Easton

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, adjusting platinum cufflinks as the Vegas sun painted the sky in shades of amber and rose.

The Strip stretched out below me—a river of light and ambition—but my mind wasn't on the view.

It was entirely focused on Harlow Clarke and the dangerous game we were about to play.

Tonight had to be flawless. Everything I'd built, everything I'd reconstructed from the ruins of my humiliation three years ago, hinged on the success of this evening.

The Jade Petal's grand opening wasn't just a party—it was my resurrection, my proof that Easton Hardwick didn't stay down when knocked to the ground.

The elevator chimed, and I turned to see Bryce Delacroix emerge, tablet in one hand and his perpetual cup of coffee in the other.

My CFO and oldest friend looked impeccable as always in his charcoal Tom Ford, but I caught the tension in his shoulders, the slight tightness around his eyes that spoke of shared pressure and sleepless nights.

"Final numbers," he announced, setting the tablet on my granite kitchen island. "Pre-opening reservations are at ninety-seven percent for the next six months. High-roller commitments exceeded projections by thirty percent. The media coverage alone is worth eight figures in publicity."

I nodded, scanning the figures with satisfaction, but my attention kept drifting to the window. Somewhere down there, Harlow was preparing for tonight. The champagne gold silk I'd chosen would fit her perfectly—I possessed an almost photographic memory for details, especially when it came to her.

"She's here to destroy us," Bryce said quietly, following my gaze toward the glittering Strip.

"Let her try." I turned back to him, straightening my tie with deliberate precision. "Harlow Clarke thinks she's solved the equation of Easton Hardwick. She thinks she understands exactly what I'm capable of."

"And you're going to prove her wrong?"

"I'm going to prove I've evolved beyond her expectations."

The memory struck like a blade between my ribs—three years ago, standing in my smaller casino's office as Harlow served that damned shutdown order.

The way her hazel eyes had remained steady and professional while she systematically dismantled everything I'd built.

The exquisite humiliation of watching investors flee like rats from a sinking ship, of seeing my reputation crumble with each headline about "compliance violations" and "regulatory oversight. "

The local news had called it "the fall of a Vegas golden boy." The gaming industry had whispered about my arrogance finally catching up with me. But I'd rebuilt myself from that wreckage, forged something stronger in the flames of failure and disappointment.

Tonight wasn't just about proving the Jade Petal deserved its license. It was about proving I'd learned to play this game better than anyone, including her.

"Easton." Bryce's voice carried a warning I'd heard too many times over the years. "Whatever you're planning with her, tread carefully. You've invested too much to let old wounds—"

"This isn't about wounds." I moved to the window again, watching neon signs flicker to life as darkness claimed the desert sky. "It's about showing Investigator Clarke that some rules were designed to be bent. And that not everything fits into her neat categories of right and wrong."

Bryce remained silent for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "Just remember, we need her signature to get our final license. Don't let whatever power struggle you two have brewing jeopardize that."

My smile turned sharp as steel. "Trust me, Bryce. By the end of tonight, Harlow Clarke will see exactly what I want her to see. Nothing more, nothing less."

***

The main ballroom of the Jade Petal had been transformed into a glittering wonderland that surpassed anything the Strip had to offer.

Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic rainbows across walls draped in midnight blue silk, while towers of champagne glasses created geometric sculptures throughout the space.

Fresh gardenias—flown in from Hawaii that morning—perfumed the air with their intoxicating sweetness, and a world-class jazz quartet provided the perfect soundtrack for the most crucial night of my professional life.

A-list celebrities mingled with politicians and media moguls, their laughter blending with the crystalline clink of champagne flutes and the whisper of designer fabrics.

Everyone who wielded power in Vegas was here, along with influential figures from Los Angeles, New York, and beyond.

I'd leveraged every relationship, called in every favor, and invested a fortune to ensure this evening would be legendary.

I navigated the room like a master strategist, moving from cluster to cluster with practiced charm.

A carefully timed comment about future expansion here, a shared laugh about Vegas hospitality challenges there, always keeping conversations light while systematically building alliances that would matter long after the last guest departed.

"Easton!" Senator Patricia Voss approached with her trademark political radiance, her husband trailing behind with his own well-rehearsed expression of engaged interest. "This is absolutely breathtaking. You've redefined elegance on the Strip."

"Senator, your presence honors us." I clasped her hand, maintaining eye contact just long enough to convey respect without deference. "I hope you'll consider the Jade Petal for your next campaign gathering. We have several private dining spaces that would be ideal for intimate donor events."

Her eyes sparked with interest, but before she could respond, I spotted a familiar figure across the room.

Enzo Ricci stood near the bar, his silver hair gleaming under the chandeliers, dark eyes cataloging every detail of the evening with predatory focus.

My jaw tightened imperceptibly. Enzo owned the Mirage Continental, one of the Strip's established properties, and he'd been publicly vocal about his opposition to new competition.

"Excuse me for just a moment," I murmured to the senator, already moving toward where a small group of investors had congregated near the panoramic windows.

As I approached, I caught the tail end of a conversation about "market oversaturation" and "reckless expansion." The speaker was Marcus Kellerman, whose investment firm had bankrolled three of my competitors over the past five years.

"Gentlemen," I said smoothly, inserting myself into their circle. "I trust you're finding the evening to your satisfaction."

"Hardwick." Kellerman's smile was polite but assessing. "Impressive spectacle. Though I have to question the wisdom of such extravagant expenses in an uncertain market."

A direct challenge, wrapped in conversational silk. I smiled back, projecting confidence without arrogance. "Excellence attracts excellence, Marcus. Our pre-opening numbers suggest the market was hungry for something transcendent."

Before he could respond, I sensed a familiar presence at my elbow. Liv Chen, entertainment reporter for the Las Vegas Tribune, materialized with her usual hungry smile and a recorder she made no attempt to conceal.

"Mr. Hardwick, could I get your thoughts on the regulatory hurdles the Jade Petal has faced? Sources suggest there's been some unusual political pressure regarding expedited approvals."

The investors' attention sharpened like bloodhounds catching a scent, and I felt the weight of multiple assessments as they processed this information. This was exactly the kind of minefield I'd anticipated tonight, but Liv's timing was particularly inconvenient.

"The Jade Petal has exceeded every regulatory benchmark," I replied smoothly. "We've maintained complete transparency with the Gaming Commission throughout our approval process. Any suggestion otherwise is pure speculation from uninformed sources."

Liv's eyes glittered with predatory anticipation. "And what about your personal history with the lead investigator? Some might find it curious that Harlow Clarke is attending tonight's celebration."

The question hung in the air like a loaded weapon. I watched Kellerman and the other investors recalibrating their assessments, weighing the implications of perceived impropriety.

"Investigator Clarke is here in her professional capacity," I replied, allowing just enough steel into my voice to discourage further probing. "The Gaming Commission takes a comprehensive approach to oversight, which we wholeheartedly welcome and support."

But even as I spoke, my attention was drawn to the entrance, where conversations seemed to pause and heads turned in subtle recognition of someone's arrival. And then I saw her.

Harlow stood in the doorway like a vision that had stepped from my most dangerous dreams. The champagne gold silk I'd chosen flowed around her curves like liquid sunlight, and her dark hair was swept into an elegant chignon that showcased the graceful column of her neck.

The diamond earrings I'd selected caught the light with every subtle movement, and the entire effect was nothing short of devastating.

She was magnificent, and she knew it. But more tellingly, her posture betrayed barely contained tension—shoulders held just a fraction too rigidly, fingers gripping her clutch with white-knuckled intensity.

She was as apprehensive about tonight as I was, which meant I wasn't the only one with everything to lose.

"Excuse me," I murmured to Liv and the investors, already moving across the room. I was drawn to Harlow like a man possessed, and I couldn't have cared less who noticed.

***

Harlow had positioned herself at the bar, and I watched as she ordered what appeared to be club soda with lime. Playing it safe, even here. The choice was so quintessentially her that I nearly smiled.