Once Upon a Billionaire

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The timing of Griffin Verdi’s personal assistant-slash-valet was appalling. “What do you mean, you have the chicken pox?”

“I mean just that,” Kip Rothwell said into the phone, with a hint of the proper ruefulness. “My doctor assures me I won’t be contagious after ten days have passed. He suggested I stay in a hotel until I’m no longer contagious, because I know you can’t get sick right now.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Griffin said, using his friend Reese’s favorite expletive. It seemed appropriate at the moment. “You’re contagious for ten days? We leave tomorrow for Bellissime. I can’t go without my assistant.”

“I realize that, sir, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

Furious, Griffin hung up the phone on his long-serving personal assistant. The man had never troubled him before. Kip had worked for Griffin for ten years, all the way back to when Griffin was an eighteen year old who insisted on coming to the States for his education. Griffin’s mother had insisted on sending an entourage of servants to join him as befitted his class. He’d fired all of them except for Kip. Someone had to pick out his clothes and drive him around, after all.

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