Page 56 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

Later that afternoon,Tatiana buzzes. “Ms. Hammond is here to see you, Mr. Blackwell. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

On cue my stomach clenches.

The walls. Build the walls.

I swallow and stand up. “Send her in.”

Lucy walks into my office. She looks determined, professional, but there’s a shadow of uncertainty in her eyes, a vulnerability around her mouth that wasn’t there before last night.

It’s a direct hit to my newly reinforced defenses.

“Christopher,” she starts, her voice a little hesitant. “About last night…”

“Last night was a strategic planning session,” I cut her off smoothly, my tone deliberately cool, all business. I gesture towards the visitor chairs, but remain standing behind my desk. A physical barrier. “Did you bring the updated analysis on Weiss’s communications?”

The hurt flashes in her eyes, clear and sharp, before she masks it with professional composure. The easy camaraderie, the charged connection from last night, evaporates.

Good.

That’s the point.

“Yes,” she says, her voice tightening almost imperceptibly. She opens her portfolio, pulling out documents. “I cross referenced the logs you… somehow acquired… with internal server access times. There’s a clear pattern correlating with board meetings and proposal submissions.”

“Good.” I take the papers without meeting her eyes directly, scanning them quickly. “We need irrefutable proof before we make a move against him. Focus on tracing the financial transfers next. Follow the money. It always leads somewhere.”

I keep the conversation strictly tactical. Morgan Weiss. Counter strategies. Financial forensics. I don’t ask how she is. I don’t acknowledge the tension crackling between us.

She responds in kind, matching my professional tone, acting like we weren’t fucking the shit out of each other last night. She outlines her findings, asking sharp questions about strategy. But the hurt lingers in the slight stiffness of her posture, the way she avoids prolongedeye contact.

It twists something uncomfortable in my gut. Seeing that look in her eyes, knowing I put it there. But it’s necessary. This distance is necessary.

Because the alternative?

Letting her in?

Feeling whatever the fuck that was last night?

That’s a vulnerability I can’t afford.

A risk far greater than any hostile takeover.

She broke through my walls once. I can’t let it happen again.

Even if pushing her away feels like slamming a door on the only genuine thing I’ve encountered in years.

19

Lucy

Okay, so apparently ‘morning after’ protocol when you have earth shattering, desk rattling, possibly career ending sex with your billionaire maybe-enemy involves… radio silence.

Followed by an ice cold, “strictly business” dismissal.

Got it.

Filed under ‘Things They Don’t Teach You at Stern School of Business.’ Or maybe they do, and I just skipped that particular lecture.

Walking out of Christopher’s office yesterday felt like being ejected from a warm, intense bubble into the arctic tundra.