Tyler was standing next to the picture glass window, nursing a drink in a brandy snifter.  Bette was walking back to him, saying, “Okay, Tyler, I understand all of that.  But I think you should go now, and let me continue here …”

Bette had also changed out from her outfit earlier, discarding the wig, glasses, and contact lenses that changed the color of her eyes.  She now wore a frilly, close-fitting, long-sleeved shirt, generously unbuttoned in to a tantalizing spot in her upper chest (“understandable, given that it’s summer”), and tucked into slightly flared well-tailored pants.   Her hair was swept up in a loose bun, with loose tendrils framing her face, and she’d swiped rose red lipstick on.  Damn, she’s beautiful, Tycho thought.  I wonder if….

Tyler grimaced, and downed the rest of his drink before reluctantly setting the now-empty snifter down on the low-slung coffee table.

He heaved a deep sigh as he straightened up, and then surprisingly clapped Tycho on his shoulder as he walked past him, and then left the room.

“Did you tell him anything we …” Tyler asked Bette, his eyebrows raised.

“No, nothing specific,” Bette responded before he completed his question.  “But I had to bounce off a few ideas off of him, without giving him any details.”

She pursed her lips, and gave him a grim smile, “I needed somebody to talk to, you know.  That was a lot for me to process.”

Tycho nodded, and gave her a half-smile of his own, “Of course, of course.”

“So…” Bette asked, eyeing the brown leather envelope that he carried loosely against his side.

“Oh, yeah,” Tycho exclaimed softly, his eyes refocusing on her, “Sorry.  I was surprised to see Tyler.  And a little rocked by your costume change.”

He smiled at her light chuckle.

“These are the files I received.  They’re the original ones.  I have digital copies, and another set of paper copies in my office,” he said as he handed the envelope to her.

Bette untangled the thin strings looped over the metal holders that kept the leather envelope closed.  “Sweet,” she thought as she unlooped the strings, “so old-fashioned.  A throw-back, almost.”

As she examined the documents inside, Tycho continued, “Anyway, I just remembered that there is an event down in Cannes tomorrow, running through the rest of the weekend, for super yacht owners and enthusiasts who will be around.  A precursor to an event later in September.”