Page 125 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

Or neither.

But honestly, it just feels...right.

Tatiana stands opposite my desk, tablet in hand, awaiting final sign-off before transmitting the execution copies to Hammond’s legal counsel. Her face is, as always, a mask of professional neutrality.

But I know her.

After all these years, I know the subtle shifts. She disapproves. Not overtly. She wouldn’t dare. But the slight tension in her jaw, the almost imperceptible tightening around her eyes… she thinks I’m making a mistake.

Maybe I am.

“Everything appears in order, Mr. Blackwell,” she states, her voice clipped and precise. “Final review required before initiating the signing protocols.”

“The terms stand as drafted, Tatiana,” I say, meeting her gaze. Let her see the resolve.

A flicker of surprise crosses her features before she suppresses it.

“Understood, Mr. Blackwell,” she replies, making a note. “Protocols initiated.”

She turns and leaves, silent and efficient as ever.

I stare at the document after she’s gone.

Project Nightingale.

So it’s almost done, then.

I shove it into a suitcase, and head down.

My security detail meets me downstairs. Elijah Reeves gives me a curt nod as I slide into the back of the sedan. He joins Maya to follow as usual in their SUV, while my driver, Victor, head towards the Plaza, the venue for Hammond & Co.’s 50th Anniversary Gala tonight.

A necessary evil. These corporate dog-and-pony shows are usually a tedious waste of time, but tonight feels different. It’s Lucy’s public debut as interim CEO. A chance for her to project stability, to reassure stakeholders rattled by Richard’s collapse and the underlying financial tremors only a few of us truly understand yet.

I need to be there.

A visible sign of the Blackwell partnership.

A silent ‘fuck you’ to anyone doubting her, including my own father, should he actually show his face.

And even though its still several hours away yet, I want to check in with her, see how things are going.

I glance at the suitcase.

And maybe get Project Nightingale finally signed.

The Plaza ballroom is a hive of activity. Caterers bustle. Florists arrange obscene quantities of white roses. Technicians check lighting rigs.

And in the middle of it all, Lucy stands talking animatedly with Liam O’Connell, the Hammond architect, Carol, the Hammond receptionist, and the hotel’s event manager.

Lucy is wearing a simple but elegant navy blue dress today, professional and commanding. And around her neck, a thin, strategically draped silk scarf. Hiding the marks I left on her skin yesterday in her office.

A faint smirk touches my lips.

Mine.

The visible proof of my mark, even hidden, sends a possessive thrill through me. My cock grows painfully hard, and I have to remain very still until it relaxes again.

Still, she’s incredible to watch. Moving with newfound confidence, fielding questions, making decisions, directing the controlled chaos with a calm authority that wasn’t there just weeks ago.