Page 105 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

The fear I suspected, the inadequacy her father likely fostered.

Her confession hangs in the air. The brilliant, resilient woman who stood up to me, who defends her company with fierce passion, feels like a fraud.

It makes no logical sense. Yet, seeing the genuine fear in her eyes, I understand. The paternal shadow isn’t unique to the Blackwells.

I reach out, pulling her closer. She resists for a second, then leans into me, resting her head against my shoulder. Her hair smells like her usual sophisticated perfume, but underneath, there’s just… Lucy. Warm, real, unexpectedly fragile.

“Look at me,” I say softly but firmly. She lifts her head, her eyes glistening. “You feelunworthy? You feel like a fraud?” I keep my voice low, intense. “Bullshit. Absolute, complete bullshit.”

“Christopher…”

“No. Listen to me. I’ve seen frauds, Lucy. I grew up with them. I’ve crushed them in business. You’re not one of them. You have more integrity, more business sense, more genuine leadership potential in your little finger than Morgan Weiss has in his entire sniveling body. You navigated this company through crisis while your father was running it into the ground. You stood up to me when I came calling like the goddamn Executioner. You brokered a partnership that preserves the best of Hammond while paving the way for its future. You did that. Not Richard.You.”

I cup her face, making her meet my gaze. “Fear of failure? Everyone feels that. It means you understand the stakes. Inadequacy? That’s just noise. Probably noise your father put in your head because he couldn’t handle your competence threatening his ego.” My grip tightens slightly. “You are capable, Lucy. More capable than you realize. More capable than anyone else on that board, or any external party. Youarethe leader Hammond & Co. needs right now.”

She searches my face, uncertainty warring with a flicker of hope.

“There’s a board meeting tomorrow, isn’t there?” I ask. She nods mutely. “They’ll try to install Morgan, or someone like him. Someone who will serve the vultures. You can’t let that happen. Promise me you won’t.” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “You walk into that room tomorrow, and you fight for it. You demand the interim CEO position. You lay out your vision. You remind them who savedthe Hammond Tower project. You remind them who secured the Blackwell partnership. Don’t let anyone else take it, Lucy. It has to be you.”

I hold her gaze, pouring every ounce of conviction I possess into my words. Because I believe it. Every fucking word. She’s the one. For the company. And maybe… just maybe… for me too. The thought is terrifying. Exhilarating. A future I never thought possible, taking shape right here in this sterile hospital waiting room.

A tiny spark ignites in her eyes. Resolve. The fighter I saw from day one.

“Okay,” she whispers, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “Okay. I’ll fight. But only because it’s a temporary position. When my dad is well again, I’ll step down so he can be the proper CEO again.”

I smile patiently. It’s not quite what I wanted to hear, but it will do for now.

“That’s my girl,” I tell her, and give her a hug.

32

Lucy

Note to self: hospital waiting room chairs are not designed for sleep. Or comfort. Or anything other than slowly crushing your will to live while you wait for potentially devastating news.

I think I managed about forty-five minutes of disjointed, anxious dozing before giving up and resorting to pacing the small private room Christopher had somehow conjured.

I finally convinced Christopher to go home sometime around 2 a.m.

Seriously, the man looked ready to personally wrestle my father’s heart back into perfect health if necessary, but even billionaire vigilantes need sleep.

Probably.

I check my watch. 8 a.m.

My phone buzzes on the table where it’s charging. A text from Christopher.

Victor is downstairs. Ready when you are. Remember what I said. Fight.

Right. Fight. Easy for him to say. He’s not the onewalking into a den of skeptical board members, half of whom think I’m just Daddy’s little girl playing at business, while the other half are actively plotting my company’s demise, led by Chief Slimeball Morgan Weiss.

And now Dad’s massive secret, the SPE time bomb, is ticking under the table.

No pressure though.

I splash cold water on my face in the tiny bathroom, staring at my reflection.

Yikes.