Page 1 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

CHAPTER ONE

Yorkshire, England

Large raindrops splattered against the windshield of Winnie Knox’s emerald green Aston Martin, distorting the glass in gray, watery pools. She had long-since cranked the wipers to “high” in a futile attempt to see the black, sodden road in front of her, but the swiping arms wouldn’t move fast enough to dispel the water.

Worthless things.

The raindrops pouring swiftly down the windshield resembled those calming rain simulators that higher-up executives always placed on their pretentious desks.

Ironically enough, Winnie had one of them herself at home. Although, she was no higher-up exec. And this water was definitely not calming.

Driving in the rain wasn’t really that big of a deal—not like driving in the snow was. She’d grown up in Utah, after all, and was used to sliding and swerving across five lanes of traffic during her early morning commute to college at the U.

But after a seven-hour flight, three hours of sleep, and four and a half hours of driving on the opposite side of the road in weather that ranged from glaring sunlight to monsoon-like rain, her nerves were officially fried.

Driving in an Aston Martin that wasn’t hers was just green-colored icing on an already burnt bundt cake.

Dad was to blame for all of this. He’d been the one to secure the rental for her. She had asked the Rent-A-Car people if they’d had anything less flashy than the sports car in their ridiculously wide range of vehicles. She didn’t want to give the impression of being the typical “Rich American Consultant Driving a Sports Car Coming to Destroy All of Your Hopes and Dreams.” But her choice had been between that and “Rich American Consultant Driving a Minivan Coming to Destroy All of Your Hopes and Dreams,” and, frankly, her pride had won out.

With both hands still gripping the steering wheel, she darted her eyes to her phone on the dashboard. Google Maps said she’d arrived five minutes ago, yet still, there was no sign of Foxwood Hall. Was their driveway three million miles long?

The radio played over the speakers in the car, moving in and out of her attention as she shifted forward in her seat.

“We all pleyed with gret focus and determination agains’ United,” the man with the thick accent said. She supposed he was speaking about soccer—or football, was it? “Bu’ in the end, it weren’t enough, were it? We just ’ope to stay in the league, that’s all.”

A female with a fancier accent spoke next as the interview with the player ended. “That was Gregory Lumley from Habergham FC. You’re listening to the BBC news. It is now three minutes past eight.”

Winnie glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Sure enough, 8:03 was emblazoned brightly across the screen.

Well this was just perfect. She was now officially late by four full hours. What would Mr. Wintour think? Her being late was hardly the first impression she wanted to give her dad’s old friend—the man who’d hired her based on that connection alone. She’d be able to prove her worth eventually, but having a leg up from the start would have been nice.

A cheesy jingle blasted through the speakers next, singing the radio station’s name and announcing the upcoming host, but Winnie reached forward to turn the music off. The noise was only adding to her stress.

She shifted forward in her seat again, straining to see anything ahead of her, but as the road twisted from bend to bend, each turn remained hidden from the next by thick trees and dimming light.

She had to be on the right road. Where else could she be? Should she call Mr. Wintour again?

No, definitely not. She’d already called him hours ago, letting him know about her delayed luggage, her flight being switched to Heathrow instead of Manchester, and the traffic she’d run into time and time again. There was no need to call him for a fourth instance just to inform him that she was entirely inept and unable to find his massive house—the very house she’d been hired to improve.

She blew out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got this, Winnie. Chill out.”

And she did. For all of two seconds.

Her father’s dark, disappointed eyes flashed across her mind, and her stress returned in full force, swinging toward her like a giant pendulum.

She glanced once more at her phone. She hadn’t been able to get the car’s GPS to work, so she’d been using her own device to point her in the right direction. Unfortunately, the little blue arrow hadn’t updated her location since she’d driven past the dilapidated brick wall—which was what she could only assume was once the front entrance of the estate.

With a frown, she glanced to the small bars at the top of the phone, tapping the screen.

Just as she’d suspected. Zero service. What kind of backwoods country estate was she being called to help if they didn’t even have cell service?

She stared at the road, leaning into another bend and pressing slightly harder on the gas pedal as she returned her attention to the phone. She tried to move the screen forward to look ahead on the map, but nothing moved.

Freaking stupid worthless…

She looked back to what had to be the longest driveway in human existence, intent on curving around another bend, but all at once, the trees ahead of her drew alarmingly close.

Shock struck through her body, electrifying her fingertips and pulling her stomach to the floor as she strayed from the road’s curves. She slammed on her brakes and gasped, trying to take the turn slow enough to avoid rolling the very-expensive, very-not-hers car, but the back of the Aston Martin fishtailed, pulling her off the side of the road and spinning her around.