Page 23 of Hitched to My Enemy
Night had fallen by the time we retreated to my office, the Vegas skyline a glittering backdrop through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I'd ordered dinner, and we spread financial records across my desk while eating Thai food straight from the containers.
"These vendor payments," Harlow said, highlighting a sequence on her tablet. "They show a pattern over the past six months. All approved with the same executive code, all falling just below the automatic review threshold."
I leaned closer, our shoulders touching as I studied the data. "They look legitimate on the surface. Standard vendors, appropriate amounts."
"Except when you cross-reference with delivery records." She swiped to another document. "Three of these vendors don'texist beyond paper corporations. Two others delivered only partial orders but were paid in full."
My stomach tightened as I recognized the approval code on the transactions: BDFX-7734. Bryce's personal authorization key.
"There could be explanations," I said, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears. "Clerical errors, system glitches—"
"Easton." She set down her tablet, her voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "These aren't errors. They're systematic siphoning by someone who understands exactly how to stay under regulatory radar."
The implication hung in the air between us. Bryce. My oldest friend. The man who'd stood beside me through every professional triumph and disaster since college.
"I've known him half my life," I said quietly, a lead weight settling in my chest. "He helped me rebuild after you shut down my first operation. He's been with me through everything."
Harlow set aside her food, moving to perch on the edge of my desk. In the soft lighting of my office, with her professional armor lowered by exhaustion and shared purpose, she looked both vulnerable and strong in a way that made my chest ache.
"People who betray us are often those closest to us," she said softly. "They know our blind spots, our vulnerabilities. We trust them implicitly, which gives them the perfect cover."
I looked up, meeting her eyes. "Like your ex?"
She nodded, a shadow crossing her features. "He used my trust against me. Extracted information while I thought we were building a future together."
"I'm sorry that happened to you," I said, meaning it more than she could know.
"It taught me to be careful," she admitted. "Maybe too careful."
We fell silent, the unspoken connection between us growing stronger despite—or perhaps because of—our shared experiences with betrayal.
I found myself standing, moving around the desk until we were face to face. "Harlow, about what almost happened earlier..."
"We shouldn't," she whispered, though she made no move to increase the distance between us. "It would complicate everything."
"It's already complicated," I countered, drawn inexorably closer to her. "Has been since you walked into the Jade Petal wearing that devastating dress."
A hint of a smile touched her lips. "The dress you selected."
"I have excellent taste." My hand moved of its own accord, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "In fashion and in women."
Her breath caught, but still she resisted. "We're in the middle of an investigation. One that could determine both our professional futures."
"I know." My fingers traced the line of her jaw, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. "I know all the reasons why this is a terrible idea."
"Then why are you still moving closer?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
"Because some things are worth the risk." I paused, needing her to understand what I was about to confess. "Harlow,I need to tell you something. Something I should have said years ago."
Her eyes searched mine, wariness and curiosity mingling in their hazel depths.
"Three years ago, you were right." The admission felt like releasing a weight I'd carried since she'd shut down my first casino. "I was cutting corners. Taking risks I shouldn't have taken. I was so focused on success, on proving myself, that I didn't see—or didn't want to see—the dangers I was creating."
Surprise flickered across her features, followed by something softer. "Easton..."
"I blamed you for years," I continued, needing to complete the confession. "Told myself you were just making an example of me, climbing the career ladder on my back. It was easier than admitting I'd failed."
She reached up, her hand covering mine where it rested against her cheek. "I never wanted to hurt you. I was doing my job, but..." She hesitated, then added with unexpected honesty, "I questioned that decision for months afterward. Wondered if I'd been too harsh, too rigid."
