26. Lucy
26
Lucy
T he board meeting went surprisingly well. Despite the palpable tension, Morgan’s barely veiled threats, and Dad looking like he aged ten years when the scaffolding collapse was mentioned…
I find Dad back in his office, nursing a scotch.
At four pm. Never a good sign.
He’s staring out the window like he’s contemplating joining a monastery.
“Well,” I say, sinking into the leather chair opposite his desk. It still smells faintly of his old-pipe tobacco and decades of deals, both good and bad. “That was… something.”
He takes a slow sip of scotch. “Blackwell really surprised me. First helping us with the Hammond Tower incident. And now his support here, when we need it most...”
“It helped shut Morgan down,” I agree.
“For now,” Dad comments grimly. “But Morgan knows all my sins. You remember when I told you about the questionable loans, the creative accounting to make payroll look covered, the fund shifting that won’t stand up to regulatory scrutiny? Well you see, Morgan was on the finance committee. He knows all of it. And if you’re right about Mark Blackwell pulling the strings, he won’t back off. Ever.” He wanly swirls the amber liquid in his glass, seeming to grow paler by the moment. “You know, that scaffolding collapse… damn near took the wind out of me. Those men…”
“They’re stable, Dad. Recovering.” I lean forward. “But you say Morgan won’t back off because of Mark Blackwell? Christopher told me about… about the history. Between you and Mark Blackwell. He said Mark claims you betrayed him years ago. Is that why he won’t ever call off his dogs?”
Dad flinches, almost imperceptibly. He stares down into his glass, avoiding my eyes.
Oh god. Please don’t let it be true. Please don’t let Dad be the villain in this origin story.
“Mark Blackwell has his own version of events,” Dad says quietly, his voice rough. “He always did.”
“And what’s your version?” I press gently. “Because Christopher seemed to think his father’s entire motivation for destroying Hammond they’re doing aggressive ballroom dance moves. Tonight isn’t just about business strategy or sending messages. It’s about stepping out, publicly, beside Christopher Blackwell.
Acknowledging this… thing between us.
In front of his father.
My father.
The entire New York City elite.
How are they going to take it?
I have no idea.
And underneath the anxiety, underneath the strategic calculations, is the quiet, terrifying certainty that settled in my heart somewhere between Bergdorf’s and my makeup brush.
That I’m falling in love with him.
Christopher Blackwell. The Executioner. The man trying to take over my company. The son of my father’s bitterest enemy. The complicated, guarded, intense man who somehow saw past the Hammond name, past the failing balance sheets, and saw… me .
This is insane. It’s illogical. It’s fraught with peril. Our families are practically Montague and Capulet, if the Montagues owned tech firms and the Capulets were drowning in debt.
This could blow up spectacularly, taking my heart and my company down with it.
But standing here, smoothing down the silk of my gown, thinking about facing tonight with him…
It doesn’t feel stupid.
It feels… right.
Necessary, even.
Like the only path forward through the minefield is the one we walk together.
I check my watch. Almost 7.
Show time.
Okay, Lucy.
Smile like you own the place.
And try not to trip over your own heart.