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"Actually," I stepped forward, professional smile in place, "this presents an excellent opportunity to highlight the gaming commission's innovative oversight approach."

Liv's expression sharpened with journalistic interest. She sensed a story, though not the scandal she'd anticipated. "Your presence is related to an active investigation?"

"The commission employs comprehensive compliance verification," I explained in my practiced media voice. "When Mr. Hardwick identified potential system irregularities, he immediately requested commission oversight for collaborative investigation."

"Collaborative investigation?" Liv repeated, her recorder capturing each word.

"As you witnessed at last night's gala, Mr. Hardwick specifically requested the investigator who previously identified violations at his former establishment," I continued, watching understanding transform her expression.

"This demonstrates exceptional confidence in his current compliance measures and commitment to transparency. "

Easton nodded with appropriate gravity. "After my previous... educational experience... with regulatory matters, I prioritized ensuring the Jade Petal exceeds every standard. Inviting commission oversight during our pre-opening phase reflects our dedication to complete transparency."

"Regarding the machines reportedly rigged—" Liv probed.

"They were identified during our proactive compliance review and immediately secured," I finished smoothly. "This exemplifies the collaborative oversight model that protects consumers and legitimate operators alike."

I watched Liv recalculate as she realized her potential scandal had morphed into an innovative business strategy story. "This collaboration formalized after last night's gala?"

"The event provided an optimal environment for comprehensive operational assessment," I replied. "Mr. Hardwick's invitation to commission oversight during his preview event demonstrated remarkable strategic foresight."

"Your attendance was strictly professional?" Liv pressed, clearly recalling the photographs she'd captured.

"The commission routinely requires investigators to observe establishments under authentic operating conditions," I stated truthfully. "Last night's event provided exactly that professional development opportunity. When issues emerged this morning, we were positioned to respond immediately."

Twenty minutes later, we'd delivered what might be the most consequential interview of our careers. As Liv's crew packed their equipment, cautious optimism replaced my earlier alarm.

"Brilliant," Easton said once we reached his office, admiration evident in his expression. "You transformed a potential disaster into positive coverage. That performance just saved us millions in damage control."

"Partnership," I replied, his appreciation warming me more than it should. "We're effective together."

"We are." His gaze intensified, shifting from professional to something far more personal. "In more ways than one."

As he closed his office door, I confronted how dramatically my approach had shifted.

Three days ago, I'd arrived determined to find violations and shut him down if necessary.

Now I was actively protecting his casino from sabotage.

The commission would call it compromised objectivity, but it felt like discovering a better regulatory path—collaboration rather than adversarial enforcement.

***

By late afternoon, the atmosphere between us had subtly transformed. Perhaps it was the shared crisis, or our seamless handling of the media, but my carefully maintained professional distance was eroding.

I'd abandoned my peach blazer hours ago, and somehow we'd migrated from opposing sides of his desk to working side-by-side on his leather couch, laptops balanced on the coffee table, documents surrounding us like exam preparation.

"Anything useful in the security footage?" I asked, stretching to relieve tension in my neck. The movement pulled my silk blouse taut, and I caught Easton's momentary glance before he redirected his attention.

"Three individuals accessed the gaming area between midnight and 4 AM," he replied, his voice carrying a rougher edge than before. "All with seemingly legitimate purposes."

"What about the machine access logs?"

"That's where it gets revealing." He shifted closer, his proximity registering like static electricity. "The programming alterations were executed using executive override codes."

"How many people possess those codes?"

"Five. Myself, Bryce, the IT director, security chief, and night operations manager."

I set my laptop aside and turned toward him, suddenly hyperaware of our closeness. "Any of them experiencing financial pressure? Gambling debts? Family emergencies?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but..." He raked fingers through his hair, disheveling its perfect styling and revealing vulnerability beneath his polished exterior. "I'm discovering significant blind spots about the people I've trusted implicitly."

His quiet pain resonated unexpectedly. This wasn't merely business—it was betrayal by someone in his inner circle, undermining everything he'd rebuilt.

"We'll uncover the truth," I said softly, my hand finding his arm before rationality could intervene. "Evidence always reveals patterns, even when we'd rather not see them."

"Does it?" He turned, our faces now inches apart, his gaze dropping momentarily to my lips before meeting my eyes again. "Because right now, every indicator points toward people I consider family."

"I understand how difficult—"

"Do you?" His voice roughened with emotion. "Have you experienced someone you completely trusted selling you out for money?"

His question struck deeper than he could know. "My ex-boyfriend," I admitted quietly. "He leveraged our relationship for inside information about pending investigations. Sleeping with a casino lobbyist while extracting confidential commission data from me."

I rarely disclosed this—not even Camilla knew the complete story. The humiliation of discovering I'd been exploited both professionally and personally had reinforced every wall around me, solidifying the "Ice Queen" reputation my sister occasionally referenced.

Easton's expression darkened. "Harlow... I had no idea."

"The betrayal was multifaceted," I continued, surprised by how naturally the confession emerged with him. "Beyond the infidelity and professional compromise was the realization of my own blindness—how completely I'd trusted someone who saw me as merely useful."

"His catastrophic mistake," Easton said with unexpected fierceness. "Anyone who'd violate your trust that way is profoundly unworthy of it."

"Careful, Hardwick. That sounded dangerously like admiration."

"It was." His palm cradled my cheek, thumb tracing my jawline. "You're remarkable, Harlow. Your intellect, your principles, your determination to protect what's right... it's extraordinary."

My breath caught at his touch's tenderness.

We'd crossed into hazardous territory, the space between us charged with tension that had been building steadily.

Every casual contact, every shared glance, every moment of professional respect had been kindling to a flame threatening to consume my better judgment.

"This crosses every line," I whispered, yet made no move to retreat from his touch.

"I know." Desire roughened his voice. "This complicates everything imaginable. But Harlow, I can't stop thinking about you. About us. About what happened in that chapel."

"We were intoxicated, making reckless decisions—"

"Were we?" His thumb traced my lower lip, sending an electric current through me. "Because this doesn't feel like regret when you respond to my touch. When you look at me with those eyes."

The distance between us vanished incrementally, his breath warm against my lips. One movement would bridge the gap. One moment of surrender would transform everything.

A text message chimed loudly, making us both start. Easton checked his phone with visible frustration, then set it aside.

"Torres with an update," he said, his gaze never leaving mine. "Nothing urgent."

"Easton," I whispered as he leaned in again.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, our lips nearly touching. "Tell me this isn't what you want."

But the words wouldn't come. Despite every rational argument, despite the professional catastrophe this might trigger, despite everything logical—I wanted him. I needed to know if our chemistry was genuine, if his touch could ignite the reckless abandon I'd glimpsed last night.

"I should tell you to stop," I admitted.

"But you won't." The certainty in his voice reflected in his eyes.

"No," I confessed as the last of my resistance dissolved. "I won't."

His mouth hovered a breath from mine when my phone rang.

We separated like startled teenagers, both breathing unevenly as I fumbled for my phone.

"Torres," I said, registering the caller ID. "Another incident."

Easton swore under his breath, running both hands through his hair. "More machines?"

I answered, already reaching for my discarded blazer. As Torres detailed the latest sabotage—five additional gaming machines, identical pattern, same inside access—I tried to ignore Easton's expression.

He watched me with the unmistakable intensity of a man interrupted mid-decision.

A man determined to finish what we'd started at the first opportunity.

"We need to go," I said, ending the call.

"Harlow..." he began.

"I know." Our eyes met, mutual desire reflected there, along with the unspoken promise that this wasn't concluded. "But not now. Not with someone actively dismantling everything you've built."

He nodded, though his expression made it clear that our next private moment would proceed without interruption.

As we headed toward the door, I attempted to convince myself I was maintaining professionalism. Making responsible choices. Preserving appropriate boundaries.

But my body's lingering response to his touch, my lips still anticipating a kiss that hadn't materialized, confirmed that my capacity for wise decisions regarding Easton Hardwick had already dissolved.

I was falling for my accidental husband.

And for once in my carefully protected life, I had no desire to stop the fall.