Chapter 2

Johana stared at the tinted glass. The engine was so quiet she couldn't hear it over the wind. For a second, she thought maybe they were going to offer her a ride.

Then the rear window slid down.

The man inside was looking at his phone. He was young-maybe late twenties-with sharp cheekbones and dark hair pushed back from his face. He wore a dark suit that probably cost more than her tuition. He was handsome, but it was a cold kind of handsome, like a marble statue.

He wasn't looking at her. He was talking, rapidly, in German. His voice was low, clipped, and authoritative. He sounded angry.

Johana stood there, snow piling on the edge of the umbrella, waiting for him to notice her.

He didn't. He just kept talking, his thumb swiping across the screen of his phone.

Finally, he ended the call. He looked up. His eyes were a pale, piercing blue. They landed on her, and he frowned.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was flat, devoid of any curiosity.

Johana bristled. "I'm Johana Neal. The new tutor. I just finished interviewing with Mrs. Black."

His gaze moved down. He looked at her damp hair, her red nose, the cheap boots that were leaving wet marks on the pristine driveway. His lip curled slightly.

"Do they let high schoolers interview for jobs now?" he asked, not to her, but to the driver. "Or is this some new intern program?"

Johana's face burned. The cold suddenly felt worse. "I'm a student at Georgetown University, sir. A senior."

He didn't seem to hear her. He pressed a button, and the window slid back up, sealing him inside the warm, quiet luxury.

Johana stood there, her mouth open, the humiliation settling in her stomach like a stone. She had never been spoken to like that. Like she was dirt on his shoe.

The car didn't move. The front door of the house opened again. Arthur hurried out, holding a large black golf umbrella over his head.

"Miss Neal," Arthur said, his voice a little breathless. "Mrs. Black asked me to tell you that there are no cars available. She wants to arrange a driver for you."

Johana glared at the tinted window of the Bentley. "Is that his idea?"

Arthur followed her gaze and shook his head quickly. "No, miss. That is Mrs. Black's idea. The young master, Dalton, just returned from New York. He is... stressed."

Dalton. The name fit him. Cold and hard.

The Bentley's door clicked open. Dalton stepped out. He was even taller than she'd thought. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, the silver links catching the light from the porch. He didn't look at her.

"I need the car tonight, Arthur," Dalton said, his voice carrying over the wind. "Have someone else take her home."

He walked past her. As he did, the scent of him hit her-sandalwood, vetiver, and something sharp, like ozone. It was expensive and cold. He brushed past her shoulder, a whisper of fabric, and climbed the steps.

"Dalton." Karon's voice floated out from the open doorway. "This is Johana Neal. Alistair's new tutor."

Dalton paused at the top step. He turned his head, just enough to look down at her. His expression didn't change. He gave a single, curt nod.

"Charmed," he said, his tone implying the exact opposite.

He turned back to his mother. "I need the Moody file. All the negative press. Have it in my study in thirty minutes."

Karon's perfect smile flickered. Just for a second. Her eyes tightened. "Of course, dear."

Dalton didn't wait for an answer. He walked into the house, the door closing heavily behind him.

Johana stared after him. The Moody file. Negative press. The way Karon's face had tightened. There was something wrong in this house, something beneath the polished surface.

"I will have the car brought around immediately, Miss Neal," Arthur said gently, breaking her trance.

"Thank you," Johana whispered.

She stepped back into the warmth of the foyer, but the chill in her bones had nothing to do with the snow outside. It was the feeling of being completely, utterly out of her depth.