Page 1 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

LORENZO

I lean back in one of the director’s chairs on the movie set in NYC and force myself to be patient. The movie I’ve financed, and am executive producing, is a thriller with a female lead who is a cat burglar.

She travels the world stealing famous paintings, and naturally the guy after her, works for Interpol. Them almost meeting each other is a huge part of the film.

I have a lot on the line. In fact, too much.

I check my Breitling watch and sigh. We should be shooting, but the young, gifted director is worrying me.

When you hire hot directors you cannot micromanage them. They need room to move, like any creative. If they spit the dummy and walk, replacing them is hell. In saying that, you cannot let them loose.

I look at my seasoned producer, who rubs a temple. She looks like how I feel. As I stretch, the director talks to the cast, the assistant director, and the stunt team, trying to explain the complex sequence and chase. The set is massive, a lavish restaurant in Paris.

The director appears overly fragile, and he worries me. He may be gifted as hell, but he is not as fast on set as I’d like.

Finally, the director loses his cool, and arms raised, walks off set with a roar. “No, not now! I’m not feeling it! Something is off.”

I rise and walk after him in my suit. I’m cool, and I’m calm, but every hour is costing me close to two hundred thousand dollars.

“May I help?” I ask.

The young director keeps walking.

“Hey!” I yell.

The director stops at the sound stage door, he is on his way back to his trailer. Again!

“Do you remember who I am?”

The director nods, and he looks exhausted.

“That’s good because I financed this movie, and I selected you from a dozen other directors I considered. I might not be on set every day like you, but this movie is as much mine as yours. Don’t forget we developed the screenplay before you came onboard, and I bankrolled it.”

We share an intense look, and he paces.

“I understand you don’t feel it, but we are behind schedule today, again. You have a large stunt team on set, plus the full crew, and it cost a hundred thousand alone to light the set. Every hour you burn, costs me.”

There is silence as the producer walks over, and her radio chirps on her hip.

“Can we not simply set up the second, and third camera, rehearse twice, and shoot the scene?”

No answer.

Suddenly, the temperamental director walks off. The seasoned producer, who I do many movies with, shrugs. “So?”

“It’s his first movie in the US,” I say. “He’s not bad. He’s just not used to fast, well-oiled top crews like the ones here in NYC, and LA. Let’s give him thirty.”

I walk on set, wink at the cinematographer, who I know well, and I tap my watch. He will understand the signal.

As I sit back in one of the director’s chairs, I look at the three movie scripts I need to finish today.

I should have left an hour ago, and it will take time to get home in the bad weather. I send a message and request the chopper. Enough chaos.

I reread a printed deal memo from an entertainment bank, and I tune out the on-set distractions. The bank are offering capital, so I can produce even more movies. The thing is the deal is unacceptable. The rates average.

Thirty minutes later, I walk to my producer, the cinematographer, and the man who actually runs the set, the Assistant Director, or A.D.

“Ok, I need to get him out here, and I need to leave the set,” I say. “I have finance duties, and I need to set up the next picture.” My close team nod, they know I produce over a dozen movies a year. I naturally have favorite crew members, and these are some of the best.

“Contractually the director cannot screw around. I just want to wake him up, okay! We’ll set up a couple of shots. He will hear we are shooting. He will come out quickly, and he will hopefully be jarred back into acting like a pro. It’s a wake-up call, understand?”

My loyal team nods.

“Not my favorite thing to do, but I need him on set and not screwing around.”

I directed a few movies in the day, that I paid for. They were not the best, but they all made money. I’m better at putting big movies in the can, on schedule, and within budget.

That is what I do.

“Ok,” I say. “Three cameras stand by.” As I walk deeper into the set, I look at the stunning cast and their expensive wardrobe. The gowns, the fake diamonds and the over-the-top Parisian set.

As the cinematographer follows, the AD uses his radio to dial in the crew.

“Stand by three cameras, stunt team back on set. Makeup checks on key cast, shooting in fifteen.”

I study the lavish action set, and I remember the scene well.

“First shot, as she is chased through the restaurant, camera one, low and wide. Second camera, set far back on a telephoto. Put the dolly against that wall. Camera three, track from here to here,” I say hands moving and walking.

“We pick things up, from her entering the restaurant, to her realizing it’s a trap. As soon as she realizes, she runs, dives through the window, and the car chase erupts. Got it?”

“Okay,” the AD says, “Blocking in five, and setting cameras.”

Crew move lenses, lights, cameras and gear fast, and I walk back to the director’s chairs. My producer’s eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head. I shrug caring little. It’s an old movie trick to shake up directors who waste time.

After talking through the sequence with the Hollywood based actress who listens in her black catsuit with bomber jacket and leather gloves, she heads off for final makeup and hair checks.

Ten minutes later as the gaffer and lighting team perfect things, we rehearse. The sequence starts to work, and we are about to shoot.

I lean back in the director’s chair, and I watch the monitors. The three images from the three cameras look great.

As the cast pause on set, ready for take one, the clapper loader holds the clapper board up, “Scene one three three. Take-”

“Hang on,” I say loud. The young director is walking on set, and he is focused and alert. At last!

As I intercept him, I talk low. “Just getting ready.” Our eyes meet, and I cross my arms.

Alright pal. Here it is.

“Legally you have to shoot, and you know that. If you don’t, I have the right to put the scene in the can. If you force me to shoot here and now, I will. I’m not the best director, but the stunt crew fly to Australia tonight to do a superhero flick. This scene is shot today, understand?”

He starts moving fast, “A better shot would be from here on camera two.”

“Great,” I say playing along. “By all means change it. I’m better at finance, that’s why we hired you. Please change anything, just try to get this scene completed before the end of the day.”

As he walks to the cinematographer, he starts talking fast.

I grab my movie scripts, pull my navy suit jacket on, and head away. As my producer walks along side, she mumbles low, “bully.”

“Remind me why we do this again.” I say, as we reach the sound stage door. I look into the dark sky and frown.

“Because we have no other skills.”

“And to make our studio, Saint Global Entertainment number one,” I remind her.

“And that,” she says with a playful smile.

My movie studio is close to number one, but there is always work to be done. Thunder rumbles, and I examine the cloud banks.

Through the rain and across the studio lot, I see my attorney, Charles, next to the black chopper. As I run, I mumble low, “Fucking show business.”

The chopper skims over NYC and towards the heavier weather.

I read another finance offer in the back, before I put it aside.

More unworkable capital. As I look out the window, buildings streak below.

I dislike spending so much time on sets, it’s where I lived from the age of fifteen until I was twenty-five.

I stopped living on sets ten years ago. That’s when I started financing films fulltime, and working with entertainment banks, studios and film sales companies.

It is more cerebral, more satisfying, and more trying.

After Charles and I discuss outstanding legal issues of the week, we drop him, his PA, and my PA, Emily, onto the roof of our offices in Tribeca.

As I climb into the front seat, and pull on the headset, my regular pilot climbs into the copilot seat. I pilot my chopper, as often as I can, because it gives me quiet time.

This way, I cannot read movie scripts, cannot talk to stars, and cannot talk to banks. I must stay in the zone. To rest my mind, and to feel, and not think calms me.

It’s nearly impossible to think of a movie, TV, or media deal while flying a fast chopper. I also get to bypass New York’s notorious traffic.

As I bank my chopper over Manhattan, and Soho, the winds pick up. The rain is now cascading down, and it will be good to put the chopper on my penthouse helipad in one piece.

It will also be good to be home, where excluding bankers, I plan to not see anyone for an entire week.

I aim to lock myself away from the world, read screenplays, and limit communications to a Zoom call a day when not arranging more capital.

Constantly keeping all of my wealth on the line, and in high-risk movie and media projects, is intense.

Most movie studio bosses do it, but very few own their own companies. They are making moves with little risk. If I drop the ball, I lose it all.

The chopper shakes, like a woman shuddering with aftershocks and I bring it in sideways. The winds are bad, and if I get it wrong we’re toast.

As rain streams down, I drop us between my statues in the Upper East Side. From this height, we can still see right across NYC.

I flick my eyes quickly around, we are just clear of the marble eagle and other statues on the penthouse roof.

As I kill the power, the chopper drops, and we lightly hit the deck.

I climb from my chopper with the scripts, and I think about making a call. I have not taken anyone for a month, and I need to let off steam. I need to slide into someone, I need to stretch them wide.