Harper’s POV
The car approaches a sprawling manor, sitting atop a large hill like a historical monument. It’s bordered by red brick walls, tall enough to block any intruder from attempting to gain access. The gated entrance is guarded by a broad-shouldered man with an assortment of tattoos covering his body.
“Name?” the guard asks, his voice deep and gruff.
I lean over to the window. “Harper Sinclair.”
The guard swipes at his tablet for a moment before nodding silently as he locates my name.
“You can go in. Alone,” he says.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell the driver as I step out of the air-conditioned car and into the blazing heat, grabbing my purse and business portfolio behind me.
The guard presses a button inside his gatehouse and the steel gate doors swing open as my ride pulls a
