Page 46 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

But beneath the self directed anger, something else simmers. A cold fury aimed squarely at him. At his constant interference. His assumption that I’m just an extension of his will, his vendettas. His inability to comprehend that I might forge my own path, make my own fucking decisions based on my own assessments.

He wants me to act like him? Fine.

Time for a face to face. Not on my turf.

On his.

Let him feel like he’s in his element. Let it lull him into a sense of comfort and ease.

And then I’ll strike.

The Blackwell estate looms large, a monument to old money and older grudges. Stone lions guard the gates. Manicured lawns stretch towards a horizon obscured by tailored hedges.

I haven’t been back here in years. I avoid it like the plague unless absolutely necessary.

Today feels necessary.

Alfred lets me inside and I find my father in his study, a room paneled in dark wood that smells faintly of cigar smoke and self importance. He’s seated behind a large desk, reviewing reports and projecting an aura of absolute command.

He looks up as I enter, his eyes clever, calculating. No warmth. Never any warmth. “Christopher. To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

“We need to talk.” I don’t sit. I stand across the expanse of polished wood, meeting his gaze directly. No preamble. No bullshit.

“About?” He feigns mild curiosity, but I see the flicker. He knows why I’m here.

“Morgan Weiss.” I let the name hang in the air. “Your little errand boy at Hammond & Co.”

He leans back, steepling his fingers. The picture of calm denial. “Ah, yes. The Hammond situation again. You just won’t let it go, will you?”

“You’re using Weiss to manipulate their financials,” I clip out the words. “You’re pushing them towards liquidation behind my back. Underminingmydeal.”

He smiles thinly. A predator’s smile. “Concerned for your investment, Christopher? Or are you just fucking the Hammond girl?”

My jaw tightens and I momentarily see red.

Don’t rise to the bait. Control.

“No, I’m not fucking her,” I say, very quietly. “This isn’t about Lucy Hammond. This is about you interfering in my business. Again.”

“Are you sure you’re not fucking her?” he taunts. “I think you’re fucking her.”

I press my lips together, not trusting myself to answer him in any reasonable manner.

“Even if you’re not, you’ll fuck her eventually. It’s weakness. Sentiment. You think you can save her, save the company? You’ll end up fucking her and fucking the deal.”

Still I don’t answer.

Finally he shrugs. “What was that you said? I’m interfering inyourbusiness? Everything you have, you have because of me. Because of the Blackwell name. Don’t forget that. And Hammond? Richard Hammond deserves everything that’s coming to him. He crossed me years ago. Cost me a fortune. Humiliated me.” His eyes glitter with a decadesold resentment. “Seeing his precious legacy crumble? Watching him lose it all? That’s not interference, Christopher. That’s justice. Long overdue.”

So that’s it. Not just business strategy. Not just teaching me a lesson. A personal vendetta. Wrapped up in his twisted definition of justice. Using me, using Weiss, manipulating markets, all to settle a score from before I was even born.

Disgust rises, thick and bitter. This isn’t strategy. This isn’t even ruthless business. This is pathetic. Petty. The obsession of an old man who can’t let go.

“Your personal vendetta is irrelevant to my strategic interests,” I state, my voice dangerously low. “Your actions, using Weiss, are jeopardizing my company’s business deal purely out of spite.”

“Spite?” He slams his hand on the desk, the sound cracking through the quiet room. His control finally slips. “It’s about principle! It’s about showing weakness has consequences! Richard Hammond is weak. His company is weak. It deserves to be devoured. And you,” he points a finger at me, his face suffused with angry color, “you were supposed to be the one to do it. To prove you have the killer instinct. To be a Blackwell. Instead, you offer partnerships? You play nice? What happened to you?”

What happened to me? I almost laugh. Maybe I finally fucking woke up. Maybe I realized building something requires more than just tearing other things down. Maybe seeing Lucy Hammond fight with integrity for something she believes in, even against impossible odds, struck a chord the endless pursuit of profit never could.