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Both, I realized with uncomfortable clarity.

Camilla's text message echoed in my mind: Politics matter more than perfection.

Perhaps showing up would demonstrate my commitment to thorough oversight.

Or perhaps it would be walking directly into whatever trap Easton was setting with his trademark cunning.

"The commission expects me to maintain boundaries," I said carefully.

"The commission expects you to do your job thoroughly and fairly.

How can you assess the Jade Petal's operations without observing how we handle our biggest night?

" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and for a moment the polished facade slipped to reveal something more genuine underneath.

"Unless you're concerned you can't remain objective around me. "

Another challenge. Damn him and his ability to find exactly the right button to push.

"My objectivity has never been in question."

"Then prove it." For just a moment, his smile turned genuinely warm, transforming his entire face from handsome to devastating. "Come tonight. See what we've built here. Judge for yourself whether it meets your impossibly high standards."

I should say no. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to politely decline and maintain appropriate distance. But something in his expression—vulnerability beneath the confidence, genuine pride in what he'd accomplished—made me hesitate.

"I'll consider it," I heard myself saying.

"Excellent." He stood and moved to an antique desk in the corner, returning with a business card made of heavy stock that felt substantial between my fingers. "That has my direct line. Call if you need anything. Anything at all."

As I took the card, he caught my hand and held it just a moment longer than necessary. His skin was warm, callused in surprising places that suggested he did more than sit behind a desk all day.

"I'll have a dress sent to your hotel. Consider it a peace offering."

"That's not necessary—"

"Humor me." He released my hand, and I immediately missed the warmth of his touch, which was problematic on multiple levels. "I have excellent taste, and I'd hate for you to feel underdressed among Vegas royalty."

After leaving the Jade Petal, I drove home on autopilot, my mind replaying every moment of our encounter. The way he'd looked at me, the careful dance of words that said everything and nothing, the undeniable fact that the years hadn't diminished whatever this was between us.

***

Back in my Summerlin condo two hours later, I stared at the garment bag hanging on my closet door like it might explode. The hotel concierge had delivered it personally, along with coordinating shoes and what I suspected was a jewelry case. I hadn't opened any of them yet.

Instead, I'd been pacing my minimalist living room for the past twenty minutes, my phone clutched in my hand as I debated calling Giselle. My younger sister was the only person who could talk sense into me when I was spiraling, which I definitely was.

Finally, I hit her number.

"Please tell me you're calling with juicy details about your mysterious Vegas assignment," Giselle answered without preamble, because my sister had never met a conversation she couldn't dive into headfirst.

"I might have made a mistake," I said, collapsing onto my leather couch.

"Ooh, this sounds promising. What kind of mistake? Professional? Personal? Fashion-related? Please tell me it involves that gorgeous man who's been all over the society pages."

"I agreed to attend a casino gala tonight. With the owner."

"The one you shut down? The one who's been rebuilding his empire specifically to show you up?"

Trust Giselle to cut straight to the heart of it. "The same."

"Harlow, honey, that's not a mistake. That's called having a life. When's the last time you went to anything that didn't involve a conference room and PowerPoint presentations about regulatory compliance?"

"This isn't about having a life, Gis. This is about maintaining boundaries with someone who..." I trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence without admitting things I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

"Someone who what? Makes your pulse race? Makes you forget you're supposed to be the Ice Queen of Gaming Regulation?"

"I am not the Ice Queen of—"

"Harlow. You married your job, and frankly, it's been a boring marriage. Go to the party. Wear whatever devastatingly gorgeous dress he sent you and have some fun for once. You've spent years building your reputation as the most ethical investigator in Nevada. One night won't change that."

After she hung up, I finally opened the garment bag with hands that trembled slightly.

The dress inside made me gasp audibly. Champagne gold silk that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, cut in a style that would showcase my curves while remaining tasteful enough for any boardroom.

The designer label made my eyes widen—this represented serious investment.

In the coordinating boxes, I found strappy heels in the same champagne shade, along with a clutch purse and jewelry that looked suspiciously like real diamonds. Everything fit perfectly, as if he'd somehow memorized my measurements during our brief encounters years ago.

I held the dress up to myself and stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman looking back at me was a stranger—glamorous, mysterious, dangerous. Everything I'd trained myself not to be in pursuit of credibility.

My phone rang again. Camilla's name flashing on the screen like a warning.

"Clarke."

"I hear Hardwick invited you to his little party tonight," she said without preamble, because apparently nothing happened in Vegas without the commission knowing about it within hours.

"Word travels fast."

"Everything travels fast in Vegas. I want you to go."

I blinked in surprise. "You do?"

"There are rumors swirling about the Jade Petal's financing.

Political pressure to fast-track the approval process.

Sources suggesting certain commissioners might have conflicts of interest." Her voice carried that edge I'd learned to associate with commission politics at their ugliest. "If there's dirt to be found, tonight might be your best chance to find it. "

"And if there isn't any dirt?"

"Then you do your job and write an honest report. But be careful, Harlow. Hardwick is charming, and charming men are dangerous to women in our position. Don't let him manipulate you the way he manipulates everyone else."

After she hung up, I stared at my reflection again. Political pressure. Rumors about financing. The commission wanting me to find dirt rather than simply determine the truth.

I was caught between competing agendas, powerful people with their own motives, and suddenly the dress felt less like a gift and more like a weapon—though I wasn't entirely sure who was wielding it.

An hour later, I stood in the elevator at the Jade Petal, my heart hammering against my ribs hard enough that I worried the other passengers might hear it. The dress fit like it had been designed specifically for my body, which should have been impossible unless...

Unless Easton Hardwick had an even better memory than I'd given him credit for.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the most elegant party I'd ever seen, and there he was, standing near the entrance as if he'd been waiting for me. When our eyes met across the crowded ballroom, his smile was pure sin wrapped in expensive fabric.

I stepped into the controlled chaos of Vegas high society, acutely aware that I was walking into whatever trap he'd so carefully prepared.

"Game on," I whispered to myself, and entered the arena where my career would either reach new heights or crash in spectacular flames.