He’d stood, unfolding his long limbs, and Charlotte had had to look up at him, half-expecting a pair of wings to unfold as well. He had a face of the sort that ancient artists had fawned over—a straight nose balanced by a strong jaw, a wide forehead over thick brows and deep-set eyes. He seemed impervious to the chilled air, his rough shirt sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing sandy-blond hair on lean, muscular forearms. The same shade of sandy hair fell over his forehead and ears in thick, careless waves. He was, quite possibly, the most handsome man Charlotte had ever seen in her life.

And possibly, the most angry.

She had known that her youthful appearance was bound to raise brows, and she had been prepared for the inevitable questions and doubt. What she hadn’t expected was the resentment and bitterness that seemed to roll off Rutledge in dark waves. If Charlotte had painted him as a color, he would be a ragged black slash across the canvas, crimson seeping from beneath the unhappy darkness. For a man who looked like an archangel on the outside, it seemed that he harbored more than a few demons within.

Not that it was any of her business. This was a professional partnership, and she would work within its confines. His prickly, defensive response to her more personal comments had been noted. She would keep her distance and do absolutely nothing that might put this precious opportunity in peril. She didn’t need to be his friend; she didn’t need to be his confessor; she didn’t need to be anything other than pleasant, regardless of how he chose to act.

In truth, it was probably best that Flynn Rutledge was so disagreeable. Not only because it made him less attractive, but because a disagreeable man could be handled. Managed. No differently than every other man in Charlotte’s life who had spent the duration of it telling her what she couldn’t do. What wasn’t possible or acceptable or practical. That was nothing she wasn’t used to.

Though the uncomfortably close quarters she found herself in with Rutledge would take a bit more acclimation. When she had arrived, Mr. Lisbon had apologized, but the living arrangements had been set long before he’d known that Miss Hayward was sending Charlotte to be placed with him. He offered to find an alternate solution but warned her that, in his experience, such actions raised slews of suspicious questions neither one of them would care to answer. Charlotte had agreed.

But the reality was far more intimidating. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep last night, something that she attributed to her new surroundings as much as she attributed it to the fact that she was cohabiting with an unfamiliar man.