Page 125 of Catfish

“The report is back from the auditor,” she claims. “The Bridgeport treasury is short over four million dollars.”

“Four million dollars?”

Holden is getting more gutsy, more dumb—if that was possible—and now he's got himself into an even bigger hole because I know that stupid fuck doesn’t have four million in his back pocket. He wouldn’t have needed me if he did.

Em nods. “Yep. Guess he thought since he didn’t get caught the first time…he'd keep going?”

I take the stack of papers and start looking at the numbers. “Do you know if there’s talk in his office about raising property taxes to regain the loss?”

“Mila spoke with Montgomery’s receptionist, Rebecca, he’s been in and out of meetings all week, so probably.”

“Must’ve heard about my early audit,” I convey, flipping a page. “I didn’t tell the treasury to hide it from anyone.”

“Why? Wouldn’t you want to hit him hard?”

"I do—" I peer up at her. "—but I'd like to see him sweat. Plus, I didn't want to tip the auditor off either."

Emmy rolls her eyes with a smirk and plops down in one of my leather chairs. “What’s going on in that head of yours now?”

A glint of beige walks by my office window, and my attention latches on to Reagan wearing a Godforsaken dress that almost matches her skin tone. Her eyes are beamed in on her cell phone, and since my phone isn’t going off, it’s not me she’s chatting with.

Well, Chase–same thing, kinda.

“I’ll issue out a full-scale investigation and put a rush on it for the state’s security.” I forcefully pull my eyes from Reagan. “At the same time, I’ll have Mila practice what we’ll have passed along with the sex tape.”

"She should do it outside the office," Emmy voices. "So, she isn't linked with you."

Reagan’s continuous pacing summons my focus again.

She’s restless. I can see it in the way her chest heaves and the reappearing crease in her forehead. Something is wrong.

“I’m going to have to fire her,” I deadpan through what I have going on right now and the woman who claims my attention whenever she’s in eyesight.

“What?" Emmy just about shrieks. I fix her with a knowing glare, and she shakes her head. "She just did all that—" she waves her hands in the air. "—stuff for you and got fired for it.”

“It’s called ‘fucking’, Em, and she can’t be linked to me, like you just said,” I intone. “Take her name off the books as being hired under me. She hasn’t received her first paycheck, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“Pull some money out of my offshore account and throw her the cash.”

“But that’s for—” I stop her with a raised brow. I know what the fucking money is for, and I loathe the reason.

"I'll get her a better job,” I vouch. “With...someone. Don't worry about it, I’ll still come through with my side of the agreement. All her parents' debts will be paid off, and she'll be well accounted for in the meantime."

Emmy slowly rises. “When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“And what makes you think she’ll still give the video to the blogger that you wanted?”

I eye her. “She will on the day I tell her to.”

“You’re seriously an asshole,” she mutters under her breath, rounding on her flats. It’s not the first time I pissed her off today. Frankly, I’m on a motherfucking roll with it.

“Heard that.”

She closes the door softly and in the silence of my office, I get lost in my work for another thirty minutes. Well, try to. When there’s a knock on my door and the whole vibe of the room changes,

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