Chapter 48

Citrine glanced at Weston coolly, her thoughts drifting unexpectedly to her own father.

She mused to herself, *My old man's still the best-at least he's actually likable.*

Weston, sensing a pair of eyes on him from across the room, turned and met Citrine's gaze head-on. Her eyes were steady, showing not even a hint of fear.

Most of the younger Carmichaels treated Weston like mice confronted by a cat; even Raymond, back when he was a teenager, had always been more than a little intimidated by his father.

But here was a girl, bold as brass, standing her ground without so much as flinching. Weston felt a rare flicker of interest.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Citrine Carmichael." Citrine looked him straight in the eye, her tone poised and unflappable, every word and gesture perfectly composed-leaving no room for criticism.

"You're young, but your nerve is impressive," Weston remarked, his voice unreadable—somewhere between a compliment and a put-down.

Citrine gave a small, easy smile and replied without missing a beat, "You flatter me. I suppose I do all right."

Weston's eyes narrowed.

didn't mean it as praise-she was

was more reproach than admiration. Yet Citrine acted as if she hadn't

school are you attending

"Havencrest Preparatory Academy."

"And your grades?"

up. Now, as he scrutinized the young woman before him, his

up being treated like Weston's assistant, and it rubbed him the wrong way

Citrine spoke up first, her voice clear and just a

year, actually." She lifted her chin, a little like

once, at

Raymond, his tone tinged with sarcasm. "Your

so many eyes on

led Citrine over to the

assorted cakes and pastries, a faint frown creasing her brow. She'd always

said, reading her expression. He handed her a large plate

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