Page 21 of Sunburned

I changed direction, meeting him at the kitchen island.

“You feel good about the VPN you’re using?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s secure.”

“And the bank account?”

“A numbered account in Switzerland. It was opened using residential papers, so ownership is protected.”

Opened thirteen years ago by my dad to funnel money to me on Christmas and my birthday without having to involve my mom. Only he and I had access to it, and I knew he only ever checked it when depositing the thousand dollars he gave me on those days. My birthday had just passed, and Christmas wasn’t for another seven months, so I felt safe using the account for our deposits for now.

I could see Cody trying to work out how I’d opened an account overseas, but I laid a hand on his arm. “Probably better you don’t know. You’re risking enough.”

Cody was a good man, and I felt guilty for the risk he was taking on my behalf, but I’d been over and over it, and this was the only possible way I could come up with the money I needed quickly enough for it to make any difference.

“Like I said upstairs, you’re in control,” I said. “You say the word, I shut it down.”

“I trust you, Audrey,” he said, his dark eyes clear. “It’s my brother I don’t trust.”

I forced a laugh. “His moral code is certainly questionable.”

He looked at me for a moment, his brows tugging together.

“What?” I asked.

“I just don’t understand what a girl like you sees in him.”

But as infuriating as Tyson could be, he also made me feel good about myself. He wanted my opinion, gave weight to my viewpoint. In a world where I was no longer the star student—or a student at all—he told me I was brilliant. He had faith in me even when I didn’t.

A year ago, my life had seemed like a river flowing toward a secure future, but the reappearance of my mom’s cancer was like a storm that had washed me out to sea and left me adrift alone in a churning ocean. Tyson was a life raft.

But I couldn’t say that to Cody. Instead, I simply shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder that myself.”

Chapter 6

Once I’d written down everything Tyson told me in my notebook, vomited my vitriol toward him on Rosa via text, and fought my way through a ten-minute guided meditation on releasing anger, I felt marginally better. I still had no desire to dine with Tyson’s entourage, much less Tyson himself, but I couldn’t yet see a better way out of this mess than to determine which of Tyson’s inner circle had sent the offending article.

Ifit were in fact one of them at all.

If not? Well, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Regardless, I needed to get to know the players. So, dinner it was.

I felt like I was putting on body armor as I applied a bit more smoothing cream to my tousled waves to ensure they didn’t turn into a lion’s mane, hooked sparkly earrings through my ears, and traced the water line of my eyelids with the navy eyeliner Rosa had promised would make my eyes pop against the chestnut color of my hair. I didn’t usually wear much makeup and had been doubtful of the color, but as I evaluated myself in the mirror, I saw that she was right, and I could almost imagine she was there with me, soothing my rattled nerves.

I entered the fragrant kitchen to find a woman in a chef’s white coatcarefully slicing tomatoes. She looked up and smiled. “Bonne soirée, madame,” she said.

“Bonne soirée,” I returned, wondering briefly when I had graduated from mademoiselle to madame, despite my bare ring finger. “It smells amazing in here.”

“I hope you will enjoy.”

Though it was eight on the nose, I appeared to be the first guest to arrive. The lights were dimmed, and candles flickered in hurricane lamps on all the tabletops, nestled among tasteful displays of pale pink roses. A soundtrack of chill beats pulsed over the speakers, the pool lights changing color in sync with the beat.

A server dressed in black appeared at my elbow. “Good evening, madame. Would you like a glass of champagne?”

I normally didn’t drink when I was working, but after my encounter with Tyson, I could use something to take the edge off. “Yes, thank you,” I said.

He took a bottle of Dom from an ice bucket, allowing the bubbles to dissipate as he eased the pale gold liquid into the flute. I took a sip and wandered toward the view, enjoying the soft fizz of effervescence over my tongue.

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