Page 28 of Billionaire Retreat

“What?”

“I just made that up so that you would have an interesting story to tell the kids at school.”

“Mom!”

“What?”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Watch your tone, young lady. What was I supposed to tell you? That he died when he went skiing for the first time and ran into a tree?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. “Really?”

“Yes. He wasn’t the most graceful fellow. It’s amazing he could even cross the street without getting hit by a bus.”

“No wonder you were never interested in skiing.”

“Well, that and because I just don’t get winter sports. Who wants to be cold, outdoors and exercising? It’s nonsensical to me.”

“Mom?” I said tiredly, not allowing myself to focus on the fact my mother let me believe a lie she made up for years. I couldn’t even be angry with her. I’d always felt the whole military excuse had been a bit too convenient.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to bed.” I stood up before she could say another word. I kissed her forehead and then headed for my bedroom wondering if when I closed my eyes that night I’d dream of a certain man.

* * *

“Nina,” the director said. “You were great out there. There was so much passion… so much force. I loved every bit of it except the beginning.” He gave me a sad look. “And maybe a little bit of the end, the middle was good though.”

The makeup artist was fixing my lipstick so I couldn’t immediately respond. Once she was done, I thanked her and turned my attention to Jacob Fox, the director. He was a skinny guy. He was probably about 5’8 and weighed 130 pounds. Even though he was very skinny, he had a gut that fell over the waistband of his pants. He wore large glasses and had a deep Texas accent.

I only had three lines, so I wasn’t sure what “middle” he was talking about. I could only guess it was the actual part of the script where I had lines and wasn’t just sitting there with a stale beer in my hand pretending to be an irresponsible motorist which is what my role really required.

“Ok… what would you like me to do differently?” I said trying to be diplomatic, even though I wanted to ask him what the heck he was talking about.

“I just don’t think you fully understand your character’s motivation,” he said, raising his hands up and artistically making gestures as if I could see whatever he envisioned in his head. “You see, your character is upset, sad, so sad… her new car was just ruined. I need you to give me grief. Come on, Nina, give me your best sorrowful, “woe is me” face.”

He stared at me, not speaking.

“Oh, you mean, now?” I asked.

“Uhh, yeah…”

I did as I was told, hoping it would be good enough.

He shook his head in disappointment. “You don’t look sad, you look melancholic. There’s a difference, you know.”

I was spared any more tips about the difference between sad and melancholic when someone came up and started asking him questions that were apparently a lot more important than lecturing me about the emotions my character should display.

“Don’t pay Fox any mind. He doesn’t know how to treat a lady.”

All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I knew that voice… I’d been escorted from a building just to hear it.

“So, let me get this right, you’re saying that you do know how to treat a lady?” I said turning around and facing Griffin.

He shrugged. “I try my best.”

He leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. I couldn’t help but study him. After all, it had been years since I laid eyes on him.