Page 19 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“We value history here, Mr. Blackwell,” Dad says stiffly. “It reminds us of what we’re building on. And what we stand to protect.” The implication hangs heavy in the air: protect it fromyou.

“History is valuable,” Christopher concedes, turning his gaze back to my father. “But nostalgia can be expensive. Sometimes, preserving the past requires embracing the future. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”

Okay, Lucy, jump in before Dad starts quoting Churchill or something equally irrelevant.

“Which is exactly why we’re having this conversation,” I interject quickly, moving slightly between them. “Dad, I’ve been showing Mr. Blackwell some of our legacy projects, but also discussing the potential for integrating new technologies, areas where Blackwell Innovations excels.”

Dad looks at me, his expression a mixture of pride and apprehension. Mostly the latter. “Lucy is quite forward-thinking,” he says to Christopher. “Always has been.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Christopher says, his eyes flicking towards me. “Hammond & Co. has deep roots, undeniable brand recognition. But its infrastructure, both physical and operational, needs significant investment to remain competitive.”

Dad shifts uncomfortably. “We’re not looking for a handout, Blackwell. Or a hostile… absorption.”

Christopher raises an eyebrow. “My initial offer was hardly hostile, Mr. Hammond. It was generous, considering thepubliclyavailable financial data.” He pauses, letting the implication sink in regarding thenon-public data. “However, your daughter presents an alternative. A path involving collaboration rather than acquisition. I’m here to explore the viability of that path.”

The air crackles with tension. My father looks like he swallowed something sour. Christopher looks perfectly composed, perhaps even enjoying the discomfort.

Is this his idea of fun? Watching established families squirm?

“We have intrinsic value beyond the balance sheet,” Dad insists, his voice tight. “Decades of relationships, community trust…”

“Trust is easily eroded by financial instability,” Christopher cuts in smoothly. “And relationships often follow the money. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

Okay, this needs to end before Dad throws a vintage paperweight at his head.

“Mr. Blackwell has another meeting shortly,” I lie smoothly, glancing pointedly at my watch. “We appreciate you taking the time for this tour, Mr. Blackwell. It’s given you a clearer picture, I hope, of what Hammond & Co. represents beyond the numbers.”

He turns his full attention back to me. “It’s given me data points, Ms. Hammond. Your passion is certainly a data point. Your father’s… reluctance… is another.” He offers a slight nod. “I’ll be in touch regarding the next steps after reviewing my team’s analysis alongside… this.” He gestures vaguely around the room, encompassing the history, the tension, maybe even me.

He nods coolly at my father, who returns the gesture with equal frostiness. Then Christopher turns and walks out. I escort him to the front door, and when it closes behind him, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I return to Dad’s office.

“Well,” Dad says from his chair. He looks older than he did ten minutes ago. “That went… about as expected.”

“Expected?” I whirl around, the fragile calm shattering. “Dad, that was potentially our only way out of this mess! And you treated him like he was tracking mud on the carpet!”

“He’s a vulture, Lucy!” Dad snaps back, his own frustration boiling over. “Circling, waiting for us to drop! Did you hear him? Talking about ‘nostalgia’ and ‘financial instability’? He doesn’t respect what we’ve built!”

“Maybe not,” I retort, pacing in front of his desk. “But he respectscompetence. He asked real questions. He sees the potential buried under the debt you racked up! He was offering a lifeline, maybe not the one we wanted, but a lifeline nonetheless! And you were practically radiating hostility!”

“My hostility?” He pushes himself up straighter. “He’s the one trying to steal our company!”

“He’s the one who might be able tosaveit!” My voice rises. “Don’t you get it? We don’t have the luxury of pride right now! Morgan Weiss is pushing for liquidation, the banks are closing in, and all you want to do is offend the billionaire who might actually have the capital and the strategy to turn things around!”

Tears of frustration prick my eyes. “I spent all last night going through therealbooks, Dad. The ones you didn’t want me to see. Do you have any idea how close we are? How much I’ve been doing behind the scenes just to keep payroll met? The cost-cutting, the renegotiated supplier contracts, the projects I personally saved from falling apart because you were too busy making ‘one last gamble’?”

The words hang in the air, raw and painful. I’ve never spoken to him like this. Never laid bare how much responsibility I’d shouldered while he clung to illusions.

His face falls. The anger drains away, leaving him looking utterly defeated. He stares at his hands, resting on the polished mahogany desk that suddenly looks too big for him. “I… I didn’t realize, Lucy. How much…”

“You didn’t want to realize,” I say, the accusation softer now, laced with exhaustion and a deep, aching sadness. “It was easier to pretend things weren’t that bad. Easier to let me handle the messy parts.”

He looks up, his eyes glistening. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“You were protecting yourself,” I whisper. “And now, we might both lose everything because of it.”

The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of city traffic outside the window. The weight of the company, the legacy, his failings, my frantic efforts. All of it presses down on me. Showing Christopher the ‘value’ of Hammond & Co. feels almost pointless now, overshadowed by the deep cracks within my own family, within the leadership of the company itself.