Fiona's breath caught in her throat.
Philip Winchester.
One of the most powerful men in the world had just arrived at Joanne's doorstep. The sheer weight of his presence made her hesitate, but she forced herself to step onto the porch, her heart pounding.
With his assistant by his side, Philip approached, exuding an effortless authority softened by an undeniable warmth. His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed, and his tailored suit fit him like a second skin, but it wasn't his wealth or power that struck Fiona; it was his smile.
"Darling girl," Philip greeted, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "It's such a lovely day, isn't it? Is Poppet—ah, Joanne—around?"
