excuses himself.
More silence.
Okay, this is excruciating.
Someone has to break it. Might as well be me.
I already brokeus, didn’t I?
“Christopher, about the other day,” I begin, my cheeks already starting to feel warm.Damn it.“In the boardroom. When I asked you to leave…”
He holds up a hand, stopping me. “It’s fine, Lucy.It really is. You did what you felt you had to do as CEO. I understand.”
His calm acceptance somehow makes it worse.
“No, let me finish,” I insist, leaning forward. “I need you to understandwhy. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. God, Christopher, I believe you completely about the takeover. I always did. You had no involvement.” My voice trembles slightly. “But sitting there as permanent CEO, facing that crisis… I panicked. All I could think about was how everyone was watching me, waiting for me to fail, waiting for me to make an emotional decision like they always accused Dad of doing. I felt like I had to draw the clearest possible line, create this… impenetrable professional boundary, just to prove I could. To prove I was worthy of the position, that I wouldn’t let personal feelings compromise the company.”
I look down at my hands, twisting my napkin. “And I was terrified, honestly. Terrified of messing up, of letting everyone down. Dad, the employees, the legacy… even you. Especially you. It felt safer, somehow, to push you away.”
