Page 181 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
I feel him pulse inside me, his release hot and endless, his powerful body shuddering against mine as he pours himself into me.
“Mine,” he says again, but it’s different now. Softer, a promise etched in stone.
We cling together afterwards, shaking, breathless, hearts pounding in unison. The city air feels cool on our heated skin.
He rests his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged.
When I can finally speak, my voice is a shaky whisper.
“Just so we’re clear…” I manage, looking up into his love-filled eyes, the new sapphire on my finger catching the moonlight. “That was a billion times yes.”
He throws back his head and laughs, an unrestrained sound of pure joy that echoes in the quiet rooftop garden.
And holding onto him, high above the city, our future stretching out before us, I know, without a single doubt, that we can take on the world.
And we will.
52
Epilogue
Christopher
Six Months Later
Athick, celebratory blue ribbon stretches across the gleaming, meticulously restored entrance of the Sterling-Hammond building.
Six months.
That’s all it took. A breakneck pace combining Lucy’s deep knowledge of the building’s soul with my ruthless project management efficiency to bring this Art Deco jewel roaring back to life.
The building is fully leased and ready for occupancy. Our first tangible victory under Project Nightingale, silencing many doubters. What was a neglected landmark bleeding cash is now a fully restored, high-tech enabled commercial marvel.
The crowd, composed of prestigious new tenants, relieved investors, and eager press, buzzes with appreciative murmurs under the crisp autumn sky.
Cameras flash. Champagne glasses clink.
Lucy stands beside me, addressing the gathered press and investors. She looks radiant, powerful, everyinch the CEO who dragged her family’s company back from the brink and silenced the doubters.
Six months.
Six months since her father’s second heart attack, since Mark’s failed takeover, since Morgan Weiss was unceremoniously ejected from the board amid scandal (with legal proceedings against him ongoing and satisfyingly brutal).
Six months since Lucy officially took the helm, navigating the SPE cleanup with transparency and rebuilding trust brick by painful brick.
“…and this project represents more than just restoring a historic landmark,” Lucy is saying, her voice clear and confident, carrying over the assembled crowd. “It embodies the Hammond & Co. commitment to blending legacy with innovation, creating sustainable value that respects both our city’s history and its future. A vision made possible through our partnership with Blackwell Innovations.” She turns, smiling at me, a private warmth beneath the public professionalism.
I step up to the microphone beside her, adding my own remarks about technological integration and market synergy. Corporate bullshit, mostly, but necessary.
What feels real is standing here beside her, a united front. Observing how her strategic foresight complements my analytical drive, how her passion for heritage balances my focus on the future.
We are, impossibly, better together. A synergy far more potent than any financial projection could capture.
Lucy makes the ceremonial cut, and the blue ribbon splits into two halves that flutter in the wind. The crowd cheers.
After the handshakes and obligatory photos, we ditch the lingering press. Our respective security details coordinate seamlessly, and we head to the hospital first. Richard Hammond had successful bypass surgery last week, a necessary step Dr. Finch recommended once his condition stabilized further.
He’s sitting up in his private room, looking frail but alert, the old stubborn spark back in his eyes. Lucy fusses over him, plumping pillows, checking his water pitcher.
