Page 6

Le Rêve was stark, white, and modern, with no windows facing the driveway.

“Shoes,” Laurent said, indicating a row of cubbyholes nestled beneath a bench just outside the door. “Never wear them in the house.”

“Got it,” I said solemnly as I slipped off my trainers and stowed them in a cubby.

He pressed the silver latch of the door and it swung noiselessly inward, revealing a view of the sunlit sea beyond.

The house was high enough on the hill that the vista was uninterrupted, the entire front wall open to the rectangular infinity pool and panorama of calm blue sea, where three jagged rocks jutted out of the water like the spines of a giant dragon about to emerge from the bay.

To my right was a spacious living room featuring chic low-slung couches, to my left a long wooden dining table, and beyond that, a bright, streamlined kitchen.

The interior was understated and elegant and flowed naturally into the shaded exterior living area.

The space had clearly been designed to be unobtrusive, stepping out of the way for the true star of the show, the view.

Motion drew my eye to the row of loungers along the pool, where a topless blond sunbather sat up, gazed in my direction from behind gigantic sunglasses, then unceremoniously turned onto her stomach.

Next to her, another long-limbed, similarly clad girl, this one caramel-skinned with lush dark curls, lifted her head to look at me before muttering something unintelligible to the first girl.

They turned away, bored by my very presence, as I stood there awkwardly, wondering whether to introduce myself.

Though I’d worked hard to overcome the social anxiety that had crippled me when I was younger, meeting new people still did not come naturally to me.

I preferred the solitary side of my career, sitting behind a computer for long hours, while Rosa thrived in social situations—one of the reasons we made such good partners. I wished she were here.

Laurent beckoned me to follow as he rolled my suitcase past the dining table, into the far corner of the kitchen, where he pushed open a door on the view side of the house.

Inside was a short hallway that led into a well-appointed bedroom featuring a platform bed and a wall of windows overlooking the view.

“Tyson’s wife, Samira, is the blonde, Gisèle is her friend,” he said. “They are Belgian.”

He said it as if that should mean something, and I nodded, but whatever the implication was went right over my head. “Models?” I asked, though I knew from my cursory research that at least Samira was.

“Yes.” He approached the sliding glass door, indicating the sun deck beyond, where four chairs were arranged around a fire pit.

“This deck is at the spa end of the pool, but you have a more secluded outdoor space through here.” He went around the bed to open a door that led to another deck, this one shaded by a flowering tree with orange blossoms. “Be aware you’re directly over Tyson’s private garden, where he likes to meditate.

The entire ground floor is his personal space.

Don’t go down there unless you are invited. ”

I nodded as he opened the cabinet next to the television that faced the bed. “Here you have a printer, and extra sheets and towels.”

“Where are the rest of the bedrooms?”

“Allison’s suite is on the other side of the living room, and the rest are upstairs.”

I nodded, forming a mental map. “You don’t stay here?”

“No.” He met my eye with a small smile that said Absolutely not, thank God . “I’ll let you unpack.” He checked his watch. “It’s nearly six. Dinner is at eight, but you have had a long travel day. Would you like anything to eat now?”

I nodded gratefully. “Please.”

I glanced toward the pool as I followed him into the kitchen, but Samira and Gisèle had disappeared, replaced by a pretty young maid cleaning up after them.

Laurent opened the gargantuan stainless steel refrigerator, revealing neatly stacked glass containers of food interspersed with orderly rows of Perrier, fresh-squeezed juices, and French wines.

The bottom shelf of Coors Light stood out like a Big Mac in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

I had to smile. However many other ways Tyson might have changed since I last saw him, he was apparently still drinking Coors Light.

Laurent took a handful of containers from the refrigerator and set them on the island as I grabbed a large Perrier. By the time I’d quenched my thirst, he was sliding a plate of freshly cut fruit and a smoked salmon sandwich toward me. “You’re an angel,” I said.

I’d just stuffed the first delicious bite of sandwich into my mouth when I heard voices and turned to see two men in polos coming up the stairs.

One was in his twenties with a backpack on his shoulders, the other in his fifties carrying a briefcase.

They nodded to Laurent and me as they cut across the room toward the front door.

“Tony,” a female voice called out, and the older man turned to face the woman who emerged from the stairwell, holding a folder. “You left this,” she said, handing him the folder.

Allison Zhu was just as broad-shouldered and svelte in a figure-hugging black dress as she had been in a Speedo when she shot to fame as a gold medal swimmer in the 2012 and 2016 Olympics, her perpetual poise and endorsement deals with Under Armour, Verizon, and Dove making her a household name.

Her features were sharper than they had been when she was younger, her formerly long straight black hair now blunt-cut in a chic bob, but she radiated the same cool control that had been her trademark all those years ago.

She and Tyson had met in college, but this was the first time I’d encountered her, and she was nothing if not intimidating as she turned her attention to me when the men left.

“Hi,” she said, approaching with her hand extended.

Her grip was strong, her dark eyes penetrating.

“I’m Allison. You’re Tyson and Cody’s friend? ”

So they’d called me a friend. That was a good sign. “Audrey,” I replied. “Nice to meet you.”

I’d learned in my brief research that after she’d retired from competitive swimming, Allison had gone on to business school, and, looking for something to do with the millions she’d made on her endorsement deals, had partnered with Tyson to create De-Sal.

Tyson may have been the creative genius who patented the technology, but it was clear from everything I read about her that Allison was a shrewd businesswoman who had turned the company into the behemoth it was today, with more than a hundred desalination centers all over the world.

“We’re still wrapping up for the day downstairs, but I’ll see you at dinner?” she asked as she withdrew her hand.

“Yes,” I said.

Laurent turned to me as Allison jogged down the stairs. “I have to pick up Jennifer at the spa,” he said. “You will be okay?”

I nodded. “I’m pretty tired. I’ll probably try to take a nap.”

“I’ll wake you at six-thirty.”

“You don’t have to.”

He smiled, a hint of mirth in his bright blue eyes. “Unfortunately, Ido.”

“Ah,” I said, understanding. Tyson. Of course. “Well, then, I’ll see you at six-thirty.”

Back in my room, I closed the drapes against the bright day and lay on the soft bed, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

But it was only five days. I could handle anything for five days, and I’d been clear when I accepted this invitation that it was the one and only time I’d respond when Tyson called in a favor.

He’d agreed, of course, but I knew better than to take Tyson at his word.

No, if I wanted Tyson Dale out of my life for good, I’d have to find a way to make that happen.

Fortunately, I was resourceful.