Chase reached for the chilled bottle of Taittinger in the built-in ice bucket and held the champagne up in silent question.
“I’d love a glass,” Harper said, hoping it would help calm her nerves.
Chase poured champagne into a crystal flute and handed her the glass, poured one for himself and settled back in the seat beside her.
“You ready for this?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.
Was she ready to face her father’s wrath? Hell, no. “I want to see you. If this is what it takes, then yes.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something she didn’t recognize and had never seen before.
He lifted his champagne flute. “To success tonight and happier days ahead.”
Harper lifted her glass and clinked it to his. “Happy days,” she said.
The party was in full swing by the time Chase walked Harper up to the carved front doors of the house, a sprawling Italian-style villa with red tile roofs, twin square towers, a water fountain with a sculpture of Botticelli’sVenusin the front yard and an Olympic-size swimming pool in back, as well as a man-made lake.
Chase had been to the house with Michael when they were students at Yale. It wasn’t a place you ever forgot.
So far they had passed the first test, the guest list that included Harper’s name at the kiosk next to the wrought-iron front gates. From there, Reggie had driven the limo up the winding drive to the mansion.
A white-coated valet opened the car door. Chase slid out of the back and helped Harper out. Reaching back inside, he grabbed the gift wrapped box of scotch, and the valet closed the door.
Setting a hand at Harper’s waist, Chase walked her up a path inlaid with mosaic tiles in colorful patterns into a towering entry beneath a massive Venetian crystal chandelier.
The house, which should have been garish, somehow wasn’t. Whoever had done the interior design had read Knox Winston perfectly. Not gaudy, but close—and somehow intimidating.
A woman with silver-streaked black hair elegantly dressed in white chiffon sat at a table in the entry checking names. She recognized Harper and smiled.
“Good evening, Harper. Your father will be pleased to see you. He was beginning to worry you weren’t going to make it.”
“Marybeth, this is Chase Garrett. Marybeth is Father’s personal assistant.”
“Pleasure, ma’am,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Chase.”
He wondered if she knew who he was, knew Knox would be far from pleased to see him there with his daughter.
“Where is he?” Harper asked.
“He’s been outside greeting guests around the pool, but he just came in. I saw him heading down the hall to his study.”
“Thanks, Marybeth.” Harper led Chase across the sienna marble floors, farther into the house. “We might as well talk to him now. Better to get the shock over with as soon as possible.”
“Good idea. We can take him his gift. Maybe when he sees it, it’ll help.”
“What is it?”
“Bottle of twenty-five-year-old Dalmore scotch. I understand your father’s a connoisseur. I think he’ll appreciate the gift if not the giver.” So far things were going even better than he’d hoped. The gift was going straight to Knox’s study, and he hadn’t been tossed out yet.
Harper smiled, but he could tell she was nervous. Hell, so was he. If the evening went south and Winston figured out what he was doing there, he might leave the estate in a body bag.
Their steps echoed in the cavernous interior. He wished he could leave Harper out of this, but she was crucial to the plan.
She knocked on the door to the study and opened it. “Hi, Dad. Happy birthday!”
Winston was talking to a tall man with dark hair threaded with gray, fifties, attractive, perfectly tailored tuxedo.
