Page 32 of Hitched to My Enemy
"It's about justice," he said quietly. "Something you claim to value." He studied me with calculating precision. "He'll destroy your career without a second thought when he's done with you. Just like he did to others who trusted him."
Before I could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving me with more questions than answers about the tangled web I'd found myself in.
***
"So you're the guy who's got my sister breaking protocol," Giselle announced the moment Easton slid into our booth at Vérité, an upscale restaurant far from both the Strip and the commission offices.
I nearly choked on my water. "Giselle!"
"What? It's true." She extended her hand to Easton. "Giselle Clarke. Artist, straight-shooter, and very protective sister."
To his credit, Easton didn't flinch at her directness. He shook her hand with a genuine smile. "Easton Hardwick. Casino owner, rule-bender, and man currently trying to salvage both our careers from said protocol-breaking."
Giselle's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Honest. I like that." She settled back, studying him with the same intensity she applied to her artistic subjects. "So, Easton. Tell me how a man who built a casino empire ends up working so closely with the regulator who once shut him down."
"Giselle, this isn't an interrogation," I protested.
"It's fine," Easton assured me, his focus on my sister. "The short answer? Unexpected circumstances and the strange alchemy that happens when adversaries suddenly find themselves facing a common threat."
I blinked, surprised by his candor while still maintaining our secret.
"And the long answer?" Giselle pressed.
"The long answer is more complicated." His expression turned thoughtful. "I spent three years rebuilding after your sister shut down my first venture. Blamed her entirely, told myself she was just making an example of me to advance her career."
He glanced at me with a sincerity that made my chest tighten. "I was wrong. She was right to shut us down. I was cutting corners, taking risks I shouldn't have taken. Working with her these past few days, seeing her integrity, her precision, her refusal to compromise even when it would be easier..." He shook his head slightly. "Let's just say my perspective has changed."
Giselle's expression softened. "And what about your current relationship? When I suggested Harlow attend your gala, I didn't expect things to progress quite so quickly."
"The circumstances are less than ideal," he acknowledged with diplomatic care. "But I can't honestly say I regret how things have evolved, despite the complications it's created."
His admission hung in the air between us, loaded with implications I wasn't ready to address in front of my sister.
When Easton excused himself to take a call a few minutes later, Giselle leaned forward, her voice low and urgent.
"He looks at you like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life."
"You're being dramatic," I whispered back, heat rising to my cheeks.
"I'm an artist, Harlow. I notice things. The way his eyes track your movements, how he instinctively shifts toward you, the softening in his voice when he says your name." She squeezed my hand. "That man is falling for you, andI'm guessing you didn't just accidentally marry him—you accidentally fell for him too."
"We have bigger problems," I deflected, though her words sent a flutter through my chest. "The commission's called an emergency hearing. Enzo Ricci is actively trying to destroy both our careers. And someone inside the Jade Petal is sabotaging operations."
Giselle's expression turned serious. "What's your plan?"
I glanced toward the restrooms, ensuring Easton was still out of earshot. "We're setting a trap. Planting false information about a 'smoking gun' document in Easton's safe that supposedly contains evidence of financial irregularities."
"Bait for the saboteur," she nodded appreciatively. "Smart."
"We'll monitor who accesses it through security systems. If we're right about who's behind this..."
"It's someone close to him, isn't it?" Giselle intuited. "Someone he trusts."
I nodded grimly. "The evidence points to his CFO, Bryce. His oldest friend."
"Ouch." She winced. "No wonder he needs you."
"He doesn't need me," I protested. "We're working together because our interests temporarily align."
