Near dusk one Los Angeles evening, as the haze-smeared sun began to disappear beyond the hills above Sunset Boulevard, a tall and imposing figure with dark eyebrows and a terrifying gaze strode through the eleventh floor double doors of his West Hollywood condo, clutching a fossilized Saber-toothed tiger skull in his left hand, dodging an ancient sword that hung by a rope from the ceiling, and without slowing the stride that took him across the room to where floor-to-ceiling glass looked out over a vast panorama of the city, announced without addressing anyone in particular, "We are leaving for Iceland tonight."

After an intense furor of arrangements, calls, and purchases by his three personal assistants, housekeeper, personal chef, and tall blonde Icelandic tutor, by midnight everyone, luggage and all, was in the private jet ready to take off for Reykjavík, including the eccentric billionaire whose last-minute whim had set it all in motion.

Among the staff on the plane sat Joel Nass and Amber Garvey, his personal assistant and private chef, newly hired but highly-paid young L.A. transplants...