Intimate Audit

Desmond’s POV

The city always looked different from sixty floors above Silvercrest. Everything below appeared small enough to manage: people became moving dots, traffic became neat lines of light, and complex problems turned into predictable numbers on spreadsheets. That was how I preferred the world, simple, measurable, and controlled.

Yet Cleopatra Sander had managed to shatter that illusion within a single week. After the incident, she had agreed to help me investigate the crimes she was accused of.

Sitting across from me in my private office, she was surrounded by stacks of financial reports, encrypted ledgers, and three open laptops. "You missed something," she said suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

I looked up from my screen, frowning. "What did I miss?"

She pointed toward a transaction report on her screen. "This transfer right here. You saw the amount, but you completely missed the timing. The payment was made at 2:14 a.m., exactly three minutes after an internal security authorization was generated."

I leaned forward to study the screen. "That authorization was legitimate."

"Exactly," she said, looking up to meet my eyes. "Which means whoever is doing this has access to far more than basic employee credentials."

She was right. Someone inside Walton Global had high-level access to our core security systems. "How did you notice that?" I asked, genuinely impressed.

"I was an event planner before you hired me," she said with a shrug. "When you spend years managing hundreds of vendors, schedules, and payments, you learn to notice when something happens three minutes too early or too late."

I found myself watching her as she spoke, captivated by her focus. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, and every time she casually brushed it back, my attention drifted away from the screens and onto her.

"You're distracted," she noted, her voice bringing me sharply back to reality.

"I'm not," I lied smoothly. "Continue."

A small, knowing smile touched her lips. "You're terrible at pretending, Desmond."

"I don't pretend."

"Everyone pretends," she countered. "Especially billionaires."

I almost smiled. She had absolutely no fear of me, and that was becoming an increasingly dangerous distraction. For the last several hours, we had been alone in the office without executives, assistants, or board members interfering. Step by step, the strict professional distance between us had begun to evaporate.

Standing up, I walked over to the wet bar. "Do you want some coffee? Water?"

"No, thank you."

"How about wine?"

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Fine."

I poured two glasses and walked back over to her desk. As I handed her a glass, our fingers brushed against each other. Neither of us pulled away immediately, letting the touch linger for a fleeting moment that instantly shifted the energy in the room. Her eyes lifted to mine, and my gaze involuntarily dropped to her lips. She caught the look, her breathing quickening, mirroring my own sudden tension.

I released the glass slowly and stepped back. "Here you go."

"Thank you," she whispered, quickly lowering her gaze to the ledger and taking a small sip of wine. "You're staring again."

"I know."

"Why do you keep staring?"

I didn't answer, letting the silence stretch between us. She closed her laptop with a soft sigh and stood up. "We should take a break. It's nearly midnight anyway."

"You're leaving?" I asked as she began gathering her documents.

"Unless you have another accusation waiting for me," she replied lightly, though the unresolved pain beneath her words was unmistakable.

I stood up and stepped into her path before she reached the door. "I deserved that."

"Yes, you did," she agreed, stopping a few feet away.

"I want to explain something, Cleopatra. I don't trust people easily, my father taught me that trust has to be earned. But I realize now that you were never given a fair chance. I should have believed you from the start, and I should have protected you."

Her expression softened slightly as her eyes held mine. "Yes, you should have."

The room fell completely silent. She was standing close enough that I could feel the faint warmth radiating from her.

"You hate me," I said quietly.

"I tried to," she whispered, looking down at my mouth before forcing herself to meet my eyes again. "And I hate that it isn't working. I hate how much power you have over my life. You can destroy a company with one phone call or make problems disappear because of your money."

I took a small step closer, lowering my voice. "But I can't force you to forgive me, Cleopatra. I can't make you trust me, and I certainly can't make you want me."

Her breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly as she stayed rooted to the spot.

I reached up slowly and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her cheek. She closed her eyes at the touch for a brief second before opening them again, staring at me with raw vulnerability.

"Desmond..." she murmured softly.

I leaned in closer, our faces inches apart, until I could feel her breath against my lips.

Just as the space between us disappeared, my phone rang loudly on the desk, shattering the moment.

Cleopatra stepped back immediately, clearing her throat as I closed my eyes in frustration before answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Desmond, darling," my mother’s voice came through the speaker.

I glanced over at Cleopatra, who was busying herself with her bag. "Mother."

"You sound distracted. Are you working at midnight?"

"Yes, I am."

She laughed softly. "You always immerse yourself in work when you're trying to avoid something. I want you to come to dinner tomorrow at seven. Don't be late."

Before I could argue, the line went dead. I put the phone away and rubbed my forehead.

Cleopatra folded her arms, looking at me with a faint smirk. "Your mother?"

"Yes."

"She sounds charming."

"She is," I admitted, and a small, genuine laugh escaped her lips. It was the first real laugh I had heard from her since the wedding, and I found myself smiling back at her.

"What?" she asked, catching my expression.

"Nothing," I said, keeping my eyes on her as she picked up her bag.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Walton."

"Cleopatra, wait," I said as she turned toward the exit. "My mother invited me to dinner tomorrow night. I want you to come with me."

She paused, looking at me with a mix of surprise and confusion. "Me! Why?"

I held her gaze, dropping all pretense. "Because I don't want to spend another evening pretending I don't want you near me."

She stared at me for several seconds, processing the blunt admission, before slowly shaking her head with a soft sigh. "Good night, Desmond."

She walked out, and the door clicked shut behind her. I remained standing in the quiet office, staring at the empty doorway.

For the first time in my life, the figures and market reports on my screens meant absolutely nothing to me. All I could think about was the woman who had just left, and the kiss we had almost shared.