Page 20 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

Did Christopher see that too? Didhe see the desperation behind the history lesson, the conflict simmering beneath the surface?

Probably.The man doesn’t miss much.

The question is, what will he do with that knowledge? And why, despite everything, despite the fight I just had, despite the pit in my stomach, does a tiny, defiant part of me feel a flicker of… hope? Or maybe just morbid curiosity about what happens next.

Ugh. I definitely need coffee. And maybe a very, very stiff drink later.

7

Christopher

As the car pulls smoothly into traffic, I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes for a moment. Fucking Hammond & Co. What a goddamn relic. And yet…

I pull out my phone, dialing Tatiana. She answers on the first ring, naturally.

“Sir?” Her voice is crisp, efficient.

“The Hammond tour is complete,” I state.

“Initial assessment?” she asks, already anticipating my need to process.

I take a breath. “Structurally? It’s exactly the decaying pile I expected. Operationally? Obsolete in ways I didn’t even think were possible in this century. Richard Hammond is clinging to the past like a life raft, and he’s going down with the ship.”

“So, the initial acquisition analysis holds. Proceed with the standard asset absorption model?”

I hesitate. That’s the logical move. Theprofitablemove. Strip it for parts. Sell the landmark building. Liquidate the portfolio. Simple. Clean. What my father would do. WhatIusually do.

“Not entirely,” I hear myself say. The words surprise me slightly. “There’s… something there. Intangible.”

Silence on Tatiana’s end. She knows better than to question the vagueness, but I can almost hear her blinking.

“The daughter,” I continue, trying to put a finger on it. “Lucy Hammond. She’s sharper than the financials suggest. She’s the one keeping the lights on, I’d bet my last billion on it. And she fought for it. Not just pleading, actuallyarguingvalue beyond the numbers.” I remember her in that power red dress, eyes flashing as she defended her crumbling legacy. The way she stood between me and her father, trying to mediate the inevitable collision.

“Her passion is noted, sir,” Tatiana says, her tone carefully neutral.

I purse my lips. “It might prove to be useful leverage. And the brand legacy… it still resonates, despite the mismanagement. The architects, the history she showcased. There’s a narrative. It could be spun, maybe rebuilt.”

Where the fuck is this coming from? Rebuilding? Spinning narratives? I’m a surgeon, not a fucking storyteller. I cut out the rot.

“So, a revised approach?” Tatiana probes gently. “A strategic partnership, as Ms. Hammond proposed?”

“Potentially,” I concede, annoyed at my own lack of decisiveness. “Something that preserves the core, maybe injects capital and tech, but maintains the Hammond name. Underourcontrol, obviously. It’s… a possibility for you to model.” I think of Lucy’s face when I asked about their tech stack, the way she lit up explaining the VR pilot program she’d pushed through. She sees the future, even if her father is stuck in 1985.

“Understood, sir. I’ll task the analysts with modeling a structured investment scenario alongside the liquidation projection. Any specific parameters?”

“Focus on integration points for Blackwell tech. Identify key personnel worth retaining. And get me everything you can find on Lucy Hammond. Education, career path, personal connections. Everything.”

“Immediately, sir.”

I hang up, rubbing my temples. What the hell was that? Since when do I care about ‘key personnel’ in a target company beyond the C-suite I’m about to fire? Since when does a fucking history lesson make me reconsider a multi-million dollar acquisition strategy?

Since Lucy Hammond looked me dead in the eye and refused to back down, apparently. The thought is irritating. Distracting.

The Maybach glides to a stop in the private underground entrance of my building. Elijah Reeves, my head of security, is waiting, looking sharp and alert as ever. He opens my door.

“Welcome back to the office, Mr. Blackwell.” Elijah’s eyes scan the surroundings, even down here.

The ride up to the elevator is silent. My mind is still churning over the Hammond visit.