When your family confronted you with the fact that you needed to spend the weekend at their new favorite country club, you almost howled in frustration. You were annoyed by these men who play golf and discuss business, and then have sex with waitresses who serve them whiskey in smoking rooms. And all the women are flipping through catalogs of branded furniture and discussing the new Pantone color of the year. Boredom.

So you're sitting there drinking orange juice, and your eyes are focused on your dad, who's showing off his new golf club to his new friends. Take a sip. Take another sip. Another chatter from your mom about her friend, whose son is in Rehab again. Disgusting.

Another sip of juice and you're almost reaching for your mother's glass of wine to make this sickening day go away. But your hand stops in the middle.

You see him, so elegant and out of this world. He walks with a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hands, crossing the golf lawn. He's got a cigarette in his hand, and by the look of you, he knows he's smarter than everyone else here.

You almost groan when you watch your mom walk away angry with your dad, only to start fighting with him again because he looked at another waitress. And suddenly you hear him.

"Is there a problem in paradise?" his voice was low and suddenly soothing. "I'm Henry Winter, by the way. My family started coming here recently. Apparently, yours is too."