Page 96 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
The Blackwell way.
The way he taught me.
But all I see is Lucy’s face. Her pride in her family’s legacy, flawed as it is. Her determination to save it. The trust in her eyes last night when I gave her that revised proposal.
Using this information wouldn’t just ruin RichardHammond. It would destroy Lucy. It would betray everything that’s starting to build between us. It would make me… him.
My father.
“How do I know you haven’t planted this evidence?” I ask, though mostly I’m stalling for time.
“Read the documents,” Weiss says. “Everything’s there. Along with the proof.”
I open the thin file. He’s right. There are bank statements. Corporate cutouts. All traceable back to Richard Hammond.
The choice hangs there, stark and absolute. The path of ruthless acquisition, the path paved with my father’s approval and littered with the wreckage of others.
Or… another path.
An unknown path.
One defined by… what? Integrity? Loyalty?
Feelings I barely understand for a woman who should be my target, not my… whatever she is.
“No,” I say. The word is quiet, but absolute.
My father stares at me, disbelief warring with fury. “No? What do you mean, no?”
“No,” I say again.
“But this is everything we need!” My father is shouting now. Spitting as he talks. “It guarantees the acquisition on ourfuckingterms!”
“I said no.” My voice hardens. “Project Nightingale proceeds according to the partnership agreement I negotiated. The revised agreement. We are not acquiring Hammond & Co. through blackmail or engineered scandal. We arepartneringwith them. We are investing in their future, not burying their past.”
“Are you insane?” Mark sputters, his face a bright red. “After everything? Because ofthat Hammond girl? You’d throw away a guaranteed victory for… for what? Sentiment? Love? Because she sucks your dick real good?”
I squeeze my fist in barely controlled rage. “I’m throwing away your outdated, vindictive tactics, Father,” I retort. “This ismycompany.Mydeal.My fucking decision. We will not use this information. Is that clear?”
Weiss looks like he wants to disappear into the carpet. My father looks like he wants to strangle me. His fists clench at his sides, just like my own.
For a moment, I think he might actually lunge across the desk and we’ll come to blows. The air crackles with decades of resentment, of manipulation, of this endless, toxic power struggle.
“You’re making a grave mistake, Christopher,” he finally spits out, voice oozing contempt. “A mistake driven by weakness. She’s made you weak.”
“Get out,” I say.
“You’ll regret this.”
“Get. The fuck.Out!”
He turns abruptly and storms out, Weiss scrambling after him like a whipped dog. The door slams shut, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
I wait until I hear the elevator doors open and close in the room outside. Until I know they’re gone.
And then I finally let my fists relax.
I stand there for a long moment, the adrenaline slowly receding, leaving behind a hollow ache.
