Page 156 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
“I need a perspective outside my usual echo chamber,” I state bluntly. “Regarding… navigating a personal relationship complicated by conflicting professional positions. Specifically, when one party feels obligated to create distance for the sake of professional integrity.”
I keep the details vague, but he’s sharp. He knows who I’m talking about.
The Hammond gala wasn’t exactly subtle.
King swirls his drink, studying me for a long moment. I expect a cynical remark. Abarb about letting emotions interfere with business. Instead, he surprises me.
“Ava,” he says quietly, his gaze distant for a second. “When we first got married… the power imbalance, the wealth, my own fucking relationship issues… I nearly destroyed it. Tried to control everything. Assumed her motives were suspect. She pushed back. Hard. Created boundaries I wasn’t used to encountering.” He looks back at me. “Sometimes, King, distance isn’t about a lack of trust inyou. It’s about her need to trustherself. To prove she can stand on her own, especially when the world expects her to lean on someone powerful.”
He takes a drink before continuing. “Lucy Hammond just became CEO of a legacy company under siege, thanks largely to your father. She’s got the weight of history, her father’s failings, and every vulture in New York watching her every move. Her needing to project absolute independence right now? It’s not about you. It’s about survival. Her survival. The company’s survival.”
His words land with unexpected force. Fear. Not lack of faith. Her boundary wasn’t a rejection of me, but a defense mechanism born of overwhelming pressure and her own deep-seated insecurities.
It’s all starting to click into place.
“Funny,” King remarks, a wry smile touching his lips. “Us. Fierce rivals for years. And now…” He gestures between us. “Brought together, in a way, by the women we… care about.” He raises an eyebrow. “You love her, don’t you, Blackwell?”
The question hangs in the air. Love. The word itself feels foreign. Dangerous. Associated with weakness, abandonment, my mother’s departure, my father’s bitterness.
But thinking of Lucy… her fire, her vulnerability, the way she makes me feel something other than calculating rage or cynical amusement… the way the thought of losing her feels like a physical fucking amputation…
The realization crystallizes, sharp and undeniable. Stripped bare of defenses, of cynicism.
“Yes,” I admit, the single word feeling heavier than any multi-billion dollar deal.
Yes.
Fuck me, I do.
King nods slowly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Then give her the space she needs to be CEO. But don’t mistake distance for dismissal. Find ways to support her without undermining her. It’s a trickier game than hostile takeovers, but the payoff…” He shrugs. “A thousand times better.” He finishes his drink. “Seems we’re not rivals anymore, Blackwell. Not really.”
“No,” I agree.
Leaving the club, my mind feels clearer. Calmer.
Gideon King, of all people, offering perspective that cuts through my own bullshit.
Love.
Fuck.
The admission settles, heavy but… not entirely unwelcome.
It clarifies things. Sharpens the focus.
Back at the office, an urgent message awaits from my legal team.
They’ve found it.
A critical vulnerability in Mark’s remaining takeover strategy.
Apparently, the shell corporations he’s using for financing have ties back to offshoreaccounts with questionable FBAR reporting history. Exposing that could trigger regulatory scrutiny, freezing his assets, effectively killing the bid for good.
My first instinct is to forward the intel to Lucy immediately. Give her the weapon she needs. But… no.
Not yet.
Gideon’s words echo.
