Page 126 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

She still carries that underlying anxiety. I see it in the slight tension around her eyes, the way she occasionally fiddles with her bracelet. But she’s channeling it into focused energy. She’s owning this role, temporaryor not.

Pride, sharp and unexpected, swells in my chest.

As I approach, flanked by Elijah, her own security detail as assigned by me comes into view. Darius Wade, looking like a bored fitness consultant in casual clothes, stands near a service entrance, alert despite his relaxed posture. Rebecca Torres, clipboard in hand, blends seamlessly with the event staff near the main stage.

Lucy catches my eye and offers a brief, grateful smile before turning back to the event manager. Elijah breaks away to confer with Darius as I get closer.

Lucy dismisses Liam, Carol, and the hotel manager, then turns to face me full on.

“Everything under control, Interim CEO?” I ask, stopping in front of her.

She smiles. “Mostly. Just finalizing the flow for tonight. Trying to make sure everything screams ‘competence and solvency’ and not ‘dear God, please don’t pull your investments’.” She lowers her voice. “Dad got discharged this morning. Dr. Finch gave him the all-clear, with strict instructions to rest at home.”

“Good news,” I say. Dr. Finch is the best. Richard is in good hands.

“Yeah, massive relief,” she sighs. “I’m planning to stop by his place for a bit before heading back here tonight. Make sure he’s actually resting and not trying to, you know, run a marathon or restructure the company from his armchair.” She glances towards Darius and Rebecca. “Still getting used to my entourage, though,” she adds quietly. “Feels very… excessive.”

“Necessary,” I state firmly. “Until my father demonstrates he’s no longer a threat, they stay close.”

She nods, accepting it. Her gaze drops to the suitcase I’m carrying. “What’s in the briefcase?”

Before I can answer, hushed whispers echo throughout the plaza.

I turn, and spot a familiar figure entering the ballroom from a side entrance, moving slowly but with undeniable presence.

Richard Hammond.

Looking paler, thinner, but upright and dressed in one of his classic, slightly outdated suits.

“Dad?” Lucy gasps, her eyes widening in disbelief.

She rushes over, and I join her.

“What are you doinghere?” Lucy says.“You’re supposed to be at home resting!”

“Well it’s nice to see you too,” Richard quips. He offers a weak smile. “Just wanted to see the preparations, Lucy. Seventy-five years… it’s quite the milestone.” He leans slightly on a stylish walking cane I haven’t seen before.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy!” Lucy insists, her earlier calm evaporating into frantic concern. “Dr. Finch specifically said no stress, no exertion!”

“The doctor also said gentle exercise is good for recovery,” Richard counters stubbornly. “Thought I might take a short walk later. Maybe a light jog around the reservoir once I’m feeling up to it.”

“Ajog?” Lucy looks aghast. “Dad, are you insane? You just had a heart attack! The last thing you need is…”

“Lucy,” I interrupt quietly but firmly. “Relax.” She turns startled eyes towards me.

“You’re causing a scene,” I explain. “And yelling isn’t going to help his stresslevels, is it?”

She looks around, sees the concerned eyes of staff members around us.

Her shoulders slump slightly, and she takes a shaky breath, visibly reining in her panic.

Sometimes, her fierce protectiveness needs a little… redirection.

Richard turns his attention to me, his expression complex. I think I see respect, gratitude, and maybe a little... resentment? “Christopher. Thank you for… everything. Your support for Lucy. The doctors. Nightingale.”

“Of course,” I acknowledge with a curt nod.

“But... could I have a private word with you?” he asks.