Page 131 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

Then comes the moment I’ve been dreading.

Mark Blackwell materializes beside me, appearing out of nowhere like a perfectly tailored phantom.

He smiles, a cold, thin curve of the lips that doesn’t reach his calculating eyes.

He smells faintly of expensive cologne.

And impending doom.

“Ms. Hammond,” he greets me smoothly. “Congratulations on a lovely event. And on your… temporary position. Richard must be very proud. So happy to hear he’s recovering well.”

“Mr. Blackwell,” I reply, keeping my voice steady, my hand automatically tightening on my champagne flute.

Easy, Lucy. Don’t engage. Don’t show fear.

I catch Darius’s eye across the room. He gives a minuscule, almost imperceptible nod.

He sees Blackwell.

He’s ready.

The thought is both terrifying and reassuring.

“Yes, it’s certainly a time of transition for Hammond & Co.,” Mark continues, taking a delicate sip of champagne, his gaze sweeping the room before landing back on me. “So much history. So many… intricate arrangements built up over the years.” He lowers his voice slightly, leaning in conspiratorially. “One hopes, for Richard’s sake, that certain complex off-book structures remain undisturbed. Old skeletons, you know. Best not to rattle them, especially when a man is recovering. Would be a shame if news broke while he was in his current state.”

My blood runs cold. There it is. The threat, delivered with smilingprecision.

Off-book structures.

He’s talking about the SPEs. And he’s trying to leverage my father’s health against me.

The absolutebastard.

I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. Christopher already protected me from this exact threat once. Mark’s leverage isn’t as powerful as he thinks, not anymore.

But the venom behind the words is real.

“Hammond & Co. is focused on moving forward, Mr. Blackwell,” I say politely, my voice like ice. “We’re confident in our future, thanks in no small part to our partnership with your son.” I deliberately emphasize the connection, thealliance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must mingle with my other guests.”

I give him a tight, dismissive smile and turn away before he can respond.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I almost expect him to physically tackle me at any moment.

Walk, Lucy. Just walk.

I resist the urge to look back, to see his reaction.

Later, nursing a glass of water near the edge of the ballroom, trying to get my pulse back to a non-terrified pace, I spot them.

Mark Blackwell and Morgan Weiss, heads bent together in intense conversation near a service corridor. Morgan looks agitated, gesturing emphatically. Mark looks calm, listening intently, occasionally nodding.

Well, we already knew they were working together. But seeing them huddled like scheming gargoyles just makes it… tangible.

What are they planning now?

My first instinct is to march over there. Toconfront them. To call them out on their slimy tactics. But what would that accomplish? A public scene? Giving them the satisfaction of knowing they got under my skin?

No. That’s what they want.