42. Lucy
42
Lucy
M y life has officially become a high-stakes juggling act performed on a tightrope over an alligator pit while someone occasionally throws flaming torches at my head.
Days are a blur of conference calls, legal strategy sessions, financial deep dives into the SPE abyss with the discreet (and terrifyingly expensive) accountants, and projecting an aura of ‘Totally In Control’ to nervous employees, investors, and board members.
Evenings are spent at the hospital, holding Dad’s hand, giving him edited, optimistic updates, and trying not to let him see the sheer panic churning beneath my calm facade.
Sleep? Sleep is a mythical creature I vaguely remember encountering in a past life.
And Christopher? Radio silence. Utter, complete, deafening silence. He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Hasn’t shown up at the office or the hospital since… that day. The day I officially became CEO and promptly asked the man I’m pretty sure I’m irrevocably in love with to leave the room because his presence represented a conflict of interest.
Well done, Lucy. You just had to go and push away the only man you ever cared for.
Of course, I haven’t reached out to him either. How could I? I drew the line. I built the wall. Professional boundaries, Madam CEO.
You wanted the big chair, you got it.
Apparently, it comes with a side order of soul-crushing loneliness and the constant, nagging feeling that I made a terrible mistake.
Part of me, the stupid, hopeful, romance-novel-reading part, had expected him to fight harder. To pull a repeat of that day he showed up furious after I suggested cooling things off, the day that ended with me spanked over his knee and thoroughly claimed on my desk.
Not that I wanted a repeat spanking, necessarily… okay, maybe a little… but the principle!
You know, that possessive refusal to let me push him away.
Instead? He just… accepted it.
Respected my decision.
Walked away.
Mr. Control Freak himself, respecting my boundaries.
It’s noble.
It’s mature.
And it’s killing me softly.
Does this mean he doesn’t care as much as I thought? Or does it mean he respects my new role even more than I do?
My brain hurts.
One of the first things I did after that disastrous day was dismiss his security detail. Politely, of course. I called Tatiana, because calling Christopher directly felt like crossing the very line I’d just drawn, and explained that while I appreciated the gesture, Darius and Rebecca were no longer necessary.
My reasoning?
With our personal connection severed (ouch, still stings), I was no longer a logical target for Mark Blackwell’s ire. He’d focus on the company, not me personally.
Tatiana accepted this with her usual unnerving calm.
I immediately hired my own security firm of course. Less intimidating, probably less effective, but mine . Bought and paid for by Hammond & Co.
Independence, right?
Feels more like self-imposed isolation.
The only upside to this mess is Dad. He’s recovering slowly but steadily. His color is better, his grumpiness more pronounced (a sure sign of improvement).
But the fight seems to have gone out of him regarding the business. He listens to my cheery updates, nods, occasionally offers a piece of nostalgic advice, but the fire is gone.
He seems resigned, almost relieved, to be out of the line of fire.
Which leaves me squarely in it.
Alone.
“Alone is a choice, you know.” Ava’s voice startles me. She’s standing in the doorway of my office late one evening, holding two steaming cups of coffee. My own personal caffeine-delivering angel.
I didn’t even hear her come in.
My new security guy, Frank, nice, burly, probably used to guarding suburban shopping malls, has already met her, and knows to let her through. Knowing him, he’s probably thrilled to be hanging out with Ava’s security detail out front.
“Hey,” I manage, rubbing my tired eyes. The legal briefs on Mark Blackwell’s latest filing are starting to swim together. “Didn’t hear you knock.”
“You looked like you were communing with the spirit of bankruptcy law,” she says, setting a cup down on my desk. It smells heavenly. “Rough day?”
“Rough life,” I sigh, taking a grateful sip. “Is it possible to die from analyzing hostile takeover defense strategies?”
“Only if Gideon King is involved,” she says wryly. “So spill. You look like hell warmed over, and I know it’s not just the workload.”
And just like that, the dam breaks. The carefully constructed CEO facade crumbles. The exhaustion, the fear, the loneliness… it all comes pouring out.
The pressure.
Morgan’s constant undermining.
The terror of the SPEs.
And Christopher.
The aching silence.
The choice I made.
“…and I know he didn’t know about the takeover, Ava,” I choke out, tears finally blurring the legal documents. “I believe him. Completely. But how could I let him stay? Everyone is watching me, waiting for me to screw up, to prove I’m just like Dad, making emotional decisions. Especially now that I’m permanent CEO! It’s different from being interim. Back then, I always knew Dad was coming back, that it wasn’t really my burden. But now… this title, this permanence … it feels like the weight of the entire company, its past sins and its future hopes, is sitting right here.” I thump my chest. “And it feels like it’s just me, alone, against freaking Goliath.”
Ava listens patiently, her expression full of sympathy. She scoots her chair closer, puts a comforting arm around my shoulders.
“Oh, Lucy.” She lets me sniffle for a minute before speaking again. “You’re not alone. You know I’m here. And any help Gideon or I can offer, it’s yours. And you also know Christopher would be right beside you if you let him, right?”
“But I can’t let him,” I insist, pulling away slightly, wiping my eyes furiously. Get it together, Lucy. “How can I be CEO of Hammond & Co., fighting a takeover from Mark Blackwell, while having strategy sessions, or anything else, with the CEO of Blackwell Innovations? Even if Christopher is fighting his father too, the conflict is massive! The board would crucify me. The press would have a field day. It would undermine everything I’m trying to build, everything I need to project. Strength, independence, impartiality.”
“So you sacrifice your personal happiness for professional optics?” Ava asks gently.
“Isn’t that what CEOs do?” I retort miserably.
“Maybe the old-school ones,” she says. “But perhaps there’s another way. A middle path? Honest communication? Setting clear boundaries but not… complete amputation?”
I shake my head, feeling exhausted and stubborn. “Not now. Not while Mark is actively trying to destroy us. Maybe later. If there is a later. Right now, I have to keep that wall up. I have to prove I can do this myself.”
Ava sighs, giving my shoulder one last squeeze. “Okay, CEO Hammond. Just… don’t forget Lucy Hammond exists too, all right? She deserves to be happy.”
Later that night, buried under revised projections and counter-offer drafts, a sleek courier envelope arrives from Blackwell Innovations.
My stomach does a nervous flip-flop.
What now? More bad news?
Maybe Christopher has decided he wants to cancel our partnership.
Wouldn’t surprise me, after what I’ve done.
Inside isn’t a legal threat, but a thick binder labeled ‘Project Nightingale: Hostile Takeover Defense Analysis & Countermeasures. Preliminary Recommendations.’
It’s incredibly detailed. Strategies, legal precedents, potential financial maneuvers, weak points in Mark Blackwell’s known holdings… basically a masterclass in corporate warfare, laid out specifically to defend Hammond & Co. It’s brilliant. And it must have come directly from Christopher’s top strategists.
Tucked inside the front cover is a single, cardstock note. No letterhead. Just his bold, decisive handwriting.
Lucy,
I understand your position and respect your leadership. Protecting Hammond & Co. must be your top priority.
This doesn’t change how I feel about you .
This information is provided without expectation. Use it as you see fit.
When you’re ready to talk about us, whenever that may be, I’ll be here.
Always.
- C.
I read the note three times, my throat tightening. He understands. He respects my decision, even though it hurts him... hurts us .
He’s not angry.
He’s not punishing me with silence.
He’s… waiting. And still helping, offering his formidable resources without strings, without demanding access or control, respecting the boundary I drew.
Gratitude washes over me, so intense it makes my eyes sting again.
He’s an impossible man.
Controlling and dominant one minute, unexpectedly understanding and supportive the next.
He’s backing my play as CEO, even though it means keeping him at arm’s length.
But his understanding, his quiet support… it makes the doubt creep back in, insidious and persistent.
Did I make the right call?
Is this professional separation truly necessary?
Or am I just hiding behind the CEO title, using it as an excuse because I’m terrified of letting him fully in, terrified of failing not just the company, but him ?
Am I sacrificing something real, something vital, on the altar of proving myself?
I look at the comprehensive defense plan he sent, a powerful weapon freely given.
Then I look at the empty chair opposite my desk.
The wall I built feels suddenly, suffocatingly high.
And I’m not sure anymore if it’s keeping the dangers out, or just locking me in.