Page 117 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

He sees my refusal not as strategic difference, but as weakness. As betrayal.

And he intends to excise that weakness.

The boardroom is already full when I arrive.

Son of a bitch.

Of course it is. He convened it and made damn sure I was the last to know, walking in after everyone else.

Petty fucking dominance game.

It’s a game I know quite well, because I’ve pulled it numerous times myself.

I take my seat. The tension is thick enough to choke on. My father, looking grimly satisfied, sits at the opposite end of the long table from me, flanked by a couple of his old guard allies. The other members, a mix of venture capitalists, tech industry veterans, and financial analysts, look extremely uncomfortable, as if they’re caught in the crossfire.

Which they are.

“Christopher,” my father begins without preamble. “Thank you for joining us on such short notice. I invoked Article 7, Section 4 of the bylaws due to grave concerns regarding recent strategic decisions, specifically the revised terms offered to Hammond & Co., and the potential conflict of interest arising from your apparent personal relationship with the interim CEO, Ms. Lucy Hammond.”

He gestures to a screen at the end of the room. Financial projections appear. Skewed comparisons highlighting the risks of the Hammond deal, conveniently omitting the long term synergy potential. Then, ridiculously, paparazzi photos flash up showingme and Lucy leaving the gala and entering my apartment building.

Fuck me.

“As you can see,” Mark continues, his voice dripping with faux concern, “the terms offered to Hammond are significantly below market standards for a company in their distressed state. Furthermore, Mr. Blackwell’s judgment appears… compromised. This partnership, driven by sentiment and infatuation rather than sound financial strategy, puts shareholder value at unacceptable risk. It suggests a troubling deviation from the principles upon which Blackwell Innovations was built.” He looks around the table, appealing to the more conservative members. “I believe we need to seriously reconsider the Hammond deal, and perhaps Christopher’s unchecked authority in negotiating such matters.”

The implication is clear. He’s painting me as lovesick and irrational. Using my connection to Lucy to question my competence, to seize control.

I let the silence stretch for a beat, meeting my father’s gaze across the polished expanse of the table. No fear. Just cold, simmering rage.

“My relationship with Ms. Hammond,” I state clearly, my voice cutting through the tension, “while personal, does not compromise my business judgment. In fact, it has provided valuable insight into the operational realities and untapped potential of Hammond & Co.” I stand up, letting my gaze move from face to face. “The revised terms arenotcharity. They arenotsentiment. They are astrategic investment. They secure a valuable partnership, access to unique assets, and position Blackwell Innovations to capitalize on the integration of Hammond’s legacy with our technological capabilities. This isn’tabout infatuation. It’s about vision. A vision for sustainable growth, not just hostile takeovers.”

I continue to address the board directly, ignoring my father. “The ‘principles’ upon which Blackwell Innovations was supposedly built,” I say, my voice laced with contempt as I flick my eyes towards Mark, “were often short-sighted. Focused on immediate gain, scorched earth tactics, and inflated egos. That model is outdated. The market is evolving. Sustainable value, strategic alliances, integrating legacy with innovation...thatis the future. Project Nightingale, under the current terms, is a cornerstone of that future. Rejecting it based on skewed data and personal vendettas,” another pointed look at my father, “would be therealfailure of fiduciary responsibility.”

My defense hangs in the air. Passionate. More passionate than I usually allow in this setting. But every word is true. This is the path I’ve chosen. This is the future I’m building. With or without their fucking approval.

I return to my seat, and the debate that follows is tense.

My father’s allies argue risk, precedent, deviation from the norm. I counter with long-term projections, synergy benefits, the strategic advantage of the partnership. Sarah Chan, surprisingly, speaks up, defending the thoroughness of the due diligencemyteam performed, subtly backing my position without directly contradicting my father. Others remain quiet, waiting to see which way the wind blows.

Finally, the chairman calls for a vote. To formally review and potentially rescind the revised Hammond partnership terms.

My gut tightens.

This is it.

Hands are raised. Counted.

My breath catches.

The chairman clears his throat. “The motion to rescind fails. Six votes against, five in favor.”

Narrow. Too fucking narrow. But a victory nonetheless.

Project Nightingale stands.

For now.

Relief washes over me, quickly followed by cold fury. He forced this confrontation. He tried to use Lucy against me.