Page 159 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
Even though the new operating framework he proposed over dinner essentially solves all our problems.
I guess I just should’ve let go. Surrendered to my feelings for him.
Suddenly, the double doors to the conference room swing open.
Heads snap up.
Standing there, flanked by Elijah Reeves looking even more impassive than usual, is Christopher Blackwell himself.
He looks tired, even more tired than over dinner the other night, but his presence electrifies the room, shifting the atmosphere from weary dread to sharp anticipation.
What is he doing here?
He ignores the startled looks from my team, his intense blue gaze locking immediately onto mine.
He holds up a small, sleek digital audio recorder.
“I believe,” he says, his voice cutting through the sudden silence, “this might be relevant to your defense strategy.”
My heart does a frantic drum solo against my ribs.
“Christopher?” I manage, standing up slowly.
He walks towards the head of the table, towards me.
He places the recorder down gently. “My final conversation with my father yesterday.”
He presses play.
And we listen. Mark Blackwell’s voice. Enraged, spitting venom, stripped of its usual calculating control, fills the room.
“…Fuck business opportunity! It’s about revenge! Crushing Richard Hammond… teaching you a valuable lesson! Your mother’s pattern stops here!...”
Then, Christopher’s cool questioning about legality.
“…Illegal? It’s called strategy, Christopher! Long-term planning!... Sure, he might have fudged a few Hammond & Co. property valuations, but that’s par for the course… Strength lies in control! In ruthlessness! Not in… sentiment, or attachments!...”
The recording clicks off, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.
Holy. Shit.
Mark Blackwell, admitting on tape that the takeover is pure personal vendetta. And explicitly confirming Morgan Weisswillinglyparticipated in sabotage by fudging valuations.
The smoking gun.
For both of them.
My legal team stares at the recorder like it’s the Holy Grail. Mr. Davies actually has color in his cheeks.
Christopher’s gaze meets mine again. No triumph. No ‘I told you so’. Just… quiet intensity. Understanding.
He got this. For me. Despite everything.
“I… I need a minute,” I stammer, gesturing towards my office. “Christopher?”
He nods, following me out of the conference room, leaving my legal team buzzing with renewed purpose.
I close my office door behind us, leaning back against it, feeling suddenly shaky.
