/Madison's POV/
Shawn Winstor was tall and lean, with well-trimmed stubble. He looked mid-forties, his tight facial structure emphasised by the cunning smile stretching across his lips. The glasses perched neatly on the bridge of his nose added an air of forced sophistication. Even from a distance, he carried a faint scent of sandalwood and something sharp underneath—like a man who wanted to smell expensive but not trustworthy.
"Hello, it's really nice to meet you. Welcome to our home," I said, flashing him a warm but business-casual smile as I stretched out my hand for a handshake. For a minute, he stared at it like it was some sort of foreign object before eventually taking it. His palm was cool and dry.
So he has an issue with being polite, huh? I could work with that, I thought, retracting my hand and smoothing my expression almost immediately.
