Page 10

Harlow

The conference room door closed behind Enzo with the finality of a judge's gavel. I waited until his footsteps faded before turning to Easton, who was gathering the surveillance photographs scattered across the polished table like crime scene evidence.

"Arrogant bastard," Easton muttered, his fingers tightening on the glossy prints. "Probably has copies, but at least we know what we're facing."

"Those photos are the least of our concerns.

" My mind was already mapping possible threats and vulnerabilities.

Less than twelve hours since our impromptu wedding, and we were already fighting for our professional lives.

"If he's invested in this level of surveillance, what else might he have uncovered? "

"You think there's more?"

"Enzo Ricci didn't build his empire by playing fair." I moved toward the elevator, strategies already forming. "We need to get back to your office and assess what game he's really playing."

***

Easton's penthouse offered sanctuary after the confrontation downstairs. I kicked off the heels Sarah had provided and felt my shoulders relax fractionally.

"Coffee?" Easton asked, loosening his tie with one fluid movement.

"Please. Strong as you can make it." I pulled out my tablet, catching myself following the shift of muscles beneath his shirt as he worked. Focus, Clarke. "I need access to your financial systems. If Enzo's orchestrating something beyond blackmail photos, he'll need insider intelligence."

"You suspect a mole?"

"In Vegas, information trades like currency." I accepted the cappuccino he offered, our fingers brushing momentarily—sending an unwelcome spark through my veins. "The question is who's selling and at what price."

Easton settled beside me with his laptop, close enough that his cologne—sandalwood and something distinctly masculine—undermined my attempts at professional detachment.

"Where should we begin?" he asked.

"Financial records, access logs, vendor contracts." I opened my commission database. "People who betray trust leave patterns, even when they think they're being careful."

We worked in unexpectedly comfortable silence, documents and data filling our screens. His periodic lean toward my monitor, each accidental contact between us, echoed the magnetism that had led us to that chapel.

I paused on a sequence of vendor payments processed without proper documentation—all falling just below automatic review thresholds.

"Look here," I said, highlighting the pattern. "These transactions were all approved with the same executive code, but the documentation is conspicuously incomplete. Our culprit knows precisely how to evade standard review protocols."

"Remarkable," he said, studying my screen with genuine appreciation. "Most people would miss that completely. The way you identify these hidden connections... it's extraordinary."

His praise settled differently than the hollow compliments I'd grown accustomed to—from supervisors who wanted something, from my ex who had been mining me for information. This felt genuine.

"Pattern recognition," I said, unable to prevent the warmth rising to my face. "The commission pays me to see what others miss."

"It's more than that." His proximity registered like a physical touch. "You understand how people think, anticipate how systems can be exploited. That's rare, Harlow."

Our eyes locked, and the air between us transformed from professional to something dangerous. The way he looked at me—like I was valuable beyond my usefulness—threatened every boundary I'd constructed.

"Easton..." I began, unsure what warning I meant to deliver.

"I know." His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face with unexpected gentleness. "This complicates everything. But I can't pretend last night was merely alcohol and bad judgment. Can you?"

His phone chimed, breaking the moment. He checked the screen and exhaled slowly.

"Torres says there's a situation on the casino floor," he said, his reluctance evident in the way his eyes lingered on mine.

My phone rang before I could respond. As I answered Carmen Torres's urgent call, the ghost of his touch remained, a distraction I couldn't afford.

***

The casino floor buzzed with controlled tension. Security personnel had cordoned off three slot machines in the high-limit area while early gamblers watched from a safe distance, their curiosity palpable.

"What happened?" Easton asked Carmen Torres, the Jade Petal's head of security—a woman whose compact frame and vigilant eyes suggested she could neutralize threats twice her size without breaking stride.

"Overnight maintenance found these machines tampered with," Torres reported. "Programming altered to favor the house beyond legal parameters. If players had used them, they would have been systematically cheated."

My investigative instincts crystallized into focus. "Has anyone accessed these machines since discovery?"

"No ma'am. We secured the area immediately and contacted Mr. Hardwick."

"Good." I examined the nearest machine, noting the nearly imperceptible signs of manipulation that most would overlook. "Who possesses access to the programming codes for these units?"

Torres consulted her tablet. "High-level maintenance personnel, IT department heads, and anyone with executive override privileges."

"A very select group," Easton observed, his expression hardening.

I traced my fingers along the access panel, conscious of Easton studying my movements.

"This isn't random vandalism. The precision here indicates someone with technical expertise and the right equipment.

" Rising, I smoothed my borrowed skirt. "They also navigated around security patrols with suspicious expertise. "

"Inside job," Torres concluded.

"Coordinated inside job," I clarified. "This has the hallmarks of a systematic operation, not an isolated incident. Someone's manufacturing evidence of regulatory violations."

Easton's jaw tightened as he processed the implications. "They're framing us for running rigged games."

"Which would trigger immediate license suspension," I continued. "Potentially forcing the Jade Petal into bankruptcy before you even officially open."

The puzzle pieces aligned with disturbing clarity. Enzo's surveillance, the sabotaged machines, his convenient timing—this was methodical corporate sabotage designed to destroy Easton's business and my career simultaneously.

"Sir?" Torres glanced at her phone. "Mr. Delacroix is heading down. Should I brief him?"

"Yes, he should see this," Easton replied, though something flickered across his features—a shadow of uncertainty.

Moments later, Bryce Delacroix emerged from the elevator looking distinctly disheveled. His normally impeccable appearance had deteriorated—tie askew, hair mussed, dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes.

"Christ, what's happened?" he asked, taking in the security cordon.

"Someone tampered with the programming overnight," Easton explained. "Rigged to cheat customers."

The color drained from Bryce's face. "How many machines?"

"Three confirmed," Torres replied. "We're examining the entire floor."

"This is catastrophic," Bryce muttered, pulling out his phone. "The investors will panic if this leaks. We're already navigating regulatory delays—"

"It won't leak," Easton interjected firmly. "We're handling this internally with commission oversight."

Bryce's attention snapped to me, his expression more anxious than relieved. "Has she uncovered anything? About the... irregularities?"

"Investigator Clarke's expertise is exactly what we need," Easton said smoothly.

I studied Bryce's reactions carefully. Most financial officers would immediately question operational impact, security protocols, potential liability. Instead, his concern centered on what I might have discovered.

"What's your assessment so far?" he asked directly, tension evident in his clipped tone.

"Still analyzing," I replied carefully, noting how his jaw muscle twitched at my non-answer. "Mr. Hardwick has provided complete access to all systems."

"Of course," Bryce said, something discordant in his response. "I should review the financial implications—"

His phone buzzed, and visible relief washed over him. "Urgent call from our insurers. I'll circle back later."

He retreated before anyone could respond, leaving me with the distinct impression of someone fleeing further questioning.

"We need security footage from the past week," I told Torres. "Cross-reference access logs with personnel files. And keep this investigation contained."

"Why the discretion?" she asked.

"Because our saboteur is someone within Easton's inner circle," I replied, watching his expression darken. "Someone with legitimate access who wouldn't trigger security protocols."

***

"Mr. Hardwick!" Liv Chen's voice cut through the corridor as we approached Easton's office less than two hours after discovering the sabotaged machines.

She materialized with her camera crew in tow, ambush gleaming in her smile.

"Perfect timing. I'd like your statement on this morning's irregularities. "

My stomach tightened. The information's rapid leak confirmed my suspicions—someone with immediate knowledge had contacted her almost instantly.

"Ms. Chen," Easton replied, maintaining his composure despite the tension radiating from him. "I'm not certain which irregularities you're referencing."

"The gaming machines discovered to be rigged in the house's favor," she said, barely containing her excitement.

"Sources indicate this could represent a broader pattern of compliance issues.

" Her gaze shifted to me with calculated interest. "And Ms. Clarke, what fortuitous timing.

I hoped to follow up on last night's events. "

Someone had deliberately fed her information within minutes of our discovery.