Page 22 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

Fuck him.

The need to prove him wrong, to succeed on myownterms, burns hotter than ever. But his words burrow under my skin. Sentiment. A pretty face. Is that what this is? Am I letting Lucy Hammond distract me from the objective?

I down the bourbon in one gulp, the burn momentarily clearing my head. I stalk over to my desk, sinking into the chair. My terminal glows, waiting.

On impulse, I type ‘Lucy Hammond’ into mysecure research database. Tatiana will pull the official records, but I want the unfiltered digital footprint.

The usual pops up first. LinkedIn profile: Junior Executive, Hammond & Co. Education: NYU Stern School of Business. Standard enough. But then… something else. Cross-enrolled at Parsons School of Design? Major listed as Art History and Photography, minor in Business Administration initially, before switching focus fully to Stern.

Art history? Photography?

I lean back, frowning. It doesn’t fit the picture of the determined businesswoman I met. Or does it? I remember her pausing by the old black-and-white photos in the Hammond hallway, her explanation of her grandfather’s vision for the Chrysler Building spire. It wasn’t just rehearsed corporate spiel. There was genuine appreciation there. Maybe even… passion. The same passion I saw when she defended her company, her father’s legacy, flawed as it is.

Does the art history background explain her focus on legacy, on aesthetics, on things beyond the bottom line? Does it explain why she sees value where the balance sheets only show debt? Or is it just a privileged young woman’s hobby before settling into the family business?

No. That doesn’t feel right. The woman I met, the woman who countered my dinner invitation with a demand to meet on her turf, the woman who faced me down despite knowing her company was bleeding out… she’s no dilettante. There’s steel under the stylish dress. There’s a brain behind those bright, challenging eyes, and those ever so sultry curves.

The art history adds… texture. Dimension. It makes her less predictable.

Moreinteresting.

Shit.

Interesting is dangerous in this business. Interesting makes things complicated.

I stare at the screen, at the dual degrees, the unexpected path. My father’s voice echoes in my head:Don’t let sentiment make you hesitate.

Is it sentiment? Or is it strategy? Recognizing an unusual asset, a leader with both business acumen and a different perspective, someone who might, under the right circumstances, be capable of actually rebuilding Hammond & Co. into something formidable again. With my capital and technology, and her vision and drive…

The thought is radical. Risky. Completely counter to my usual methods and my father’s doctrine.

I pull up a blank document. Title it: Project Nightingale. Preliminary Proposal Draft. Why Nightingale? Fuck knows. Maybe because the name Hammond reminds me of old estates and birdsong. Or maybe because the idea feels like it needs shielding, something fragile brought back from the brink.

I start typing. Standard acquisition clauses first. Control percentages. Board seats. Financial oversight. The usual power plays.

Then I pause. I think about the history etched into the New York skyline. I think about Lucy, standing defiantly in her father’s office, trying to bridge the gap between his wounded pride and my calculated assessment.

Delete.

I start again. Investment tranches tied to performance milestones. Technology integration plans. Shared board control, weighted slightly in my favor but granting Hammond significant input. Keypersonnel retention clauses, specifically naming Lucy Hammond as interim CEO, reporting directly to me. Preservation of the Hammond & Co. brand identity.

This isn’t an acquisition. It’s a rescue mission. A fucking joint venture.

What the hell am I doing?

This proposal leaves value on the table. It invites complexity. It keeps the Hammond family involved, albeit with significantly less power. It’s everything my father warned against. Everything my own hard-won experience screams is a mistake.

But it feels… right. Strategically sound, even. A revitalized Hammond & Co., powered by Blackwell tech and led by a hungry, motivated Lucy Hammond, could become a major asset, worth far more than the liquidated parts. It’s a longer game. A more challenging game.

And perhaps I just want to see if she can actually pull it off.

I save the draft. Project Nightingale. It’s preliminary. Just an exploration of options. Nothing committed.

But I know, looking at the words on the screen, that I’ve already deviated from the path. My father wanted a quick kill. I’m planning… something else entirely.

Now comes the hard part. Convincing Lucy Hammond this isn’t just another predator’s trap. And dealing with the inevitable fallout when my father finds out I didn’t crush his old rival.

A slow, humorless smile touches my lips. This just got a hell of a lot more interesting.