Page 116 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

35

Christopher

“So,” Dominic Rossi says, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

We’re in my office, the city lights beginning to prick the twilight sky outside. The workday is technically over, but mine rarely ends before midnight. He dropped by, ostensibly to discuss a potential joint venture on a sustainable development downtown, but mostly, I suspect, to probe.

“Interim CEO Hammond,” he continues. “Quite the coup for the supposed underdog.”

I take a sip of my own scotch. The peat smoke flavor burns, a familiar comfort. “She earned it. Stepped up when required.”

That’s an understatement. She walked into a goddamn minefield and came out holding the flag, even if she thinks it’s just temporary.

Dominic watches me over the rim of his glass, that annoyingly perceptive glint in his eyes. “She seems to be having quite the effect on you, Chris. First, you engineer a partnership instead of a kill shot. Then you publicly defy Daddy Dearest at the gala.Now you’re actively propping up her leadership. Even adjusted the deal terms in her favor, or so the grapevine whispers.” He raises an eyebrow. “The Executioner appears to have… mellowed.”

“My strategy has evolved,” I state coolly. “Long term value creation sometimes requires a different approach than slash and burn.”

The words sound almost convincing. Maybe because I’m starting to fucking believe them. Seeing Lucy fight, seeing the potential in Hammond’s legacy beyond just its real estate assets… it changes the equation.

“Evolved,” Dominic echoes thoughtfully. “Or influenced?” He leans forward slightly. “Come on, Chris. This is me. Since when do you prioritize ‘cultivation’ over conquest? Since when does Christopher Blackwell care about preserving legacy instead of maximizing profit extraction? This isn’t just evolution. This is…her.”

I stare into my glass, avoiding his gaze. Fuck him for seeing it. Fuck myself for letting it be so obvious. But denying it feels… pointless. Dishonest, even.

“She’s… different,” I admit, the words feeling unfamiliar. “She doesn’t operate from the same cynical playbook everyone else does. Challenges me. Doesn’t back down. Values things beyond the bottom line.” I swirl the scotch. “It’s… illuminating. Makes you question the assumptions you’ve operated under for years.” Like the assumption that ruthlessness is the only path to success.

Or that genuine connection is a liability to be avoided at all costs.

“Illuminating,” Dominic repeats softly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Look at you. Using words like ‘illuminating’. Talking about values.Maybe there’s hope for you yet, you cold-hearted bastard.”

Before I can retort, my desk phone emits an urgent, piercing beep. Not a standard call. A priority tone.

Tatiana’s voice follows instantly, piped through the speaker, tight with controlled urgency.

“Mr. Blackwell. Apologies for the interruption. An emergency meeting of the Blackwell Innovations board has been convened. Effective immediately. In the main boardroom.”

My gut clenches. “My board? Atthisfucking hour? Convened by whom?”

But I already know the answer.

“Your father, sir. Through official channels, citing urgent concerns regarding fiduciary responsibility and recent strategic decisions impacting shareholder value.”

Son of a bitch. The veiled threats weren’t just bluster.

He’s making his move.

Now.

Fuck.

Dominic whistles softly. “Playing dirty. Right for the jugular.”

“His specialty,” I snarl, already shrugging on my jacket. Fury, cold and familiar, floods my veins. “Dominic—”

“Go,” he says, standing up. “Cut the head off the snake, Chris.”

I smile wanly. “If only it were so easy.”

I take the elevator down to the boardroom floor. When the doors open, the walk to the conference room feels like miles. Each step echoes the confrontation I knew was coming, the one my fatherhas been building towards since I first refused to crush Hammond & Co.