Page 1 of A Shore Fling
CHAPTER 1
NINA
Ican’t breathe in here today. The chalk-white walls are too sterile, and the fluorescent lights are too bright. This boardroom feels more like a corporate graveyard where inspiration goes to die rather than a space where creativity thrives. And I’m only sitting at this table because my birthright has placed me here.
“Reports are looking strong this quarter,” Jonathon, the CEO of Moreau, who also happens to be my older brother, drones on. His voice slides over me like a slow-moving fog. Make that a brain-numbing fog. “We’re seeing a ten percent increase in sales in the European markets. That’s a direct result of the new advertising campaign.” He shifts the financial report I gave him with a practiced hand, as if there’s some secret to unlocking the next profit margin buried between the columns of numbers.
But I’ve heard it all before, and will again at our next meeting. I drum my fingers on the table, listening to my nails clicking against the polished surface while nodding as if I’m invested in every word said. My face may be an impassive mask, but deep down, all I want is to leave. Leave this building. Leave this life I’ve been pigeonholed into.
I dislike how everything we do revolves around bottom lines, growth, and market shares. Money is the altar my family prays at. From birth, our lives have revolved around pushing Moreau, an exclusive brand meticulously crafted for the world’s most discerning individuals. But no one here has any idea I’d exit my place in this company as the chief financial officer in the blink of an eye to be free of the heavy weight of my family’s expectations.
I glance at my dad at the head of the table. His eyes are sharp and calculating, like a predator’s, always reading the room for any sign of weakness. Right now, they’re focused on me, no doubt waiting for me to step in.
I take his cue. Smoothing my pencil skirt over my thighs, I straighten my back and curve my lips into a slight smile. “I agree with Jonathon. The campaign is working. We should continue pushing our new collections in Asia while we focus on expanding into emerging markets in South America.” I watch Jonathon jot down a note, then I continue, elaborating on all the steps needed to facilitate my plan. When finished, I lean back in the chair and take a sip from my water bottle. A lot of effort went into drafting my expansion plan, and I should feel proud of the final result. But I’m indifferent.
As the meeting continues, I zone out and let my thoughts drift. If I could magically zap myself from this boardroom to a new location, where would I go? I picture myself sitting on a beach, staring at the blue-green ocean. I let myself fall further into my daydream, imagining the sun beaming down on me. A cool salt-laced breeze wafts over me, and for the first time in ages, I feel something close to peace.
“Nina.”
I blink, snapping back to the room. Everyone is looking at me. My father’s gaze is steady, expectant.
“Yes?” My voice is tight.
“We were discussing the upcoming merger,” he says, his tone smooth but carrying a quiet edge. “Do you have any thoughts on how to approach the branding integration with the other company?”
My chest tightens. Merger. Branding. Integration. It’s all the same—just another deal to make more money. Another partnership to make us more untouchable.
I open my mouth, ready to respond with the rehearsed answer that’s been drilled into me, but something inside me falters. I can’t do it. Not today. Not anymore.
“Actually,” I say, my voice louder than I intended, “we should focus on quality rather than quantity. These mergers, these constant acquisitions, aren’t what helped build this company in the first place. What has always set us apart is craftsmanship combined with vision and execution.”
The room goes silent. My father’s eyes narrow, but there’s no anger there—just the cold, calculating look of someone who’s seen it all before. I see the flicker of disappointment, though. He expected me to go along with the plan, not challenge it.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve spent my entire life going along with things I didn’t want. Going along with whattheywant. The campaigns. The deals. The arranged marital prospect I’ve been pushed toward for the last six months. I’m a puppet, and the strings are getting tighter.
I swallow. “I’m sorry. I just think we’ve lost sight of what matters.”
A low murmur stirs around the table. My father remains silent, but I can feel his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He doesn’t get it. I no longer care about profit margins or growth strategies. What I want is something real. Something that isn’t tied to this boardroom.
The meeting wraps up. I stand, my legs weak beneath me, and I force another smile, shaking hands with everyone likeI’m supposed to. But inside, I’m already elsewhere. Already on my way to the coast, to the place I’ve secretly dreamed of for months, where I can be alone, and finally breathe.
“Nina.” My dad’s deep voice stops me three steps from the door.
I draw in a calming breath and then turn around. “Yes?” He and my brother are standing side by side, wearing stern expressions.
“We need to talk.” What he means is he wants to talk, and I’m supposed to listen.
“About?”
“What’s gotten into you? You barely listened to a word your brother said, and then you spouted off about the merger.”
“Well, Jonathon’s tone is quite monotonous.”
Jonathon laughs before firing back with, “Fuck you.”
I shrug. “It’s true. You should work on that.”
With a wave of his hand, my dad halts our sibling teasing. “I don’t care about your brother’s tone. He can drone on for hours as long as he does what’s in the best interest of Moreau.”
