America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Upon arriving at the restaurant and being led by the waiter, Martin found Thomas's booth, pulled out a chair and sat down. He saw the table full of lavish dishes and smiled awkwardly, "You're too kind. It's just a meeting about some matters, and you're treating me to a feast."

Thomas had his left hand on the fork and his right clutching the knife, wanting to stab the charming face of the bastard across from him and see if the brain matter inside reeked.

Martin wiped his hands and tied his napkin, picking up his knife and fork, "Thank you for dinner. We can talk over the meal."

Thomas glared at Martin, the knife and fork falling on the steak, he cut with all his might: "What you're talking about had better be true."

All he had left was his career to compensate for the lack of love.

Martin had done his homework with Louise: "Warner Bros. is remaking 'House of Wax'. Fox has confirmed its participation, and the project has gotten the green light. Including Pacific Pictures, many companies are participating in the co-financing. A subsidiary of Warner Bros., Silver Pictures, is in charge of production, with Joe Silver and Susan Levin as producers."

Thomas knew about the important figures in the industry: "Joe Silver is the founder of Silver Pictures, his health hasn't been good in recent years, he rarely takes part directly in film crews; the real person in charge should be the vice president, Susan Levin."

Martin had seen a photo of Susan Levin in the afternoon; he found her somewhat familiar yet couldn't remember where from—certainly caught a glimpse of her in entertainment news in a past life: "I want to know about Susan Levin's character and preferences, the male roles she has personally locked in past projects, and what they have in common."

Thomas, who was fiercely cutting his steak, stopped; the bastard opposite had stolen his lines.

This is what the agent should remind the actor of.

Martin took a bite of cake, which was so sweet it was cloying, leaving a reminder: "I don't like sweet food. Don't order it next time. I really appreciate you taking the initiative to treat, but please take my taste into account when ordering. I prefer meat."

Thomas cut the steak forcefully again, the tray emitting a creak from the strain.

It felt as if countless wheels were rolling over his face, yet he couldn't make a sound. He murmured with muted anger, "I'll remember that."

Martin was very satisfied and continued the previous topic: "Warner Bros. has locked Zomi Silla as the director for the project, a Spaniard who has never directed a formal film before. I need to know the specifics about him."

Thomas took note of it mentally.

Martin went on: "The project hasn't decided on a casting director yet. If it's confirmed, I want to know his name immediately, as well as his preferred acting style, the people and things he dislikes."

Thomas decided not to care about the other party stealing his lines and said, "The male lead decision rests with the producer. There are many factors influencing the producer's choice. The most typical is the recommendation of a co-financer. Louise Mel has already put you ahead."

Martin said: "But the casting director can choose to say good or bad things; probably one bad word might impact the producer's impression."

Thomas agreed: "He can't decide, but he can spoil things."

Before starting on a plate of roast, Martin said, "After Christmas, the crew will officially be established. You should hurry."

"Don't worry. This is what I'm good at." Thomas's interests aligned with Martin's in this regard.

Martin raised his glass and clinked it with Thomas's, "Discussing work with me so late and taking the initiative to treat me, I admire your professionalism."

He subtly flattered: "Thomas, finding such a professional agent is my luck."

Thomas, whose clogged arteries finally felt some relief, gulped down the wine in his glass: "With such a great opportunity, we must seize it."

He made a threat: "Martin, if you screw up, I'll take you to the super party of middle-aged women in the circle, and let you know what terror is."

As they dined, Martin and Thomas discussed how to increase Louise's sixty to seventy percent chance to a full hundred percent.

After the meal, Thomas called the waiter over, preparing to pay.

Martin pulled out his credit card first: "You stayed late for work, I can't let you treat again. I'll pay."

Thomas felt inexplicably relieved and did not insist.

The two left the restaurant, and Martin drove back to Sherman Oaks, ready to stay in the villa accompanied by the beautiful rich widow.

Life is so damn beautiful.

Thomas started his car, hesitated for a moment, turned the steering wheel, and headed toward the company, deciding to pull an all-nighter to gather information.

That night, as Martin guided Louise in tasting Italian "Amour", Thomas drank a large cup of bitter coffee in the company to stay awake.

Early in the morning, Louise, fully refreshed, personally cooked breakfast for Martin.

In the grand hall of William Morris, Thomas, who had worked through the night, lay crookedly in his swivel chair, his back aching, legs cramping.

Life is so damn grueling.

......

Burbank, Silver Pictures company.

Vice President Susan Levin arrived at her office on time, beginning her day's work.

She had just turned 30 years old, but she had already served as co-producer and producer on several crews.

At this moment, her assistant knocked and entered: "Miss Mel is here at the front desk."

Susan stood up to go to the meeting room: "Please invite her in."

For the co-financed film project, she had to manage the relationships and interests from all sides well.

In the meeting room, the two women of similar ages met.

Susan was slightly surprised: "Louise, the winds of the North African desert didn't seem to dry out your skin; you look even better than before. How did you manage that?"

Louise wouldn't tell her: "That's a secret." She shifted to the main topic: "I came to see you today mainly about the co-financing of the new project."

Susan said, "Regarding investment, didn't you talk it over with Warner Bros.?"

Louise adjusted her black-rimmed glasses: "I'm here for the male lead."

"I can't guarantee that for you," Susan said. At their level, Susan wouldn't make reckless promises, "Not to mention small investors, there are nine companies with the clout to be credited as co-producers on the set, and four of them have recommended a male lead. And that doesn't even include the young miss of the Hilton family."

Louise had just watched the tape with Martin, "She recommended an actor too?"

Susan reminded her, "She brought investment to the production, with an actual investment higher than your Pacific Pictures."

Louise nodded, "I won't put you in a difficult position, just a fair chance to compete."

As the actual person in charge of the project, Susan couldn't afford to ruin the film, "I can promise you that much."

Louise got ready to take her leave, "You're busy, so I won't trouble you anymore. How about a drink tonight?"

"I'm busy these days, let's talk after Christmas," Susan couldn't help but ask curiously, "I am very curious, who is worth a personal visit from you?"

She hinted, "Is he very special?"

Louise smiled, "Very special, you wouldn't understand."

Downstairs, stepping into the Bentley, Louise said to the driver cum assistant Nikki, "To the Bartenders' Association."

Master mixologist Louise had just concocted a brand new cocktail she aimed to make famous through the Bartenders' Association.

On the way, Louise also connected with the editor-in-chief of "Fashion Gentleman" magazine, preparing to appear in the magazine once more.

Like artists, master mixologists need to spend money to hype their brand.

......

Atlanta, House of Beast.

It wasn't yet time to open when Ivan, holding a pile of mail, entered the lobby. Passing by the bar, he pulled out a package and threw it to Bruce, "Old Cloth, a parcel from Los Angeles."

Bruce caught it and pulled out a dagger to open it, "Finally, it's here!"

Unwrapping the parcel, he found a bunch of beautifully printed posters, all emphasizing a particular spot.

There was also an autographed photo.

A side portrait of Scarlett Johansson, sensational figure, all curves and contours.

Bruce picked it up, looked around to see that no one was paying attention, and kissed the photo repeatedly.

Those fervent kisses landed all in one place.

The photo produced by the Polaroid, the color in that particular spot began to run.

Once Bruce had his fill, he pulled out his phone, dialed Martin's number, "I received the stuff, very satisfied, we're square with our debt."

"Take it easy, Old Cloth," Martin said deliberately on the other end, "Careful of lead poisoning, or you won't be able to take the backdoor escape."

Bruce tucked away the photo, "The crap you spray is always hot and stinky."

Martin responded, "You smelt it?"

After a habitual spat, Bruce hung up, but his phone rang again immediately.

He glimpsed the caller ID and answered, "What do you need?"

"I'm outside your club, let's talk."

"Give me five minutes." Bruce packed up the parcel and stepped out of the club's front door, spotting Lynch's private car. He went over and got into the passenger seat, "Lynch, what do you want with me? You looking to take on the English guy?"

Lynch, from the DEA, glanced at his old buddy, saying, "I've got intel. The South City crew we took down last time was in contact with Mexico. Their losses are severe. They wouldn't dare retaliate against the DEA but will eventually trace it back to you."

Bruce replied coldly, "I'll twist their heads off and stuff them up their asses."

But Lynch warned, "No matter how tough you are, how many can you take on alone?"

Bruce inquired, "What do you want me to do?"

"Join the DEA; they wouldn't dare mess with you in America," Lynch suggested.

Bruce nodded, "I'm thinking of an office job."

That wasn't what Lynch was proposing at all, "Be an informant for the DEA, and they'll ensure your safety."

Bruce outright rejected it, "I'd rather face their guns."

"I figured as much," Lynch didn't seem surprised and continued, "The DEA can't ensure your safety all the time; you can't always guard against an attack. I advise you to leave Atlanta for a while, go somewhere beyond their reach."

Bruce carefully considered; he'd been a soldier and knew how powerless an individual was against multiple firearms.

Lynch persuaded, "Leave before they come, no need to risk your life against those losers."

"Thanks," Bruce stepped out of the car, and as he closed the door, he added, "I owe you one for this."

Lynch waved dismissively, waited until the passenger door was shut, and drove off.

Bruce, with hands in his coat pockets, walked back into the club.

The torn package wrapping was still sprawled on the bar.

Bruce glanced at the Los Angeles address on it and made a point to remember it.

Only crap sticks with crap forever.