Page 97 of Kisses and Paperclips

Jesus.

Even now, knowing what I knew, my body reacted like she'd pressed a brand to my skin. She dropped into the chair across me, all coiled grace and sharp edges. The way she crossed her legs made the denim pull tight across her thighs. When she leaned forward, elbows on the table, the movement pushed her breasts together in a way that should've been illegal.

"What do you want, Julien?" Her voice was ice, but her pink-tipped fingers tapping the table betrayed her. That glossy mouth pursed in challenge. "I have plans."

I'd spent twenty-four hours digesting Kameron's revelations. Twenty-four hours replaying every interaction, every lie, every moment I'd been too blinded by lust to see the truth.

My smile cut like a blade. “I'll try not to steal too much of your time.” She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. She sat there as if her conscience was clean, like she hadn’t gutted this company she claimed to love and fed it to the wolves. “You’ve been busy,” I said, my voice low. The way a match burns right before the flare.

She didn’t respond.

I leaned forward, close enough to smell her. “How long, Serena?” My gaze stayed locked on hers. “How long have you been bleeding this company dry?”

She tilted her head, her expression unreadable, but I recognized that stillness. The kind you wear when you’ve already braced for impact and are just hoping the wreck won’t be fatal.

But I saw it.

The flicker behind her eyes.

That second of hesitation, she tried to bury beneath all that polish.

“You covered your tracks,” I said. “Fake vendors. Ghost transfers. A charity or two that never saw a damn dime.”

Still, she said nothing.

“But laundering money?” I added, voice dropping lower. “For the damn mob?”

Her fingers flexed around the arm of her chair.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

I slid the folder across the table.

It landed with a soft sound but was heavy in weight.

“Shell companies. Offshore accounts. Every damn signature traced back to you.”

Her lips parted like she might finally speak.

“Tell me everything about you isn't a lie. That this company you painted as your pride and joy wasn't just a front while you washed blood off your books.”

I sat back.

The heat rising in my chest wasn’t just anger.

It was grief.

Grief for every version of her I’d believed in.

“I defended you,” I said. “My mother had her doubts about you, and I choose to see things differently.”

My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists on the table.

I let the silence say the rest.

Her voice came soft. “I never wanted you involved.”

I laughed. One sharp, bitter breath.

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