Chapter 7: Why Tuesday

I didn't hear Bryce's answer.

The path curved, and the palms closed in, and there was only the sound of the water.

The owner's villa sat by itself at the end of a long wooden walkway over the lagoon.

The manager set my bag down inside the door.

"Mr. Ashcroft asked me to tell you the kitchen is yours," she said. "And that he's sorry he wasn't in the lobby."

"Don't be," I said. "I wouldn't have missed it."

Henry came in twenty minutes later, still on the phone.

He hung up when he saw my face.

"I heard," he said. "Half the staff heard. The front desk sent me a very careful email."

"He thinks I'm here to ask you for a job."

"And tomorrow?"

"He wants me to stand up and present the deck for Kylie."

Henry took his jacket off and laid it over a chair.

"How do you want to do this?"

"I want to walk in late," I said. "With you."

He nodded slowly.

"Then that's what we'll do."

The boardroom was on the second floor of the main building, with a long teak table and glass doors open to the sea.

At 9:00, Henry's people were already seated.

His head of sales, a lean man with a tablet. The resort manager. Two people from the villa project who'd flown in from Miami.

Henry's chair at the head of the table was empty.

So was the one to its right.

I knew all of this because Henry and I were standing in the hallway outside, behind the half-open door, listening.

"Is he coming?" Bryce said, low, to somebody.

"Mr. Ashcroft will be here shortly," the manager said. "He asked that you begin."

"Great. Great. No problem."

I could see a slice of the room through the gap.

Bryce in a blue blazer, a new white shirt, no tie.

Kylie at the front with the clicker, in a pale pink dress and gold hoops.

The title slide came up on the screen.