Page 13 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“A history of declining profits and mounting debt,” I interrupt, leaning forward slightly. “Reputation doesn’t pay the creditors. According to the financials I’ve reviewed, your debt-to-equity ratio is, frankly, alarming. Your operating margins are razor thin. Several key properties are underperforming. Significantly. And your father seems to have made a series of questionable high risk investments over the past three years that haven’t panned out.”

I tick off the points coldly, watching her face. Tatiana’s deep dive was thorough. I know the rot goes deep. Deeper perhaps than even the daughter realizes.

She maintains eye contact but I see the slight tightening of her lips. She knows I’m right. Or at least she knows I have the data.

“We are aware of the challenges, Mr. Blackwell,” she says. “That’s why I’m proposing a partnership. An injection of capital. Your technological expertise. Your market insights. Combined with our legacy assets, our brand loyalty, and our established presence—”

“Your legacy assets are aging and worthless. Your brand loyalty is eroding. Your established presence is costing you a fortune in overhead.” I lean back again, crossing my arms. “Why would I partner with a sinking ship when I can simply buy the salvage rights for pennies on the dollar?”

This is the kill shot. The point where most people crumble. Where the fight goes out of them. I watch her waiting for the inevitable deflation. The flicker of defeat.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead something else happens. Her expression shifts. The defiance hardens but it’s overlaid with something raw. Something vulnerable. Her shoulders slump almost imperceptibly.

“Because,” she says, her voice suddenly quiet. “You don’t have the full picture. Or rather you probably do. And until this morning I didn’t.”

What the fuck?

She takes a shaky breath. “My father… he hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about the scale of the financial trouble. I discovered the true extent of it just hours ago. The numbers you have… they’re likely more accurate than the ones I based my initial proposal on.” She looks down at her hands clenched in her lap. “He hid it from me. The real depth of the debt. The warnings from creditors.”

Okay. That I did not expect.

My internal calculations stutter. Richard Hammond lying to his own daughter? Shielding her? Or setting her up to fail? Either way it’s a new variable. And her admitting it? Right here right now? That’s… bafflingly honest. Stupidly honest in a negotiation like this. Naive even.

Or maybe incredibly brave.

She looks back up, meeting my gaze again. The anger is still there but now it’s mixed with a painful honesty. “So yes. Hammond & Co is in worse shape than I presented yesterday. Much worse. My pitch for partnership might seem even more ludicrous now. But it doesn’t change the core value proposition. Our name still means something in this city. Our key locations are irreplaceable. With the right investment, the right strategy… we can be saved. We can be profitable again. More profitable perhaps than just carving us up for scrap.”

Her voice gains strength as she speaks. The passion is back. Not just business speak. Genuine fucking passion for that crumbling family legacy. It’s definitely naive. It’s probably foolish.

But it’s undeniably real.

And goddammit I find myself respecting it. Respecting her refusal to just roll over and die even when faced with betrayal from her own father and the cold hard facts I’ve laid out. She’s still fighting. Still trying to find a way.

My father’s voice sneers in my headCrush them. Sentiment is weakness.But looking at Lucy Hammond right now, seeing the fight in her eyes despite the impossible odds… maybe sentiment isn’t just weakness. Maybe it’sfuel. Maybe it’s the foundation of that brand loyalty she keeps talking about. Something my purely logical strategic acquisitions sometimes fail to capture.

What if she’s right? What if there’s more value here than just liquidation? Integrating her passion, her connection to the company’s history… could that be the missing piece? Could we actually rebuild this thing stronger together?

The thought is so contrary to my usual playbook that it feels alien. Dangerous even.

But the potential flickers there. A different kind of win. A smarter win.Mywin. Not my father’s scorched earth victory.

Fuck. What am I thinking? This is business. Not a rescue mission for a damsel in distress. Though she’s hardly a damsel. She’s a fighter. Cornered maybe but still fighting.

I need more information. I need to understand her motivations better. See how deep this resolve runs. Assess her capabilities beyond just inherited loyalty.

Purely strategic of course.

An idea forms unbidden in my mind.

“Your situation is indeed precarious,” I say. “And yet you still believe a partnership is viable?”

“I believe it’s the best path forward. For everyone involved.” Her gaze is steady. Earnest.

I study her for a long moment.

“All right,” I say, leaning forward. “Let’s assume for a moment that I entertain this… optimistic... notion of a partnership. What exactly would that look like from your end?”