Chapter 4 Forensic Files

Sienna’s POV

After that circus of a morning meeting, I finally made it up to my office on the 8th floor. The second I closed the door behind me, I exhaled, yanked my heels off, and slid into my seat like it was a long-lost lover. There was no time to breathe though, because Mayor greasy hands and god knows what else was our client, and my gut was screaming that something about him just wasn’t right.

And I trust my gut. He’s a shady-bullshit bloodhound.

I buzzed Trevor.

Thirty seconds later, my ever enthusiastic extern was standing in front of me, bright-eyed, glasses slightly crooked, his Northwestern alumni lanyard still proudly bouncing off his button-up.

“Have a seat, Trevor. We’re diving in.”

He nodded like a soldier going to war. The kid’s only 21, but when it comes to numbers and financials, he might as well be a retired CIA agent turned forensic accountant. We both cracked open our laptops and started combing through the mayor’s accounts, from personal, to campaign, to village, to scholarship, you name it.

Two hours later, I saw it.

“Shit, Trevor. I got something, look at this.” I turned my laptop toward him, the glow of the screen highlighting the excitement in my eyes.

Trevor leaned in. “Same four amounts, same three withdrawal locations, across six accounts, during the exact same hour window every time?”

I nodded.

“Damn. Good eye. Some people really think they’re smarter than they are,” he muttered, shaking his head. “They try to cover their asses but end up leaving breadcrumbs like amateur crooks.”

I printed out the transaction logs and stapled them all together, tapping the corner of the thick packet against my desk like I’d just won the first round in a heavyweight fight.

“Now we need the locations and surveillance videos. So it is time to get some warrants.”

Trevor rubbed his stomach dramatically. “Time to get lunch, too. I feel like I’m dying over here, Sienna. I swear I just tasted the inside of my stomach.”

I laughed. “Alright, fine. Get me a house salad with chicken and a lemonade. But if they forget the dressing again, we’re writing a strongly worded letter.”

“Got it. Salad, chicken, lemonade, and extra petty if needed.”

After he left, I sent a quick intercompany alert detailing the patterns I’d found. It barely had time to bounce through the system before Knox’s name popped up on my screen.

Knox: “Meet me in my office at 4:30.”

Ugh. I groaned internally. Do I have to? I’m tired. I’m bloated. I’m emotionally unavailable for his smug face today.

Still… it’s Knox, my boss. And it’s my job.

At 3:45, Trevor returned like a hero holding bags of greasy miracles. “One salad with the right amount of chicken and your precious lemonade, boss.”

“You’re a gem, Trevor.”

We both scarfed down our food like we hadn’t eaten in years. In my rush to inhale lettuce and professionalism, a rogue piece of tomato flung a trail of dressing down the front of my jacket.

“Shit!” I hissed, dabbing at the stain. “Welp…I guess the jacket’s out.”

Trevor gave me a once-over and raised an eyebrow. “Girl, you sure you don’t want to keep it on? That top’s about to get you an extra zero on your paycheck.” As he shimmys his shoulders back and forth.

I swatted him playfully. “Don’t get smacked, Trevor. I’m all business.”

“Just make sure Mr. Michaels doesn’t get distracted by your…large assets.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically, but I couldn’t lie, my form-fitting sleeveless top and high-waisted pants were giving “I’m not here to play, but I’m the main character if you wanna watch.”

At 4:30 on the dot, I walked across the floor, knocked twice, and heard that smooth baritone:

“Come in.”

I opened the door and stepped in, papers in hand. He looked up… and froze.

“What happened to you? I thought you had on a jacket,” he said slowly, eyes dragging down before quickly snapping back up to my face.

“I did. I sacrificed it to a rogue piece of ranch dressing.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to say something completely inappropriate.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Dangerous words, sir. Dangerous. Words.

I spread out the printouts, talking him through the patterns, the timestamps, and the account overlaps. His eyes flicked from the documents back to me as I explained every move I made. I could see it in the way he leaned forward slightly, the way his jaw flexed and he was impressed. Maybe turned on. Or both who knows.

“This is great,” he finally said, handing back the final sheet. “Now we just need to pinpoint those locations and push the warrants through.”

He smiled, one of those half-grins that only show up when he’s genuinely pleased.

“Great job, girl.”

Girl? Whew. That little endearment came out smooth and sweet like honey with a shot of whiskey.

By the time we’d wrapped, the clock read 6:10 PM. I started gathering my things when Knox suddenly cursed under his breath.

“Shit, I gotta go. I have a date.”

I blinked. “Umm… okay. Well… see you in the morning, Mr. Michaels.”

“See you then.”

He was already reaching for his coat and keys, moving fast like he was trying not to be late. I couldn’t help but watch him for just a second. A whole walking contradiction... charming, reserved, brilliant… and so damn frustrating.

I turned on my heel and walked back to my office, my mind already spinning with the case files… and maybe, just maybe, those brief few seconds where his eyes lingered on my breasts and stayed on my mouth a little too long.

But whatever, I am definitely not going to think anything about him and smoldering eyes.

This was work.

Totally, absolutely, one-hundred-percent… work.

Right?