Page 3

CHAPTER TWO

Olivia straightened her outfit, running her hand over her olive-green skirt and creamy beige blouse. Though her initial meeting with Tyson was meant to look natural, it was actually a carefully cultivated skit of sorts.

The fish-out-of-water storyline would hook viewers, and Deb wanted Olivia to play it up.

So she would.

Olivia and her two-man crew had already established when they’d be arriving and how the scene should play out. In show business, everything needed to be entertaining. As much as she hated staging things, sometimes it was necessary to tell the best story possible.

“Do I look okay? This humidity is wreaking havoc on my hair.” She turned to her crew and tucked a wayward strand behind her ear.

Wes pulled away from the camera for long enough to say, “Darling, you look beautiful, as always.”

His Texas drawl made others instantly feel he was their best friend.

Chandler hefted another camera onto his shoulder. “I know you’re not excited about this assignment, but you’ll do great.”

Not excited would be an understatement.

Wes was thirty-years old with a Matthew McConaughey vibe. His obsession with sports and wearing baseball caps made him feel like a brother to her.

Chandler, on the other hand, was older—in his early forties—and he’d always reminded Olivia of Ben Stiller. He was married to a woman named Shelly, and the couple had two beautiful elementary-aged daughters.

If Olivia had to do this assignment, at least it was with Wes and Chandler.

She pivoted toward the sprawling estate in front of her, knowing there was no turning back now.

Tyson’s home stood as an unexpected vision of the Southwest on the outskirts of Charlotte, its adobe-inspired stucco walls glowing a warm sand color against the lush Carolina greenery.

Terracotta roof tiles, deep red and weather-worn, crowned the residence, extending over generous eaves that cast dramatic shadows across the facade. The home’s silhouette was an artistic composition of staggered levels and jutting wings that seemed to grow organically from the gently rolling landscape.

Massive wooden beams extended beyond the roofline, supporting covered walkways that connected various sections of the property, while wrought-iron details adorned windows framed by rustic wooden shutters.

A grand entrance courtyard, enclosed by curved stucco walls and anchored by a burbling fountain, welcomed visitors through an impressive arched doorway flanked by blue ceramic pots overflowing with native plants—a slice of Santa Fe luxury nestled incongruously among the Southern pines.

It was a nice place to spend the next forty days. At least there was that.

Olivia paused by the front door and mumbled, “Here goes nothing.”

* * *

The moments dragged past as Olivia waited, camera behind her poised to film.

Finally, a balding man answered the door. His eyebrows twitched up when he spotted her.

“Olivia Montgomery.” He nodded at her before stepping back and extending his arm behind him to welcome her inside. “Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

She stepped inside. “And you are . . . ?”

“Hobbes Evans, Mr. Stone’s assistant.” He shook her hand, a vague British accent lilting his words. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well.”

Olivia’s gaze drifted behind Hobbes to a man striding toward them.

Tyson Stone—just the man she was looking for.

“If it’s not Olivia Montgomery.” His deep tones resonated across the marble floor.

“The one and only.” She forced the words out of her suddenly dry throat.

The pictures hadn’t done Tyson justice. No wonder the cameras loved him.

He had an easy grin, perfect teeth, and dark-brown hair cropped close to his head. His brown eyes twinkled, his five o’clock shadow looked natural yet purposeful, and the angles of his face were pure perfection.

The man’s bulging biceps didn’t make him appear overproportioned, but they showed strength and self-discipline.

He observed her a moment before asking, “Did you have a nice flight?”

She pulled her gaze away from his biceps and nodded. “Decent.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here. I’ve been getting things together so we can jump right into the program.” The smile on his face was nothing but friendly. “You ready to get started?”

She hooked her arm through the air with fake enthusiasm. “I can’t wait . . .”

Come on, Olivia. Sound like you mean it. Millions of viewers are counting on you.

“Especially now that you stuffed down all that Chinese food on the way here.” Wes winked at her from behind the camera. Even though he was a cameraman, he was a regular on her features. Viewers liked their banter.

“And the fries,” Chandler added.

“Don’t forget the ice cream afterward.” Wes grinned.

Olivia glanced at Tyson and saw the surprise in his eyes. She mustered even more fake enthusiasm as she said, “I am so ready for this program!”

With a chuckle, Tyson motioned for her to follow him. “I’m glad to hear that. Let’s get started.”

Three steps later, Chandler yelled, “Cut.”

Everyone relaxed as the cameras turned off.

Olivia shared a smile with Tyson. She was known for putting people at ease, making them feel comfortable. She needed to do that now also.

To put on a show.

It was what she did best.

“We spoke on the phone, but only for a few minutes,” she started. “It’s great to meet you in person.”

“Same here. I can’t wait to get you started on this program. I really think it could change your life.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

“How about you change, and we’ll jump in with our first segment in thirty?” Chandler said. “Tyson’s schedule is going to be hectic each day, so we should get as much done now as possible.”

“We don’t get a tour of this fantastic house first?” Olivia’s gaze swept the place.

“Of course.” Tyson nodded at his assistant. “I’ll let Hobbes show you around. I have a couple more things to do before we film.”

“Sounds good.”

They would all work on other things while filming. Tyson had his enterprise to run. Deb had assigned Olivia and the gang to several other stories as well.

They’d stay busy, doing workouts in the morning, eating together on occasion, and debriefing about the program.

The first segment would air next week, and Olivia would do updates via social media on how things were going in the meantime.

“If you’ll follow me.” Hobbes motioned toward them. “We’ll bring your things in, and then I’ll give you a tour.”

Olivia plastered on her trademark smile.

But inside, she couldn’t help but feel unsettled.

It was silly, really.

However, this morning before she’d left her apartment, she’d found a single rose petal outside her door.

It was most likely an accident. Someone had probably brought someone else flowers, and a petal had fallen off. That explanation made the most sense.

But roses were The Admirer’s signature. It was how he started his reign of terror.

Now Olivia couldn’t get the petal out of her mind.

Because even though Brian Elliot was dead . . . sometimes she still felt as if he haunted her from the grave.