Page 71 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter seventy-one

T he marketing floor smells like stress and overused cologne.

I scan the open-concept space, all glass walls and fake succulents, until my gaze lands on the man I came for.

Jeff. Also known as Elevator Boy. Also known as Creepy Jeff. Currently demoted to a sad side office that used to be a supply closet.

I knock twice and step in without waiting.

He startles. Didn’t expect me, which says a lot for a man who usually oozes smug. “Reagan,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “To what do I owe the honor? Come to gloat because you couldn’t handle a few compliments from me? Had to run to HR?”

I raise an eyebrow.

I could bite back. Pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. But he’s not worth it.

I hold up a slim folder.

"We did an audit. Your expenses got flagged. Honestly, it reads like a bad script of Mad Men, all scotch and cigarettes, minus the charm. ‘Entertainment – 2 hours.’ ‘Medical supplements.’ Not exactly subtle. Finance flagged it. I’m just here to tie the bow."

He snorts. “That’s rich. Promoted five minutes ago and now you’re in charge of audits?”

“No.” I flip the file open. “But I’m in charge of special projects. And you just became one.”

I pause. Let that land. “I did caution you to be accurate on your reports. Guess you should’ve paid attention to my words instead of my chest.”

His smile curdles.

“There’s a suite at the Eminent Hotel billed as a vendor meeting space.” I slide a printed invoice across the desk. “Turns out that vendor doesn’t exist. But the suite was used. Repeatedly. By you.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, face flushing. “You have no idea what you’re poking at.”

“Then educate me,” I say sweetly.

Jeff slams a hand on the desk. “You think you got here on merit? Please. You fucked your way into that glass tower. And now what, Grayson’s little mouthpiece wants to play Internal Affairs?”

I let the silence stretch. He’s waiting for me to flinch. To crack.

I don’t.

I smile. Slow. Cold. “You mean aside from the industry awards I was nominated for and the campaigns I consulted on directly? Which, by the way, I must have done pretty damn well on, considering you tried to take credit for one.”

His face darkens.

“I don’t need your confession,” I continue. “Finance already found the irregularities. I’m just here to tie the bow before legal decides how sharp they want the knife. ”

Jeff’s eyes narrow. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Reagan.”

I smile. “No. You did. And now it’s my board.”

I snap the file shut, slide it into my bag, and stand. Jeff doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. He knows what I just handed him was a loaded gun, and he’s the one standing in the crosshairs.

Behind me, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Because he knows.

The next time someone knocks, it won’t be me.