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wooden wall separating us. Okay, there’s some water separating us too, but still, we are really close.
    “Umm, yeah. Okay. Sounds good,” I manage. I try to keep my voice down, thinking in paranoia that he can hear me walking around the deck. He obviously can’t, but I do have an active imagination.
    “See you tonight, Sophie.”
    “Bye.” We both hang up at the same time. I let out the breath of air that I’ve been holding inside. Of all the odds?!
    He’s the best looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s staying in the biggest villa on the same damn resort. And he’s right next door to me. I have to tell Erik and Orie. I grab the phone and before I can hit the talk button, it rings again. This time, I answer way more coolly.
    “Hello?”
    “Did you plan on calling your mother and me to tell us you got there safely?” my father’s voice practically screams through the phone.
    Oh shit.
    I totally forgot to call my dad.
    “Sorry dad. We literally just got here.”
    “That’s not true, Sophie. Your plane landed three hours ago. We tracked your flight.” Ugh. I forgot how anal retentive my father is.
    “Dad, you should have been CIA.”
    “I find no humor in that statement.”
    “I’m sorry, dad. I’ve just been overwhelmed by this place. You and mom would love it here. It’s so unbelievable,” I tell him apologetically.
    “It should be. You’re spending your life’s work on this vacation.”
    Really?
    “I wouldn’t have to if you had paid me more as an intern,” I argue back. “I’m lucky I was even able to save a dollar with the salary you gave me.”
    Silence.
    Okay, maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to say to my dad when he’s already pissed off at me. But let’s be real, it’s not like I got any special treatment because I was his daughter. Still, he is my father and I love him and I’ve thrown a lot at him and my mom these past couple of weeks.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired from jet lag.” My tone has lost the bite.
    “I accept your apology.” His voice is filled with concern as he says, “Your mother and I just want what’s best for you.”
    “I know, daddy,” I tell him, sighing loud enough that I hope he can hear. “But what you want and what I want are two different things.”
    “Sophie, do you know how hard it is to make a living as an artist?”
    Here we go again, I think to myself. The gates have opened and my dad is definitely going to attack. I walk outside and lay down on a sun chair. I stare out at the ocean and prepare myself for the argument he’s been giving me since I shocked the shit out of him with my decision.
    The glimmer on the water distracts me. It is really quite spectacular. I think of Clayton and smile. I should paint a profile shot of him staring out over the sea. That would be a pretty hot painting.
    He doesn’t notice that I haven’t answered him.
    “Being an artist is not an easy dream. How many Van Gogh’s were there? Picasso? Warhol? Only one. Those are the names you know and remember. Success like theirs is like winning the lotto.”
    I state the obvious. “I know it’s not easy, dad. I’m not saying it’s going to be.” He’s right, of course. My logical father has a rational way of looking at things, but still. Nothing is easy in life. And as my father, shouldn’t he be encouraging me? Telling me that I’m so talented that if I work hard enough I could potentially be one of the greats?
    “I love you, honey. But listen to me. Pick something that you have a fighting chance at, for the love of God!”
    “Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to follow my dreams?”
    “Not if your dream is barely going to support you and cause needless heartache from all the rejection.”
    “Gee, thanks for believing in my abilities, dad.”
    “I do believe in your abilities. Your mother and I think you’re exceptionally talented. But honey, you live in Los Angeles, a city where you see struggling actors, actresses,