Every time she saw her father now, it was an insufferable nuisance.
Brianna's feelings for him were incredibly complex, but in recent months, a new, unprecedented sense of contemptuous amusement had taken root.
The irritation began to set in before she even turned onto the private, tree-lined road leading to the manor, right at the intersection with the public road. A single iron gate was no longer enough; now there was a 24-hour armed checkpoint. Every time she arrived, she was stopped for a thorough inspection—no exceptions, even though the security staff knew she was Westley's personal secretary.
Who would have guessed that it was still a forty-minute drive from this intersection to the manor's main gate? And the road itself was lined with guards at every turn.
Not only was she made to get out of the car at each stop, but the glove compartment, the space under the seats, the trunk, and even the undercarriage of the car were all scanned with a metal detector.
