Page 138 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“Take your time, Lucy,” I say, stroking her hair. “We have all the time in the world.”

A fucking lie. I feel it in my gut. The precariousness of it all. My father’s rage. The secrets buried in Hammond’s books. My own ingrained fear of connection, the ghost of my mother’s departure whispering that everyone eventually leaves.

That I’ll inevitably fuck this up.

But looking down at Lucy, trusting and warm in my arms, I force the fear down.

No. She won’t leave. Nothing is going to ruin this.

I repeat it silently, a mantra against the encroaching shadows.

But deep down, a cold knot of uncertainty remains.

What if she does?

40

Lucy

Walking into Hammond & Co. this morning feels… different. Less like I’m playing dress-up in Dad’s chair and more like… well, still playing dress-up, but maybe with slightly better accessories and a killer pair of heels.

I think I’m actually getting used to this CEO thing...

Or maybe I’m just running on residual adrenaline and the memory of being thoroughly and gloriously fucked last night.

Focus, Lucy. Spreadsheets, not sex.

But it’s impossible to focus. Last night was just… so intense. In every possible way.

The gala, Mark Blackwell’s creepy threats, Christopher’s raw possessiveness… and his offer.

Move in with me.

My first instinct was panic.

Too fast! Too soon! Too… permanent?

But waking up alone again this morning (seriously, does the man teleport?), I found myself wondering. Wondering what it would be like not to have to commute from my tiny apartment to his Bondvillain lair or vice versa. Wondering if maybe ‘too soon’ was just my standard commitment-phobia talking.

Especially since Dad is doing so much better. I popped into his apartment on my way to work this morning, armed with coffee and bagels. He was sitting up, looking grumpy about the low-sodium diet but otherwise… steady.

We even talked, really talked, about his transition back.

He agreed to start working remotely later this week, easing back in slowly over the next few months. Soon, I could hand back the Interim CEO keys, and slide back into my less terrifying role.

Still, a part of me is a little disappointed. It was kind of cool being CEO for the little while I got to do it. Scary, but cool.

On the bright side, I’ll be able to reconsider Christopher’s offer once I’m not juggling a company, a recovering father, and a potential corporate sabotage plot all at the same time.

See? Responsible! Mature!

Totally not freaking out about cohabitation!

Back in my office...Dad’soffice, I remind myself... I dive into the mountain of work. Contracts to review, personnel issues to smooth over, and the ever-present, terrifyingly complex task of dealing with the SPE fallout simmering beneath everything else.

Christopher’s forensic team started their deep dive yesterday, working remotely for now to maintain discretion, and their initial findings are already giving me hives. This mess is deeper and uglier than I imagined. But we have a plan. A terrifying, complicated plan, but a plan nonetheless.

I’m reviewing a preliminary report from theaccountants, my head starting to throb, when my desk phone buzzes.