Page 74 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“You said 7:30,” I reply, trying to keep my tonelight, refusing to let his mood intimidate me. Though my stomach is doing nervous little flip flops. “Traffic wasn’t bad. Am I early? Or just interrupting… brooding time?”

He doesn’t smile. He just gestures towards the living area. “We need to talk. Before dinner.”

Uh oh. ‘We need to talk’ is never good. Especially not when delivered by a man who looks like he could punch holes in concrete.

I follow him into the vast living room, and perch warily on the edge of one of the pristine white sofas. He remains standing, pacing restlessly in front of the windows like a caged panther.

“My father paid me a visit this afternoon,” he says abruptly, his back still to me.

“Oh,” I say slowly. “I gathered things were… tense between you two after the board meeting.”

He turns, his eyes locking onto mine. They’re glacial. “He didn’t just come to rehash the board meeting. He came because his private investigators informed him I spent the weekend with you in the Hamptons.”

The air WHOOSHES out of my lungs. Private investigators? Following him? Followingme? Fury, hot and immediate, floods my veins. “He had meinvestigated?” My voice rises, sharp with disbelief and outrage. “Because you spent time with me? What the actual hell, Christopher? That’s… that’s insane! It’s a massive invasion of privacy!”

“Welcome to my world, Lucy,” he says, his voice tight with a bitterness that sounds old and deep. “My father believes control extends to every facet of my life. Personal associations most definitely included. Especially when they involve the daughter of a manhe despises.”

“So he threatened you?” I ask, the pieces clicking into place. His tension. The resurrected Ice King routine. “Threatened you about… me? About us?”

He nods curtly. “He made his position clear. Mixing business with pleasure, particularly with a Hammond, is unacceptable. He sees you as a weakness. A liability. He warned me to choose. The deal, or you.”

How dare he?

How dare Mark Blackwell treat people like pawns in his twisted games?

His own son!

“And what did you tell him?” I ask, holding my breath.

“I told him,” Christopher says, his voice becoming dangerously quiet, “that my personal life is none of his goddamn business. And that Project Nightingale will proceed as approved.”

Relief washes over me, quickly followed by confusion.

He chose…us?

Or at least, he didn’t chooseagainstus. But why the Ice King routine now?

“Then why…?” I start, gesturing vaguely between us. “Why the sudden deep freeze? If you stood up to him…”

He finally stops pacing, running a hand through his hair. It’s a gesture of frustration I’m starting to recognize. “Because it’s not that simple, Lucy. He didn’t just threaten me. He reminded me of the game. The real game. The one he plays.” He looks at me, his expression grim. “He practically admitted Morgan Weiss is feeding him information. And he knows Weiss has leverage over your father.” He pauses. “Leverage he fully intends to use if I don’t fallin line, or if you and I push too hard against Weiss before he’s ready.”

My stomach churns. So Mark Blackwell isn’t just trying to sabotage the deal. He’s actively coordinating with Morgan, holding Dad’s past mistakes over our heads like a guillotine.

“But why?” I whisper, shaking my head. “Why does he hate my father so much? What happened between them?”

Christopher walks over to the bar, finally takes a gulp of his drink. He stares into the glass for a long moment before answering. “It goes back decades. Maybe before I was born. My guess is, they were partners on a major development project. According to my father,” his voice drips with cynicism, “your dad crossed him, cost him a fortune, and humiliated him. And now he wants to see your dad’s legacy crumble. My father calls it justice. Long overdue.”

My mind reels. Dad? Crossing and humiliating someone? It doesn’t sound like the man I know. The man who agonizes over laying off a single employee. But… he’s also the man who confessed to ‘creative accounting’ under pressure.

So... maybe?

Doubt snakes into my thoughts. Could Dad have done something like that, years ago, when he was younger?

Hungrier?

“Acquiring and dismantling Hammond & Co. isn’t just business for him,” Christopher continues, his voice flat. “It’s settling an old score.”

Silence fills the room. My image of my father, already complicated by his recent confessions, fractures further. This… changes things. Paints Mark’s aggression in a different, uglier light.