Page 62 of Forbidden
As we travel, I explain what I’m doing in Napa wine country.
Ryan Remington, a friend and Hollywood star, is having a party. It’s at their family vineyard, so it’s a more exclusive event than his usual parties in Beverly Hills.
His residence in Beverly Hills is incredible, and his parties are quite the thing.
Ryan and his brothers, Troy and Chris, are considered Hollywood Royalty. Simply because their parents were Hollywood stars, all three sons are in the business.
They are very private but also very cool and down to earth.
Ryan recently married Caroline, a hot TV star, and Troy the eldest brother, finances movies. He recently married Zara, a talented fashion designer. Troy also runs the family movie studio.
We do the odd co-financing deal, and we shift finance to help each other at times.
Chris, the middle brother, is a talent agent, and he represents huge actors, writers, directors, and producers.
The brother’s father has passed, but their mother Grace, is a cool older woman in her sixties. She is elegant, classy, and charming.
After explaining the Remington’s to Storm, I tell her about another friend who will be flying in for the party. Dante is an old friend, and he’s originally from Tuscany, Italy.
He is well spoken, and I think he comes from old money. In saying that, he does not discuss it. Dante arrived in LA young, and he worked in fashion. After several years, he invested every dime he had in his own label. He then invested in several fashion magazines.
His eye for design talent is second to none.
That’s why he is worth a small fortune.
Storm sounds impressed, and she asks if Dante is married. I pause, because that’s the thing. Many of us are billionaire bachelors, and we do not have normal relationships.
We are simply too busy, and we have trouble finding women who are not gold diggers.
When word gets out, you have money you are targeted.
“Finding a partner who is not after your wealth, is like dancing in a minefield,” I say as I check the radar.
After finishing the long explanation, I roll my neck. I need a break, and having Storm pilot, is likely safer than an hour on auto pilot. I know she has done her flight study fast, and hard, and that she has not completed her license.
In saying that, we have discussed it in length.
As we talk about flying, I explain the details of my complex and expensive jet. Minutes later, Storm sighs and looks over.
“What?” I ask.
“When are you going to let me play?”
I do not like surprises, or change. My world must always be controlled. I check the skies one last time, and the radar, before I flip on auto pilot
I stand and step aside theatrically, before the cheeky vixen lifts her chin. She pulls off my Ray Bans, sits, adjusts the pilot’s seat, and flips off auto pilot.
She adjusts several things, and I stand above her. I watch her closely, she is solid, and focused.
Even if she does appear casual, she is not bad, at all.
I start to point and tell her to adjust our flight path, when she slaps my hand. “You need to learn to trust. You may even have trust issues.”
Our eyes meet, and the playful vixen is testing me.
I know she has another year to go to get her pilot’s license, but she will be able to handle this leg, excluding the landing.
“Please, just get me some peanuts,” she says. I breathe deep, and play along before reaching behind me. I sit in the copilot’s seat, and I put my feet on the console. Screw her.
