“The whole place seems to have its own little weather system,” Scott said. “It’s just right for the plants to thrive. We built an art studio last summer, and there’s a spot right at the bottom of the property that we’ve had paved. We call it the sunset point. It sticks right out over the ocean and faces the exact spot where the midsummer sun goes down. If you sit right at the very end with your legs hanging over the edge, it feels like you’re hovering in thin air.”

Emily held his gaze. There was no getting away from it: Scott was very good-looking. Tall and lean, muscular but not too thick, not like a weight lifter or a gym rat. More like a runner, compact and in proportion. Dark brown hair with a distinguished touch of gray at the temples and a brooding default expression that changed completely when he smiled. His age was difficult to guess; early forties, maybe? She’d barely been aware of him when she worked at Proem; he was just the boss, the big man upstairs. Now, though, she couldn’t believe she’d missed him.

Adorably, he showed a little too much of his bottom teeth when he smiled, like a child on a sugar high, and maybe it was just the professional in him, but when she spoke, he made her feel like the most important and interesting person on earth. He really listened. He looked. He laughed. He saw her. And his undivided attention was like a drug: now that she’d had a taste of it, she wanted more.

She noticed the contrast of Scott’s dark skin against his shirt and the movement of his throat as he swallowed. His collar was impeccably ironed, the top two buttons undone to reveal a scattering of black hairs. Not too much, not too little, she thought, and then: Calm down, woman. You’re not supposed to be attracted to him, remember? If she was, this whole thing—the hush of their conversation, the brush of his knee on hers, the accidental champagne—would all take on a very unsavory tone. But it was okay, because she had a handle on it. He wasn’t that hot, anyway. It was probably just the suit.

Scott cleared his throat.

“Well, o-kay!” she said, realizing she’d been staring at his chest hair.

He ordered food. Seared scallops. Pasta with diamond-shell clams. Gelato for dessert: sour cherry and sweet vanilla. The most delicious array of flavors she’d ever tasted.

Emboldened, Emily asked him about his life. “I did all the talking this morning. Now it’s your turn.” She mimicked his director’s tone. “Maybe you could tell me a little about yourself.”

Scott hesitated. Then, with downcast eyes, he told her his story. He’d grown up in the Cotswolds, the younger of two boys. His mother was a dressmaker, and his father, as far as anyone knew, was a successful entrepreneur. Over several years, Terrence Denny had set up multiple companies and made a lot of money, and for many years they’d all lived very comfortably. But it all came crashing down the day bailiffs knocked on the door. Unbeknownst to the family, a serious gambling problem had first raised Terrence up then torn him down. They lost everything. And then he left, taking with him, for some unknown reason, Scott’s only brother.

“The shame and grief nearly killed my mother,” Scott said, and for one electrifying moment, Emily thought he was going to cry. “I swore I would fight my way to a better life—for both of us. I swore I would do what he couldn’t.”

Possibly it was the champagne, but for a few raw seconds, everything was different. Time slowed down. There were no walls between them, no hidden agendas, no other people; just the movement of the air between them and the gentle truth of their hearts.

But the moment dissolved just as quickly as it had arrived, and Scott was back: calm, collected, and totally in control.

“So…,” Emily said, changing the subject. “This job. Say I was to accept.”

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically, yes. What would happen then?”

“Well,” Scott pushed his empty plate to one side. “Hypothetically, I would give you this.” He reached down beneath the table. From a black laptop bag, he pulled a slim document.

“What is it?”

He passed it to her. It was a sheaf of printed A4 paper, maybe twelve pages, bound together by a black plastic spine.

“It’s a confidentiality agreement. Also known as an NDA.” He shrugged. “All our staff sign one. Or, at least, the seniors do.”

Emily looked at it, her eyes skimming over the clauses and legal jargon. “Okay … what’s it for?”

“In this case? Nothing really. We use them all the time at Proem because we share sensitive information between clients and investors, but with you it’s more just about keeping local gossip to a minimum.” He grinned and leaned toward her, his tone suddenly confessional. “Truth? I cheated a bit when I started renovating the property. I needed to push things through quickly so, you know, I’ve occasionally neglected to obtain the correct planning permissions. It’s no big deal, but I really don’t need it coming back at me. Also…” It was hard to tell, but Scott appeared to be blushing. “God, this is going to sound so pompous, but my public image is growing, and I like to keep a low profile.”

Emily giggled. “A low profile?” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Hang on, I knew I recognized you from somewhere! Can I please have your autograph, Brad? I just loved you in Benjamin Button.”

Scott laughed. “Don’t take the piss.”

“Don’t freak out, but I think I see helicopters circling. Must be the paps.”

“I’m serious. I don’t want people knowing where I live.”

Emily smiled. She’d heard of nondisclosure agreements. Celebrities used them all the time. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll keep your secrets for you.”

“You’re too kind. So, anyway—hypothetically—after that’s signed, I might present you with these.” He rummaged in his jacket pocket, pulling out a shiny black credit card and three keys on a silver ring. “This would be your card. You can use it for whatever you like, within reason of course. Your weekly wage will be paid into your account. Or you can use the card to withdraw it in cash, if you prefer.”

Tax-free income, Emily thought. This just gets better and better.

“These are the keys to the house and your car. This little one is for the front gate, but the security system is electronic so you won’t need it. Yves will explain everything when you get there.”

“Yves?”

“My man on the ground.” That boyish smile again. “A local guy; he’s a landscaper. Takes care of the heavy lifting, so to speak. Big stuff, like fences, drainage, plumbing. He does most of it himself, but he has plenty of connections should we need anything outside of his expertise.”

Emily took the card and the keys and placed them both on top of the agreement. “And after that? What would happen then?”

“Well, if you had no further questions, I’d tell you that your flight is already booked and you leave on Thursday.” Scott sat back, studying her, and Emily understood that she was standing at a crossroads. It was now or never. Yes or no. The red pill or the blue pill.

She looked up at the trellis and the patches of pure blue sky just visible between the creepers. Housekeeper. Emily thought about her bathroom and the thick layer of grime that covered the sink and the bathtub. Au pair. Sure, she was good with kids but she knew nothing about taking care of them, especially not ones with “health issues.” But an all-expenses-paid summer on a luxurious estate by the ocean? She could learn on the job, right?

“You know, Em,” Scott said, his voice strangely weary. “The smallest thing can change your life. Just one decision can open so many doors. You can walk through any one of them—or all of them at once—and become a completely different person. And just like that, nothing is ever the same again.”

Their eyes locked, and Emily felt like he could see right through to her soul. Her heart flared like a struck match. Maybe she was special.

Holding the agreement in her hands, she smiled. “Have you got a pen?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

SCOTT

IN THE living room of his riverside apartment, Scott stood with his phone pressed to his ear. Nina wasn’t picking up. He tried twice more before the line finally clicked and her voice floated through a crackle of static.

“Scott?” He could only just hear her.

“Nina. Are you there?”

The line hissed in reply.

“Nina?”

“… hear you,” she said. She sounded far away, like she was speaking to him from the back of a giant cave.

He waited. “I’m sending someone,” he said, eventually.

More hissing. Then: “… body out there.”

“What?”

Suddenly Nina’s voice came hurtling through the earpiece, loud and clear. “… watching me. There’s somebody watching the house.”

A tremor pulsed through Scott’s body, quick and sharp, leaving him prickling all over. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Nina—”

“In the woods. I can hear them.”

“Nina, listen. There’s no one in the woods.”

The static was back. Her voice dropped out.

He waited. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she said, faintly.

“Did you hear what I said? I’m sending someone.”

“You’re what?”

“Sending someone. To you. She arrives on Thursday.” There was a pop, then a soft howl, like the wind blowing. “Yves will meet her at the airport and bring her to you.”