2. Christopher
2
Christopher
T he tinted windows of the Maybach glide silently upward as Victor pulls away from the curb, leaving the glittering chaos of the tech expo behind.
Fucking circus.
Necessary evil but a circus nonetheless.
I lean my head back against the cool leather, letting the city blur past. Skyscrapers stab at the bruised evening sky. Monuments to ambition and ego. Mine included.
Lucy Hammond.
Her name echoes in the quiet hum of the car. An unexpected variable in a predictable equation. Hammond & Co. is circling the drain. A wounded animal ripe for the picking. My preliminary feelers confirmed it weeks ago. Richard Hammond’s mismanagement has run the legacy company ragged. Debt piled high. Assets undervalued. A classic case of sentimentality trumping sense. My father would gut it for parts and piss on the ashes. Standard Blackwell operating procedure .
But the daughter.
Lucy Hammond.
She wasn’t supposed to be part of the calculation. Not like this. I expected a desperate plea maybe. Lawyers sending stiff letters. Not… well, not that . Not a chaotic, flustered entrance followed by a dry-humping by a malfunctioning cyberdog. One humping her leg behind the counter, which explained the strained expression I initially mistook for pure nerves, and the other attempting to violate my Savile Row trousers in front of half the goddamn expo.
What stands out even more than that, to me, is the fact she fucking stood up to me. After her friend’s ridiculous prank almost derailed everything. Most people would have fled in tears or hysterics. But not her. She managed to argue her cause while being utterly humiliated. There was steel under that mortification.
“A strategic arrangement.”
Yes, she refused to break.
And fuck me did she look good doing it. Even flustered and mortified, flushed pink, there was something… compelling about her. A curvy powerhouse in a blazer. Honey blonde hair catching the light. And that scent.
Bergamot and jasmine. Professional. Approachable.
Deceptive.
I shift in my seat, annoyed. Annoyed that I noticed. Annoyed that it registered beyond tactical assessment. Annoyed that the image of her trying to subtly kick away a humping robot while talking business is now permanently etched in my brain. Annoyed that I found it all… slightly amusing, despite the rip in my thousand-dollar trousers. I mean, come on , the sheer absurdity of being dry-humped by a metal dog while trying to project ruthless dominance? Of course it’s fucking hilarious.
But I digress. And I’m cutting myself too much slack.
Business is business.
Acquisitions are warfare.
And there’s simply no room for noticing the enemy’s fucking perfume.
“Mr Blackwell?” Victor’s voice is quiet. Respectful, but never intrusive. “Straight back to the office?”
Fuck. I only realize just now that I’ve been so distracted I haven’t even told my driver where to take me.
“Yes, Victor.”
He nods and adjusts the mirror slightly.
The rest of the ride passes in silence. My mind runs algorithms. Hammond & Co.’s assets versus liabilities. Market position. Potential synergies. Liquidation value versus restructuring potential. The usual cold calculus.
But her face keeps intruding. That stubborn set to her jaw. The slight tremble in her hand when she tucked her hair back before making her point. Vulnerability wrapped in defiance. A dangerous combination.
The car slides into the private underground garage beneath Blackwell Tower. My building. My empire built stone by stone and by sheer fucking will. A middle finger to my father and his archaic real estate dynasty.
Elijah Reeves, my head of security, is waiting by the private elevator. He nods once: a silent confirmation that the path is clear.
“Evening Elijah.”
“Mr. Blackwell. Smooth exit from the event.”
“As smooth as a three ring circus can be.”
The elevator ascends silently and the doors open directly into my penthouse office. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering sprawl of Manhattan. Power laid out like a feast for the taking.
And I will take it, mark me.
Tatiana Cole is already standing by my desk with a tablet in her hand. Her expression is perfectly neutral. She’s efficiency personified.
“The preliminary financials on Hammond & Co. updated as of closing bell,” she says, handing me the tablet. No preamble. No wasted words. Exactly why I hired her.
I take it and walk towards the windows, scanning the figures. Definitely worse than I thought. Significantly worse. Richard Hammond hasn’t just been making bad bets: he’s been actively hiding the scale of the disaster. Cooking the books? Creative accounting? Either way it smells like desperation. Which makes his daughter’s bold play even more… interesting.
“She knows,” I murmur mostly to myself.
“Sir?” Tatiana asks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Lucy Hammond. She approached me at the expo.” I turn from the window. “Made quite the entrance involving malfunctioning tech and property damage.” I don’t elaborate. Tatiana doesn’t need the lurid details. “Proposed a ‘partnership’ instead of a takeover.”
Tatiana’s expression doesn’t flicker but I see the calculation in her eyes. “A stall tactic?”
“Could be.” I tap the tablet. “Dig deeper, Tatiana. I want everything. Personal debts Richard Hammond might have. Any liens not properly reported. Internal board sentiment. Whispers in the hallways. Also, find out everything you can on their board members… names, backgrounds, everything. I want leverage points she hasn’t even considered yet.” This is the game. Information is ammunition. Power isn’t just about having money, it’s about knowing everything the other side doesn’t want you to know. Intimidation isn’t always overt: sometimes it’s the quiet confidence that you hold all the cards.
“Already compiling, Mr Blackwell. I have analysts reviewing creditor reports and background checks running on key board personnel. Initial findings suggest a certain board member named Morgan Weiss may have his own agenda potentially adverse to the Hammonds.”
“Good. Stay on him.” A potential internal fracture. Useful. “What else?”
“Your father called twenty minutes ago. He requests an immediate call back regarding the Hammond situation.”
I suppress a sigh. Fucking perfect. My father like a vulture circling prey he didn’t even wound himself. I’d hoped I’d broken free of him years ago. But you can never really break of a man like that. “Patch him through.”
Tatiana taps her own device and leaves my office, shutting the door behind her. A moment later Mark Blackwell’s voice booms from the speakerphone.
“Christopher. About fucking time. What’s this nonsense I hear about Hammond’s daughter trying to negotiate? Don’t tell me you’re entertaining this bullshit.”
He knows already?
Fuck him and the corporate spies he no doubt sent to the expo.
Still, I suppose it’s hard to keep a secret from a man who has a prominent position on my company’s own board.
Biggest mistake of my life.
“Father,” I keep my voice level. A skill honed through years of dealing with his particular brand of manipulative garbage. “I’m handling the Hammond acquisition according to my own strategy.”
“ Your strategy? Your fucking strategy should be simple. Crush them. They’re weak fuckers. Ripe for the taking. Richard Hammond owes people favors all over town. Always did business on a handshake and a prayer. Sentimental old fool. Liquidate the assets. Sell the nameplate to some third tier developer. Make an example of the fucks.”
Classic Mark Blackwell. Scorched earth. Maximum collateral damage. It’s how he built his empire. It’s what he expects from me. What he’s always expected. Prove you’re ruthless. Prove you’re a Blackwell. Prove you’re his son.
Fuck that.
“Hammond & Co. has legacy assets that could be valuable if integrated correctly, not just liquidated ,” I counter coolly, watching the city lights flicker below. “Blind destruction isn’t always the most profitable path.”
“ Profitable? ” He scoffs. “This isn’t just about profit, Christopher. It’s about power . It’s about reminding everyone who dominates this city.”
Ah there it is. The power vendetta masquerading as business advice. Always the fucking same. For years I fought from underneath it, building Blackwell Innovations brick by digital brick just to prove I wasn’t him. That I could succeed on my own terms. Using technology and foresight, not just brute force and backroom deals. Yet here he is still trying to pull my strings.
“ My methods have built a multi-billion dollar company, Father,” I state, letting the implication hang. My company. Not yours. “I don’t need reminders on how to handle acquisitions. I’ll secure the Hammond assets. My way.”
There’s a beat of silence. I can picture him on the other end, his face tight with disapproval. “Don’t let that girl distract you, Christopher. Women like that... legacy heiresses playing businesswomen... they’re trouble. Use them to get what you need, then cut them loose. Sentiment is weakness.”
My jaw tightens. The casual dismissal. The ingrained misogyny. The echo of his justification for why my mother left. Because she was sentimental. Because she was weak. Because she couldn’t stomach his controlling, suffocating world.
“My focus is purely on the business advantages, Father,” I lie smoothly. Or mostly lie. “Lucy Hammond is merely a component in the negotiation.” A component that refuses to fit neatly into the box I’d assigned her.
“See that she remains just a component.” His tone is sharp. “Don’t disappoint me, Christopher.”
The line clicks dead.
I stand there for a long moment. Disappoint him. The story of my fucking life. Either I wasn’t ruthless enough or I was becoming too much like him. An impossible tightrope walk over a chasm of expectations.
“Fucking bastard,” I mutter.
I stand up and open the door. Tatiana is behind her desk. Her face remains impassive. A mask of professional discretion. She heard everything of course. She always hears everything.
“Continue the deep dive, Tatiana,” I say my voice tight. “And schedule the meeting with Ms. Hammond. My office. Tomorrow afternoon. Despite the… circus… she made an impression. Let’s see what kind of ‘strategic arrangement’ she has in mind.”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell. And the approach for the meeting?”
I consider it. My usual tactic is overwhelming force. Lay out the bleak reality. Dictate terms. But Lucy Hammond… she didn’t react predictably at the expo. Certainly not after the robot dog incident. A part of me wonders if she planned the whole thing just to throw me off balance.
Well, either way, brute force might just make her dig her heels in deeper. To do what she did at the expo... there’s real passion there for that crumbling company of hers. Misguided perhaps, but real.
And possibly... there’s more value in harnessing that passion than extinguishing it.
It’s a thought so contrary to my father’s philosophy and my own practiced cynicism that it surprises me.
What if I don’t just dismantle it? What if I rebuild it? Integrate their legacy knowledge with my tech resources? Use her connection to the brand and her understanding of its history?
It’s a strategic calculation I tell myself. Preserve brand value. Retain key personnel. Faster integration, smoother transition, potentially higher long term ROI. Nothing to do with the unsettling flicker of respect I feel when I think about her stand her ground while under assault by both me and a robot. Nothing to do with the memory of her scent or the curve of her lips when she almost smiled.
Absolutely nothing.
But the idea takes root. A different path. Still leading to acquisition, still confirming my dominance, but smarter. More elegant. My way. Not Mark Blackwell’s blunt instrument approach.
“The approach, Tatiana,” I say, finally meeting her gaze. “Will be surgical precision. I want her to understand the reality of her situation unequivocally. But I also want to assess her potential value beyond just being Richard Hammond’s daughter.”
Is there a way to win this without completely destroying her? A ridiculously sentimental thought. My father’s voice sneers in my head. Sentiment is weakness.
Maybe. Or maybe harnessing sentiment, understanding it, is just another form of power he never grasped.
“I’ll handle the meeting personally,” I add, cutting off any thought Tatiana might have had about assigning it to legal or M&A. I need to see her again. Read her myself. Gauge the depth of her resolve, her intelligence, her breaking point. Purely business of course. A necessary assessment of the opposing commander.
“Understood Mr. Blackwell. I’ll confirm the time and send the background dossier on their board members to your secure server within the hour.”
I return to my office and stand next to the window, alone with the city lights .
Lucy Hammond.
She thinks she’s coming here tomorrow to negotiate a partnership. To save her father’s legacy.
She has no idea what she’s walking into.
Or maybe she does.
Maybe that’s what makes this whole goddamn situation so unexpectedly intriguing.