Page 16 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

Maybe I should jot down that brand.

After what feels like an eternity later, but was probably only thirty seconds, she’s back. “Tomorrow morning at nine AM at your offices would be acceptable, Ms. Hammond. Mr. Blackwell looks forward to seeing your demonstration of intrinsic value.”

Relief washes over me, so potent it almost makes my knees buckle. I actually did it. Small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “Excellent. Thank you, Ms. Cole. We’ll see him then.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Hammond.” Click.

I’ve successfully avoid the wine-and-dine power play. But now I get to confront my father. Again.

Oh joy.

The taxi ride back to the Hammond building feels heavier this time. The weight of the lie, the depth of the financial abyss… it settles in my belly like lead. Walking back into the familiar lobby, the scent of lemon polish and old paper feels less comforting now, more like the smell of decay masked by forced pleasantries.

Carol gives me a sympathetic look as I stride towards Dad’s office. I don’t bother knocking this time.

He’s standing by the window, looking out at the city skyline.

Our much smaller, less shiny slice of the skyline.

His shoulders are slumped. The expensive fabric of his suit jacket seems to hang on him.

“Dad.”

He turns, startled. The weary look is still there, mixed with apprehension. “Lucy. Back already? How did it…?”

“Not good, Dad.” I keep my voice low, but the tremor is back. “I just wish you could have trusted me with the truth. I would have been better prepared.”

He sinks into his desk chair. “Lucy, I told you. I was trying to—”

“Protect me?” The fragile control snaps. “By making me look like a naive fool? By sending me into the most important negotiation of my life completely unprepared? How is that protecting me, Dad? Or were you just protecting yourself? Your pride?”

“That’s unfair!” His head snaps up, eyes flashing with a spark of the old fire. “Everything I did, every risk I took, was for this company! For this family! For you!”

“And look where those risks landed us!” I gesture around the office, the mahogany panels suddenly looking less like distinguished heritage and more like expensive firewood we might need to sell. “We’re drowning! And instead of facing it, instead of working with me, you hid the worst of it. You let Morgan Weiss whisper poison in your ear about afire sale while I was out there trying to build a bridge!”

“Weiss doesn’t understand—”

“Weiss understands desperation! And you handed it to him on a silver platter! Just like you practically handed Blackwell the ammunition he needed today!” Tears prick my eyes again, hot and angry. I swipe at them impatiently. “Did you really think I couldn’t handle it? That I’m still some little girl playing dress-up in a corner office?”

His face crumples slightly. The fight drains out of him, leaving him looking frail. “No, no, Lucy. I know you’re capable. More capable than me, lately.” The admission hangs in the air, heavy and raw. “These past few years… the market shifted. I missed cues. Made bad calls. It snowballed.” He avoids my eyes, staring down at his hands. “I kept thinking I could pull us out. One more deal, one more gamble. Didn’t want you to see… didn’t want anyone to see how badly I’d failed.”

The anger begins to seep away, replaced by a hollow ache. It’s not just the company failing; it’s him. My brilliant, confident father, reduced to hiding debts and dodging reality. The legacy isn’t just the buildings; it’s the man, and he’s crumbling, too.

“Okay,” I say softly, the fight gone from my voice. “Okay, Dad. No more hiding. No more wishful thinking.” I walk over to the desk, placing my hands flat on the cool wood. “We need a real plan. A survival plan. And I need everything. Every hidden bill, every threatening letter, every skeleton in the Hammond & Co. closet. Because tomorrow morning, Christopher Blackwell is walking through that door, and I need to know exactly what battlefield we’re fighting on.”

He looks up, meeting my eyes. There’sfear there, but also a flicker of something else. Relief? Maybe. “So it’s not over yet, then. You’ll found a way. You always do. All right, Lucy. I’ll give you everything.”

The rest of the evening is a blur of spreadsheets, frantic calls to our increasingly panicked accountant, and lukewarm coffee. Dad, to his credit, doesn’t hold back. The full picture is brutal. Worse than I imagined. We’re teetering on the edge, and Blackwell knows it.

Alone in my apartment later that night, surrounded by piles of financial documents that look more like autopsy reports, exhaustion wars with adrenaline. There’s no way any sort of partnership proposal would be accepted. Not in our current state. It’s laughable. Utterly delusional.

And yet...

While Christopher Blackwell saw the rot that has eaten away at this company, he also witnessed the potential underneath. Or at least, he was willing to entertain theideaof potential. Maybe. Why else agree to the meeting tomorrow? Why not just proceed with the hostile takeover he knows he can probably win?

My internal compass screams at me not to rely on him, not to trust the shark. But practicality whispers a colder truth: his capital, his expertise… they might be the only things that can save us. If I can somehow convince him that rebuilding is smarter than wrecking.

I start sketching out a new proposal. Drastic restructuring. Asset sales. Painful, but necessary. I go through his entire website, all the brochures, even stuff his R&D team is working on. If we’re going to integrate his tech, I need to know exactly what that tech is and what it does.