Page 6 of Before the Night Falls
There were people who didn’t want him to build this school. They’d sabotaged his building. Made threats.
He prayed those threats were empty and didn’t escalate.
Hobbes, his assistant, appeared in his office doorway. “Sir, your guests are here.”
Tyson closed the blueprints and nodded. “Thank you.”
Then he braced himself for the next forty days, praying he wouldn’t regret saying yes to this project . . . for more than one reason.
CHAPTERTWO
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 . . . ?”
