“What do you think Anthony’s doing?” I hiss, already scanning the room again. “You realise this is all your fault. Your scheming is about to backfire.”
He balls his fists. “Not if I find her first.” Then he marches off, and I groan.
“Darling, we need to pose for photographs,” says Nancy as she approaches. “And you need to give details about the ring. The reporter is relentless with questions.”
I wave Anthony over. “I can’t right now,” I say, dismissing her.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” Anthony mutters.
“My father’s looking too,” I murmur. “Now is the time.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t you think we have enough on?”
“I can’t let this opportunity pass,” I mutter. “You find Leoni, I’ll go after him.”
He gives a slight nod, then slips me a small packet as we shake hands.
It doesn’t take me long to spot him marching down the hall. I grab two drinks from a passing waitress and place them down on a shelf just outside the main room. There’s no one around, and I know for a fact the cameras aren’t recording, they never are at functions like this where evidence can be used against rich men.
I empty the sachet into the drink and stir with my finger. When it looks like it’s dissolved, I pick up the drinks and head after him.
He’s outside, standing on the steps overlooking the water fountains. There’re a few people dotted about, but no one is paying attention.
I hold out the drink, and he snatches it. “What the hell was Erik thinking?” he snaps.
“He doesn’t think, that's why he doesn’t hold a major role in the business,” I say dryly.
“This is because he didn’t get to screw the girl. She’s caused way too much trouble.”
He takes a sip, frowning slightly, then holds it up to the light.
“Probably cheap,” I mutter, sipping my own and pulling the same face. “Harry is tight.”
My father smirks, taking another sip. “You’re not marrying into his family for the money.”
A man passes, nodding his head in acknowledgement. We both return it. “Tell me,” I say, “Is Erik aware?”
“That he’s a fuck up?” He chuckles at his own joke, taking another drink.
“That he’s Mick Rowe’s son?” The air seems to settle around us. A calm washing over me. “We should go inside and talk,” I add, turning on my heel and heading back inside.
I push open the door to the nearest office. The spaces are usually rented out, but the golf club is closed for normal business for the next few hours to celebrate the engagement.
My father storms in, slamming his now empty glass on the table. I check my watch. Ten minutes, that’s all it takes.
“You really have been digging,” he snaps.
“I went to see him,” I say casually. “Looked him in the eye whilst he told me he loved my mother, and you treated her like shit.”
He scoffs. “The man’s delusional. He beat his wife daily.”
He blinks long and slow, giving his head a shake. “Sit,” I order, kicking out a chair. He lowers, gripping the arm rests.
“At least you settled the mystery before you die,” I say, smirking.
He drags his glazed eyes to mine. “What have you done?”
The office door opens, and Nancy walks in, confused. “I got your message,” she says, glancing at me, then at my father.
