Page 1 of A Shore Fling

NINA

I can’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 what they want. 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 like I’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.”

Jonathon scoffs. “So now I drone?”

“Yeah, you do. Endlessly,” I say.

“Enough.” Dad’s tone sharpens. “Why did you disagree about the merger?”

“Because I don’t think it’s necessary. How much is enough? Do we just continue gobbling up smaller companies like some corporate Pac-Man that’s never satisfied?” I glance between them as they blink slowly at me like I’ve spoken in tongues.

My brother recovers first. “Nina, that’s what we do.”

“I’m aware, but it doesn’t mean we can’t make a change. When do we hit the point where we’ve overexpanded and can no longer juggle everything?”

“I don’t know where this bad attitude is coming from,” Dad says, as if I’m a teenager and not thirty-five years old.

“Oh, so disagreeing with you two means I have an attitude problem? That’s funny, I thought it meant I’ve busted my ass for this company for the past thirteen years, and I’m allowed to be a freethinker. Should I remind you how many of my ideas have helped to make Moreau what it is?”

“That’s not necessary. We never said you’re not an asset,” Jonathon says, trying to placate me.

“No, you’re saying I can’t disagree with the two of you.”

Jonathon’s expression tells me I’m right. I let out an ironic laugh. “Looks like this conversation is over.”

“Don’t be like that,” Jonathon says.

I raise my middle finger in front of his face. “Fuck off.”

“Nina, keep it professional,” Dad scolds.

I clench my teeth together, fighting the urge to sling the same insult his way.

Right now, he might be my infuriating boss, but he’s still my dad.

While I may not like what he says or does at work, I was raised to be respectful to my parents.

Since I have nothing positive to say, I turn and walk from the room without a backward glance.

“How do you always look so flawless?” my younger sister Irene asks.

I laugh. “Your definition of that word is loose. I feel the opposite.” I finish touching up my lipstick and then brush my hand over my upswept hair.

“I should be jealous of you, but it’s impossible because you’re too nice.”

My head snaps in her direction, where she’s perched on the edge of my bed. “Why would you be jealous of me?”

“You’re taller than me, thinner than me, you’ve got that curly hair.” She ticks each one off on her fingers.

“I’d kill for your straight hair and your curves. And I’m like an inch taller than you.”

“I think it’s two,” she argues.

My eyes widen. “Gasp. Two.”

“Hey, every bit matters. If I were two inches taller, I wouldn’t need to lose ten pounds.”

“You don’t need to now. You’re gorgeous. Just ask Richard,” I say, referring to her fiancé. I add a few pumps of hairspray.

“Yeah, he thinks I’m perfect,” she says, followed by a giggle.

“You should listen to him.”

“I know, but my inner critic wins out sometimes.”

“Tell that bitch to shut up, or I’ll kick her ass.” I turn from the mirror and skim my hands down over the bodice of my dress. “Are you sure I should wear this?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. That’s your color.”

I glance down at the icy-blue gown. “Really?”

“Yep. Trust me… On second thought, maybe you should change.”

“Why?”

“Because Nigel’s gonna be all over you like butter on a biscuit.”

“Oh God.” I laugh.

“You gotta admit he’s a good-looking man.”

“He is, but he’s also boring and shallow.”

“Have you told Mom and Dad you’re not interested?”

“Only like a hundred times, but they have selective hearing when it comes to him.”

“That’s because he’s a Whitstone and nothing would make them happier than merging our families,” she says.

Lowering to the edge of the bed, I strap on my high heels. “Oh, for sure. But you’d think their daughter’s happiness would be more important than a business transaction.”

“I don’t know if they see it that way. They seem to think if you gave Nigel a chance, you’d fall in love.”

“How do you know this?”

She shrugs. “I mentioned to Mom that I didn’t think it was fair for them to pressure you into spending time with Nigel.”

My eyebrows climb higher with surprise. “Thank you. It’s nice to know someone has my back.”

“Always.”

“Mom and Dad have devoted their lives to business, and have always placed that above everything—even us. I’m not whining about not being loved.

I know they love us, but I want a different way of life for myself.

I want to fall in love with a man of my choosing.

I don’t care what he does for work or how much money he has in the bank. ”

Her lips curve into a challenging smirk. “How do you plan to meet someone when you’re always working?”

She makes a good point. I’m at the office more often than not, and my social life is pretty much dead with a capital D.

“I have no idea. Well, I do, but it’s more of a fantasy, and it’s not about meeting a man as much as it’s about doing something I’d like.”

Her eyes light with interest. “Ooh, tell me.”

“I don’t have some master plan laid out, but if I could, I’d rent a cottage in Maine, near the beach, and spend what’s left of the summer having fun. No work responsibilities at all, just doing whatever the fuck I want, whenever I want.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“Pfft. Are you kidding? I barely have time to eat and sleep. How am I going to get the rest of the summer off?” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Dad would love that.”

“True. But you’re allowed to take a vacation even though you never do.”

“There’s never a good time.” Whenever I start to plan a trip, there’s always something work-related that gets in the way.

“What if you take a break for your emotional well-being? How can Dad refuse that?”

“I’m sure he’d find a way.”

“Not if you don’t give him a chance. What if you just go to Maine and tell him after the fact?”

My lips stretch with a grimace. “He’d be so pissed.”

Irene snickers. “He would, but at that point, you’re gone and you won’t have to deal with it.”

“Jonathon would hate me, though.” He and I are close. I’d be sad if he were angry with me.

“No, he wouldn’t. At first, he might be annoyed, but he’ll delegate your work to someone else. Problem solved.” She slides her palms together twice, brushing away my arguments.

“You’re making it seem way easier than it would be.”

“Am I, though?” she challenges.

“Well, it’s food for thought, but it’s time to leave.” I stand, wincing as my high heels pinch my toes. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be a long night.”