Page 103 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“We get ahead of it,” I explain. “Forensic accountants. My team. They’re discreet, the best in thebusiness. They go through Hammond’s books, trace every transaction related to these SPEs. Understand the full scope, the exact exposure. Then we can better decide what to do. Simultaneously, we develop a counter-narrative. A restructuring plan. Just like we did with the previous accounting revelations, we start a controlled disclosure to key stakeholders, framed as correcting historical errors under new leadership. We take the weapon out of Morgan’s hands by owning the information.”

She absorbs this, nodding slowly. “Hire your team to find dirt on my company.” A wry, humorless smile touches her lips. “Six months ago, I would have thought that was the prelude to the killing blow.”

“Six months ago, it might have been,” I admit flatly. Because it’s true. Before her. Before this… complication. “Things change.”

I’m surprised by my own actions. The instinctual way I moved to help. Calling Dr. Finch. Briefing my legal team not on exploitation, but on mitigation strategies for Hammond & Co. Investing my time, my resources, my focus here, in this sterile waiting room, strategizing how to save the company I initially targeted.

It’s illogical. Inefficient. Contrary to every business principle my father beat into me.

And yet… it feels necessary. Protecting her. Protectingthis. Whatever the hell ‘this’ is.

The realization settles, cold and hard. My carefully constructed world, the one built on ruthless logic and emotional detachment, is fundamentally altering its axis.

But I already knew that. And I almost told her at the gala. But not quite.

To be honest, I’m not sure I’llever tell her.

My secure phone buzzes. Tatiana. I glance at the screen. Urgent flag.

Petrov deal finances have hit a snag.

Needs my immediate authorization.

Fucking perfect timing.

I silence the phone.

It buzzes again, insistently.

Lucy looks up. “Is that work? You should take it.”

“It can wait,” I say curtly.

“Christopher.” She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing my hand. That simple touch shouldn’t affect me. It does. “Go. Your empire won’t run itself. I know you have responsibilities far bigger than babysitting me and my family drama.” She offers a small, tired smile. “I’ll be okay. Dad’s stable. I need to process everything, anyway.”

Her understanding, her lack of demand or expectation… it throws me off balance more than tears or accusations would have. She sees me not just as a potential savior or adversary, but as someone with their own complex world, their own pressures.

Partnership.

Fuck.

“Tatiana can handle the immediate fallout,” I argue, reluctant to leave.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says gently. “Go be the billionaire tyrant CEO you’re meant to be for a few hours. I’ll text you if anything changes. Promise.”

I hesitate. Leaving feels wrong. But she’s right. Blackwell Innovations needs its head. Deals are collapsing, opportunities are passing.

My empire requires feeding.

“All right.” I stand, grabbing my suit jacket. “Maya will remain outside. She has my direct number. Anything happens, anything you need, youtell her, she calls me. Understood?” I look towards the hallway where my security detail waits, ever-present, ever-vigilant.

She nods. “Understood. But I might just ring your direct line as well, because... you know. Anyway, go. Close a deal. Acquire something. Intimidate someone. It’ll probably make you feel better.”

A faint smile touches my lips. Maybe she understands me better than I thought. “Probably.”

I spendthe next few hours buried in work back at the office. Conference calls. Financial modeling. Strategic decisions worth quite a lot of money.

The usual controlled chaos.