Page 24 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
“Non-professionally?” I scoff, aiming for breezy. “There is no non-professional, Ava. This is business. Survival.”
“Right.” She takes a sip of her latte, watching me over the rim of the mug. “Because Christopher Blackwell is famously easy to work with. Not at all intimidating, or intense, or… you know.”
“Know what?” I ask, maybe a little too sharply.
“Distractingly… good-looking in that ‘I could ruin your life but you might enjoy it’ kind of way?” Ava finishes, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
My cheeks flame. Instant, undeniable heat crawling up my neck. Damn it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I stammer. “This is strictly business. He’s an arrogant, calculating asshole who—”
“Don’t forget super hot,” Ava supplies helpfully. “You can admit it, Lucy. It doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you human. A human who might be negotiating the future of her family company with someone she also wants to climb like a strategically placed, ridiculously expensive ladder. And not the corporate kind.”
“Ava!” I hiss, glancing around the coffee shop. “Keep your voice down! And no, I do not want to ‘climb’ him. That’s… unprofessional. And gross. He’s the enemy.” Sort of. Maybe.
Ugh.
“Is he?” Ava leans forward, her expression softening. “Or is he the guy offering a lifeline when everyone else is expecting you to drown? A lifeline with strings attached, sure, but still…”
I deflate slightly, tracing the rim of my coffee cup. “Okay, fine,” I mutter, barely audible. “Maybe he’s not… aesthetically displeasing. In a very specific, ‘brooding corporate overlord’ kind of way. Happy?”
Ava grins triumphantly. “Ecstatic. Now, does this ‘not aesthetically displeasing’ factor cloud your judgment about the deal?”
“No!” I snap back immediately, maybe too quickly. “Absolutely not. I’ve read the terms sheet five times. I see the risks. The loss of absolute control is huge. My father reporting to him will be… challenging.” Understatement of the century. “But logically, Ava? It’s the smartest play. He has the capital, the tech integration ideas… he actually seemed interested during the tour, asked real questions. He sees potential, not just a carcass to pick clean.” I start talking faster, laying out the strategic points, the market synergies, the potential for modernization. It’s my defense mechanism: bury the confusing feelings under an avalanche of business jargon.
Ava listens patiently, nodding occasionally. When I finally run out of steam, she just says, “Okay. Logically, it makes sense. Just… be careful. Guys like him… they play a different game. Gideon taught me that. Make sure you know the rules before you agree to play.”
“I know,” I say quietly, the anxiety bubbling up again. “Believe me, I know.” The thought of facing him again, of negotiating the fine print, of potentially working under him… it’s terrifying. And possibly, a tiny bit thrilling. Maybe.
Which is definitely something I am NOT admitting outloud, ever.
The Hammond& Co. boardroom feels colder than usual. Maybe it’s the weight of the decision hanging in the air, or maybe it’s just Morgan Weiss’s general aura of frosty ambition. He’s sitting opposite me, impeccably dressed, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes… they’re like little calculators, constantly assessing angles. Way worse than Christopher’s.
“—and while Mr. Blackwell’s new proposal and the amendments Lucy has made to it have certain… superficial attractions,” Morgan is saying, his voice smooth as polished marble, “I must urge caution. Assuming he accepts the amendments, of course. Because tying ourselves to Blackwell Innovations, even in a partnership, gives Christopher Blackwell unprecedented influence. We risk becoming a mere subsidiary, our legacy absorbed into his tech empire.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in. A few board members nod thoughtfully. Old Man Hemmings actually looks like he might stroke his beard right off.
“Morgan raises valid points,” I concede, keeping my voice steady. I refuse to let him see how much his opposition rattles me. “There are risks. Significant ones. But the alternative…” I gesture vaguely, letting the unspoken threat of bankruptcy hang in the air. “Blackwell’s proposal offers capital, technological upgrades, and importantly, a path to retain the Hammond & Co. brand and core team. It’s not ideal, but it’s a structured recovery plan. Selling outright, as some have suggested…” I glance pointedly at Morgan, “...means liquidation. The end of Hammond & Co. as we know it. Is that the legacy we want?”
My father, sitting at the head of the table, looks pale. He hasn’t said much, just listening with a sort ofpained resignation. He hates this. Hates needing Blackwell. Hates that I’m the one driving this.
“Selling guarantees a return for shareholders now,” Morgan counters smoothly. “Blackwell’s plan is contingent on future performance. Performance underhisoversight. It’s a gamble, Lucy. A potentially disastrous one.” He turns to the other board members. “Are we prepared to bet the company on Christopher Blackwell’s notoriously mercurial nature, and frankly, on Lucy’s ability to manage him?”
Ouch.Okay, the gloves are off. My cheeks flush again, but this time it’s anger, not embarrassment. “My ability to manage is precisely what’s kept this company afloat for the past eighteen months, Morgan,” I say, my voice sharp. “While others were… less focused on solutions.”
Morgan gives a tight, unpleasant smile. “Of course. Your efforts are… noted. But this is a different league. We’re talking about navigating a partnership with one of the most ruthless players in the market.” He leans back, steepling his fingers. “I’ve reviewed the financials extensively. A clean break, even at a lower valuation, provides certainty. I’ve prepared a summary outlining the benefits of immediate liquidation versus the high-risk Blackwell proposal.” He slides a few folders across the polished table.
The discussion devolves from there. Some board members are swayed by Morgan’s certainty argument, others seem willing to consider Christopher’s offer. It’s clear we’re divided. No decision will be made today. My stomach churns.
The meeting adjourns with nothing resolved. As everyone files out, I grab the folder Morgan prepared. Something about his smug certainty makes myskin crawl.
Great. Just freaking great. Not only do I have to convince Christopher Blackwell to take the modified deal, I have to convince the board, too. No pressure, Lucy. Just save the company, manage a bewildered father and a divided board, and try not to spontaneously combust from stress.
Totally doable.
9
Christopher
Impatience claws at the inside of my skull.
