Page 22 of The Heart of Winter

The HR beta turned to me with a friendly smile and gestured toward the door on our right.

"This is Director Nolan’s office. Go ahead."

We both stepped inside.

Behind a wide desk sat my new director.

The office was medium-sized but very elegantly furnished, designed for comfort. The shelves were lined with thick folders, probably full of project reports. A large board hung on the wall, and a few chairs were pushed against it, likely for people meeting with the director.

Winter didn’t stand up when he saw me, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

If my father thought Winter was going to be warm and friendly toward me, he was sorely mistaken. I knew right away this wasn’t an easy deal for him.

He had to hire a damn alpha, something he’d resisted for years. My father pretty much shared his views, but rarely expressed them in front of me, for obvious reasons.

But who knows what they talked about behind closed doors? Maybe they sat around trash-talking alphas together? They probably agreed on most things, otherwise, Winter wouldn’t be so firm in his stance. He knew my father leaned the same way, so he just fueled that natural bias.

My eyes lingered on Winter’s face. He definitely wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, he was kind of fascinating. He looked almost albino, but… he wasn’t. His eyes weren’t red, and his hair was platinum blond, not completely white.

Also, his brows, his eyelashes, they were the same color, giving him an otherworldly look, like some kind of ice elf.

But one thing was undeniable, the paleness that many might find off-putting drew attention away from his features. And his features… well, they were kind of striking!

Sharp, symmetrical, almost sculptural. Beautiful, even—but with a certain severity, an aristocratic coldness that could come across as unapproachable.

To be honest, he was beautiful, at least to me. Obviously, I dig this kind of uncommon appearance, being an artist.

From what I’d observed before, his expression was always controlled, his posture rigid. There was a constant air of superiority about him, like he kept the whole world at arm’s length by default.

And his eyes… a light silver-gray, eerily pale, like a zombie’s. Framed by those nearly white lashes, it looked as if snow was constantly falling over his face.

That hostile aura radiating from him was only softened by his lips, and they were something else.

Full, well-shaped, sensual. But they didn’t dominate his face, didn’t define his aura. Instead, they felt like a contradiction, like an isolated island of warmth in an ocean of ice.

Since the director didn’t stand up or offer a handshake, I saw no reason to go over and initiate one myself. I wasn’t crazy.

The beta from HR formally introduced us to each other, as if I had any doubt about who I was standing in front of.

The HR guy cleared his throat, said his goodbyes, and left—his expression a little too amused.

He probably knew about Winter’s infamous distaste for alphas. Maybe he thought he was throwing a lamb to the wolf.

Well, whatever. I had to deal with it.

After a polite ‘Hello’, I offered a small nod, meeting his gaze.

It was like looking into the eyes of a mannequin, completely devoid of emotion. Just… blank.

They gave me a cold once-over, sweeping over the drawing printed on my T-shirt and the fern tattoos visible on my forearms.

"You’ve been assigned to the graphics department under my management," he said. "You start today. Manager Lorens will be here shortly to get you up to speed."

I’ll admit, for some reason, I thought he was going to start with some weird intro, like"I hate you, filthy alphas"or"Well, damn you, jackass, I had to hire you, but I really didn’t want to"—or something else equally hostile. But of course, he didn’t do that. Those were just my masochistic fantasies. He kept it professional, and maybe that was for the best.

His reserved energy kind of worked for me. In some ways, it was better than the alternative, at least we could pretend, keep up appearances.

And pretending? That was something I was great at—I lived by pretense. A supposed alpha. A supposedly lucky golden child, born into a millionaire family. A supposedly lazy son of a bitch.

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