Page 36 of To the Grave

“Pay them a fee to expedite it,” Gray said. “My father won’t care.”

“Unfortunately it’s not just the money.” Did I detect a note of annoyance in Olivia’s voice? It wouldn’t be surprising. It must suck to have to treat a nepo baby like your boss. Not that I had any room to talk. I wasn’t Olivia’s boss but I’d only gotten the job at Cantwell because of my dad. “They make them by hand. The tiles have to dry, to set.”

“Morning,” one of the construction workers said, walking over to join us. His hair was covered by a hard hat, his face lined by hours of sun. He wore a yellow construction vest over a stained T-shirt and jeans, plus the heavy work boots that were de rigueur at the building site.

“Good morning,” Olivia said. “We’re with Cantwell. Are you the site foreman?”

He gave a slow nod. “That’s me.”

“Great. Is it safe to go inside?” Olivia asked.

He looked at our feet. Olivia and Lauren were wearing sneakers, Gray was in dress shoes, and I was in heels.

He sighed.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know I’d be coming today.”

It was the truth. As the resident intern, I didn’t know from one minute to the next what I’d be working on at Cantwell. This was only the second time I’d been invited to the building site with the design team and I’d just gotten the invitation that morning. I’d have to start bringing sensible shoes to the office just in case.

“Watch where you step,” the foreman said. “Probably a lot of loose boards and stray nails.”

“You got it,” Olivia said. “Thanks.”

He left us to talk to a guy carrying a long wooden beam and we started for the villa.

“Sorry about the shoes,” I said to Olivia.

She smiled, which made her even prettier. “Don’t be.” She was young for a partner at Davis Weiss, her blonde hair glossy and pulled back into a chic ponytail, her makeup polished but not overdone. “It was my fault for not giving you a warning. I’ll shoot you an email next time to give you a heads-up.”

I returned her smile. “Thanks.”

I liked her, hoped that someday I’d be as professional and accomplished, that I’d get my shit together.

Olivia waved to a couple construction workers attaching the weatherproof membrane to the exterior framing while we walked up the steps of the wide front porch and into the villa.

“Oh wow,” I said, looking upward. “This is going to be gorgeous.”

It was a long way from being done, but the ceilings were high, the main living area expansive, with a wall of glass that opened and recessed into the walls to provide a stunning open view of the mountains.

“Let’s start with the primary bedroom,” Olivia said, leading the way deeper into the villa. “Daisy, who’s the owner on this one?”

I dug in my bag as we walked and removed my notebook. I had my laptop too, but I’d learned that sometimes it just wasn’t feasible to pull out your laptop, and this was one of those times. “This is number one, right?”

I could see the site plans in my mind, the teakwood model in the secure room Gray had shown me before I knew he was a psycho rapist. The villas fanned out from the main resort on thepath we’d walked from the car, starting with number one and ending with number ten, which was situated on the other side of the resort.

“Yep,” she said.

I flipped open my notebook and looked at the name next to each villa. They’d sold almost immediately in spite of their multimillion-dollar price tag.

“This one belongs to Torsten Albrecht,” I said. “He’s German, fifty-five, and is one of the heirs to the Bosch family. Now he’s in EVs. He’s married — the wife is his age — with three children in their twenties. His preferred vacation spots are Thailand and Indonesia, although he’s also fond of Greece. His biggest hobby is sailing. He actually competed in the America’s Cup when he was younger. He likes to ski, and the Albrechts have houses in Berlin, the Alps, Aspen, and Majorca.”

“Wow,” Olivia said, “really thorough. Well done.”

“Thanks,” I said. I’d been tasked with writing mini-summaries of each VIP to aid in the design of their villas. The idea was to marry the style of the main resort with personal details that appealed to each villa owner while making it all look and feel cohesive, which wasn’t going to be easy.

It had taken weeks to compile the information, combing through biographies and interviews with the villa owners, looking for details we could use to design a place that felt both like home and like a luxury vacation spot.

“Let’s get started,” Olivia looked at Gray and me. “You don’t mind if we record, do you? It’ll be easier than pulling out a laptop on the site.”

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