Page 38 of Hitched to My Enemy
"I would suggest Mr. Ricci focus on his own operations rather than attempting to capitalize on a situation his establishment helped create." I allowed a hint of steel to enter my voice. "Our investigation has revealed that Mr. Delacroix'sactions were connected to gambling debts accrued primarily at the Mirage Continental, and that Mr. Ricci personally offered to clear those debts in exchange for corporate sabotage."
The room erupted again. I fielded questions with measured responses, emphasizing transparency, commitment to regulatory compliance, and the effectiveness of our security protocols in catching the problem before opening.
Throughout the exchange, I maintained a careful professional distance from Harlow, though I was acutely aware of her presence—the slight nod of approval when I handled a particularly tricky question, the almost imperceptible shift when a reporter ventured too close to our personal connection.
When the inevitable question finally came—"Is there any truth to rumors of a personal relationship between you and Investigator Clarke?"—I was prepared.
"Investigator Clarke represents the Nevada Gaming Commission in a professional capacity. Her expertise and thoroughness are exactly what helped identify these issues before they could impact our operations or customers. Our working relationship exemplifies the kind of collaborative oversight that benefits both the industry and the public."
Not a lie, but not the complete truth. From the corner of my eye, I caught the hint of a smile on Harlow's face.
After forty-five minutes, I concluded the press conference, thanking the reporters and promising updates as the situation developed. As the crowd dispersed, Harlow approached, her professional mask firmly in place despite the warmth in her eyes.
"Well handled," she said quietly as we stepped into the private elevator.
"I had excellent preparation." The doors closed, sealing us away from prying eyes, and I felt tension drain from my shoulders. "Think it worked?"
"You controlled the narrative, showed appropriate concern without panic, and positioned the Jade Petal as responsible and transparent." Her analytical assessment was pure Investigator Clarke, but the smile that followed was all Harlow. "Yes, I think it worked."
As the elevator climbed toward the penthouse, I studied her face—the woman who had transformed from professional adversary to accidental wife to essential partner in less than a week. Something shifted in my chest, a certainty I hadn't expected to find amid such chaos.
"I'm falling in love with you, Harlow."
The words emerged without planning, simple truth amid the complicated web we'd found ourselves in. Her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise just as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the penthouse foyer.
The moment hung suspended between us—my confession, her unspoken response, and the world waiting beyond the elevator's temporary sanctuary.
Chapter Nine
Harlow
The Nevada Gaming Commission building stretched skyward, its glass façade reflecting the merciless morning sun. In my parked Audi, I gripped the steering wheel, struggling to regulate my breathing.
Three years building an impeccable reputation. A lifetime devoted to following rules, maintaining boundaries, enforcing standards that never bent. Now everything teetered on the precipice because of one reckless night that had somehow evolved into something I couldn't—didn't want to—abandon.
Easton's unfinished declaration from last night echoed in my mind.I'm falling in love with you, Harlow.
The elevator doors had parted before I could respond, reality intruding on a moment that had irrevocably shifted the landscape between us. Now, facing a hearing that might demolish my career, my mind fixated not on professional survival but on words left unspoken.
The rearview mirror reflected a woman armored for battle—hair disciplined into a tight bun, the charcoal suit I'd selected specifically for its authoritative cut. The quintessential Investigator Clarke, whose judgment had never been questioned.
Until now.
My phone lit with Easton's message:Whatever happens, we face it together. I meant what I said last night.
Heat bloomed beneath my ribs. Inhaling deeply, I stepped from the car and approached the building that had once represented my unwavering moral compass. The needle no longer pointed true north.
***
Tension saturated the commission hearing room. The imposing cherrywood table dominated the space, with three commissioners arranged at one end like a tribunal. In many ways, this was precisely that.
Commissioner Frank Watts occupied the center position, silver hair and rigid posture embodying three decades of uncompromising regulation. On his flanks sat Commissioner Josephine Diaz, calculating political advantages behind her neutral expression, and Commissioner Naomi Montgomery, whose reform-minded reputation had earned her both admirers and detractors.
My supervisor Camilla Duarte perched at a side table, her countenance revealing nothing about where her allegiances might fall today. Staff members lined the paneled walls like spectators at a gladiatorial match, their presence guaranteeing that whatever transpired would saturate commission gossip for months.
I'd nearly reached my designated seat when Enzo Ricci entered, silver hair gleaming under the recessed lighting, leather portfolio clutched like a weapon. The atmosphere calcified, charged with the understanding that this was no routine review—this was warfare.
"Investigator Clarke." Watts's voice sliced through the murmurs. "This emergency session addresses concerns regarding your objectivity in the Jade Petal licensing review. Do you have any preliminary statement?"
