Page 10 of Indigo Deception
"It's problematic," I say carefully. "Their financials don't add up, and their business model is... opaque at best."
"Drop them," he says simply.
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"Draft termination paperwork. I want them gone by the end of the week."
"But they're one of your high-paying clients," I point out, confused by this decision that, again, contradicts everything I thought I knew about him.
"They're also cutting corners on safety regulations and exploiting immigrant labor," he says, his tone hardening. "Not the business we want to be associated with."
I stare at him momentarily speechless. Who is this man? The criminal mastermind I've been sent to investigate, or this principled businessman who fights for factory workers and cuts ties with exploitative clients?
The confusion must show on my face because his expression softens into amusement. "What's wrong, Little Auditor? Surprised I have standards?"
The nickname snaps me back to reality. "It's not that. It's just—"
"Just what?" He moves closer, his proximity making it hard to focus.
"You're not what I expected either," I admit before I can stop myself.
His lips curl into a genuine smile—not the practiced charm he uses in boardrooms, but something real and warm that transforms his face. "Good. I hate being predictable."
He leans back in his chair, his expression suddenly mischievous. "You remind me of my auditor from last year."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" I ask, not looking up from my spreadsheet.
"He was just as serious as you. Never smiled once in six months." Angelo taps his pen against the desk rhythmically. "Until his last day, when I asked him why auditors don't look out the window in the morning."
Despite my better judgment, I glance up. "And why don't they?"
"Because then they'd have nothing to do in the afternoon." His eyes crinkle at the corners as he delivers the punchline.
I try to maintain my professional facade; I really do. But the combination of his perfect deadpan delivery and the ridiculous stereotype—it catches me off guard. A genuine laugh escapes before I can stop it.
His eyes light up immediately. "I knew it," he says triumphantly. "You have a soul under all that regulation talk."
I roll my eyes, but I can feel a flutter in my stomach at the way he's looking at me. "Hilarious."
"Humor is subjective, Little Auditor. But that smile..." He pauses, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before meeting my eyes again. "That smile is objectively beautiful."
The air between us grows heavy with something I can't—won't—name. I need to leave. Now.
"It's late," I say again, breaking the spell. "I should go."
He nods, stepping back. "Of course. I'll walk you out."
The elevator ride is silent, charged with unspoken tension. We get to the lobby, and Angelo insists on waiting with me until my cab arrives.
"You don't have to do this," I tell him, hugging my coat around me against the spring chill.
"Humor me," he replies. "My father would have my balls if he knew I let a woman wait alone on a New York street at two in the morning."
The cab pulls up, and he opens the door for me. As I slide in, he leans down, his face half-illuminated by the streetlight. "Good night, Sarah."
"Good night... Angelo." His name feels too intimate in my mouth.
He steps back, and the cab pulls away. I glance in the rear-view mirror to see him still standing there, watching me go. Just as we turn the corner, a sleek black car pulls up beside him, and a woman in a stunning red dress emerges.
