She opened the door and locked eyes with the last person she expected to see darkening her doorstep. Griffin Slater.
Automatically she tensed.
"Can I come up?" he called.
Her mind ran over the possibilities. Yes, no, when hell freezes over?
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone coming out more suspicious than she intended.
He seemed to find her question amusing.
"Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?" he responded.
"Actually, no," she replied, even as good manners impelled her down the stairs to open the gate.
She knew he lived in nearby Pacific Heights, but she'd never run into him on her home turf.
They ran in different circles. She was too bohemian, too much of a free spirit, she was sure, for Griffin Slater's taste. On the other hand, he probably even scheduled sex with the women he dated.
She didn't understand why he was so irritating by nature. His siblings were pleasant people. She even counted his sister among her extended circle of friends.
With Griffin, however, she couldn't shake the feeling she was letting the Big Bad Wolf in.
As usual, he wore a conservative business suit—this time set off by a herringbone shirt and bright yellow-and-blue striped tie. In contrast, her mauve shirt and tan pants—which she'd worn at work that day and hadn't yet changed out of—felt almost casual in comparison.
Opening the gate, her eyes met his, her one step advantage on the stairs bringing her close to his height.
The corner of his mouth lifted. "Am I invited in?"
"Are you on a mission for my father?" she countered, her eyes skimming over the envelope in his hand. "If so—"
"Mission impossible," he said. "I know."
She gave him a serene smile. Well, at least they both knew where they stood.
"Actually I'm here for a personal reason."
Despite herself, she was intrigued. She didn't think she and Griffin had anything of a personal nature to say to each other, but curiosity got the better of her.
She turned, leaving him to follow her up the stairs. "Come on in."
On the way up, she could feel his presence behind her. Why, oh why, did she always have to be so aware of him?
When they stepped inside her condo, she shut the front door. "Can I get you something?"
"Nothing, thanks," he replied.
She watched him look around her apartment, which was almost loftlike in its layout. From the marble-floored entry area, the cool ambiance of the living and dining room area was visible. The kitchen, with its granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was situated beyond a waist-high counter with bar stools.
She watched Griffin's eyes linger on the display of fresh flowers set on a tabletop. She loved newly cut blooms.
Still, since she was a little unnerved by his presence in her apartment, she was grateful no more personal touches were visible. Her bedroom—along with a guest room, two baths and a terrace—was tucked away upstairs.
She wondered again about why he was here. "Is it Dad?" she blurted. "Is something wrong with my father?"
Griffin had said her father hadn't requested he come, but that didn't mean Griffin's appearance at her door didn't involve her father.
Her father was in his late sixties, and she dreaded the day something would befall him. As strained as their relationship sometimes was, she still loved him. And she worried he would try to protect her by hiding any health problems until they were dire.
"No, don't worry," Griffin responded. Then he asked abruptly, "Do you know what Carter was doing two nights ago?"
Caught off guard, she said, "No. Why?"
Griffin regarded her intently, and even though not a muscle moved in his face, there was something she didn't like in his expression.
A sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.
"Why?" she repeated.
Griffin's eyes pinned her like lasers. "Carter Newell has been sleeping with another woman behind your back. He was with her two nights ago."
She looked at him uncomprehendingly, but after a moment, his words hit her, washing over her like one big tidal wave of disaster.
Her mouth worked.
She was still unable to look away from Griffin's eyes, and somehow they were the only thing keeping her standing.
Panicky dread coursed through her, making her feel ill.
"How—how do you know this?" she managed at last, showing a composure she didn't feel.
"Does it matter?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Because he'd seemed ready for the question, she became suspicious.
"How did you find out?" she asked, trying again, her tone sharpening. "You and Carter don't run in the same circles."
Griffin shrugged.
"My father put you up to this, didn't he?" she accused.
When he continued to look at her implacably, she said, "Answer the question, Griffin. You're a hired gun, aren't you?"
Griffin's jaw worked. "Your father started the ball rolling by asking me to look into it, yes."
"You mean he asked you to have Carter investigated," she responded. "Let's not sugarcoat it, shall we? He asked you to sic Tremont REH's usual investigator on him, right?"
It was an interrogation, and from the look on Griffin's face, he didn't like it one bit.
Too bad, she thought. Since he'd volunteered to be the messenger, he'd asked for it.
"Does it matter how I found out?" Griffin asked.
"Did you tell my father you were coming here?"
He looked at her, his face carved in granite. "I didn't tell your father anything—including what the investigator found out. I thought you should know first."
"Misplaced gallantry, Griffin?" she said mockingly.
His face tightened. "I thought you'd appreciate it."
She glared at him. "Appreciate it? Appreciate you've had my fiancé investigated? Appreciate you've acted at my father's bidding?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Oh, I appreciate it. I just don't know which of you to thank first. Carter, my father or you."
"Aren't you sidestepping the real issue?"
"What if I said I don't believe you?"
His expression chided her. "You know the investigator has evidence to back me up."
For the first time, she focused on the envelope in his hand. "Let me see it."
She moved to take the envelope from him.
"No."
She came to a stop. "No?"
"I'll let you see some of it. I brought some photos—and evidence that Carter has barely got a cent to his name."