34. Lucy
34
Lucy
B eing Interim CEO feels… weird.
Like wearing shoes that are half a size too big.
You can walk in them, technically, but you’re constantly aware they don’t quite fit right, and there’s a very real possibility of tripping flat on your face in front of everyone.
Which, let’s be honest, is basically my default state anyway, just usually without the fancy title and the crushing weight of a multi-million dollar real estate company teetering on the brink.
Still, someone has to steer the ship while Dad recovers, and apparently, I drew the short straw. Or rather, Christopher Blackwell practically strong-armed me into grabbing the straw.
Bless his grumpy, controlling, surprisingly supportive heart.
So here I am, in Dad’s massive office. Which still smells faintly of his old pipe tobacco. I’m trying to project an aura of calm competence while internally Googling ‘How to run a company built on potential fraud without having a panic attack.’ Results: your search did not match any documents.
The past few days have been a blur. Hospital visits, endless meetings, reassuring nervous employees. Sex with a super hot, super freaky billionaire.
But mostly? Trying to get a handle on the frigging Special Purpose Entities. The SPEs. Dad’s secret shame, and potentially Hammond every document I review seems to sprout two more complications. Trying to handle this with our current, stretched-thin resources feels like trying to drain the ocean with a teaspoon.
But… accepting his team? Letting Blackwell Innovations auditors burrow deep into the heart of Hammond & Co.’s darkest secrets? It feels… like surrender. Like admitting I can’t do this on my own. Like proving Morgan and all the other doubters right. That I’m only in charge, only surviving, because of Christopher Blackwell’s money and influence.
“That’s… a very generous offer, Christopher,” I say carefully. “But we have our own accounting firm engaged already. They’re making pr ogress.” Slow, agonizing, terrifyingly expensive progress, but progress nonetheless.
“Are they the best?” he asks bluntly. “Are they equipped to handle counter-maneuvers if Morgan or my father try to weaponize specific details during the audit? My team deals with this level of corporate warfare daily. They anticipate attacks before they happen.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. My pride feels childish compared to the stakes. But the fear of dependency, of losing Hammond’s identity, maybe even my own identity, within the orbit of his immense power… it’s a powerful counterweight.
“Let me think about it,” I hedge. “I appreciate the offer. Really. I just need to consider the best path forward for Hammond’s independence.”
There’s a pause on his end. I can almost picture his expression. tThat slight frown, the intense analytical gaze.
“Independence requires survival first, Lucy,” he says quietly, but without pushing. “The offer stands. Let me know.”
He disconnects, leaving me staring at the phone, feeling torn.
Lunch with Ava is a welcome escape. We’re tucked into our usual corner booth at a little Italian place downtown. The smell of garlic and basil is comforting. As usual, I can see her private security detail hovering outside the front doors. And for a moment I wonder vaguely if I should get my own.
No. When you’re running an almost bankrupt company, you don’t really need a security team .
Ava listens patiently while I unload my anxieties between bites of pasta.
“…so he offers his crack team of financial ninjas, and part of me is like, ‘Yes! Please! Slay the SPE dragon!’ because honestly, Ava, this is way over my head,” I confess, swirling linguine around my fork. “But the other part is screaming, ‘No! Don’t do it! You’ll become a subsidiary of his heart!’ Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but you know what I mean. If I rely on him for this, for the biggest, ugliest problem we have, where does it stop? Am I just Lucy Hammond, Interim CEO, or am I Lucy Hammond, Christopher Blackwell’s Pet Project?”
Ava sips her iced tea thoughtfully.
“Sounds familiar,” she says wryly, a knowing look in her warm brown eyes. “When Gideon and I got married... and I’m not talking about the fake marriage, but the real one... when we got married, he tried to purchase another gallery for me as a surprise. I panicked. Felt like he was trying to buy me .”
“Exactly! How did you handle it?”
“Boundaries,” she says simply. “And honesty. I had to be clear about what I needed versus what felt like… annexation. It wasn’t easy, especially when you’re falling for the Annexor-in-Chief.” She smiles gently. “It’s okay to accept help. Especially from someone you trust, someone who clearly cares about you , not just the asset. The trick is structuring it so you still feel in control. Partnership, not patronage.”
Partnership, not patronage. I chew on that, literally and figuratively.
Maybe there’s a middle ground.
Later that afternoon, I visit Dad at the hospital. He’s looking better, with color returning to his face. He’s sitting up, watching some boring news channel.
“Hey, CEO,” he greets me, a weak but genuine smile reaching his eyes.
“ Interim CEO,” I remind him. “Until your return. How are you, Chairman of the Bored?” I kiss his cheek. It smells like hospital soap. “Feeling better?”
“Actually, I’m feeling like I wrestled a truck and lost. But yes, better.” He gestures for me to sit. “Tell me things. How’s the company? Morgan behaving himself?”
I give him the edited highlights. The team restructuring I initiated. The positive feedback from a couple of key clients. I mention the board meeting, confirming my interim appointment. I deliberately skirt around the SPE deep dive and Morgan’s specific threats. No need to stress him further.
“Good. Good work, Lucy,” he says. He reaches out, pats my hand. “You always had good instincts. Better than mine, lately.” He sighs. “All those years… I thought I was protecting you by keeping you out of the tough decisions. Turns out, I was just protecting my own ego. Should have trusted you sooner.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Trust yourself, Lucy. Whatever comes up, trust your gut. You’ll know the right thing to do.”
His words land squarely in my heart. Maybe… maybe I do know what to do.
Back in Dad’s quiet office that same day, feeling strangely centered after his unexpected vote of confidence, I pick up the phone and call Christopher .
“Blackwell,” he answers instantly.
“It’s Lucy.” I take a breath. “About your offer. The forensic accountants.”
“Yes?” His voice is carefully neutral, waiting.
“I accept,” I say. His silence prompts me to continue quickly. “Well, sort of. I need the expertise, Christopher. You were right. This SPE situation is… complex. And potentially explosive. Your team’s experience would be invaluable.” I pause, gathering my courage. “But they report to me . And to Hammond’s legal counsel. They operate under our direction, with a clearly defined scope focused only on identifying and mapping the SPE structure and associated risks. We retain control of the overall strategy, the remediation plan, and any necessary disclosures. It’s Hammond’s problem, and ultimately, Hammond’s solution. We need your resources, your best people, but as expert consultants, not as controllers.”
There.
Boundaries.
Partnership, not patronage.
Please don’t be offended. Please understand.
Another pause. Longer this time. I can practically hear the gears turning in his powerful brain. Is he insulted? Annoyed?
“Acceptable,” he says finally. “Your parameters are clear. Smart, Lucy. Very smart.” Relief washes over me. He gets it. “I’ll have Tatiana coordinate the engagement protocols with your counsel immediately. My team will be briefed and ready to begin by tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Christopher,” I say, meaning it more than words can convey. “For the help. And for… understanding.”
“Always, Lucy,” he replies, and there’ s a warmth in his voice that makes my cheeks flush for an entirely different reason.
We disconnect, and I lean back in Dad’s oversized chair, a real smile touching my lips.
Okay. Maybe these CEO shoes aren’t too big after all.
Maybe, with the right help, accepted on the right terms, I can actually walk in them.
One careful step at a time.