Two hours later, the tension in the living room hadn't faded; the air was still thick with lingering passion.
Leon lay on the sofa, lighting a post-game cigarette. He had his arm around Taylor, staring blankly into space, deep in a post-coital daze.
"I've never sweated this much in one go. I seriously need a shower." Taylor stretched, tapping him lightly on the cheek. "Care to join?"
Beads of sweat were still rolling down Leon's forehead. Usually, the heavy sweating happened during the cardio, not afterward. He wanted nothing more than a cold shower, but his legs felt like jelly.
Watching Taylor walk toward the bathroom, he noticed her silhouette seemed a bit curvier. She looks like she's put on a little weight...
It seemed to confirm those myths you read in lifestyle blogs: when a woman is happy in a relationship, her hormone levels spike, making her fill out a bit.
The phone ringing snapped Leon out of his trance. It was Jeff, the President of Warner Bros.
They had scheduled a meeting in Los Angeles three days ago, which happened to align perfectly with his current itinerary.
"Hello, Mr. Jeff."
"Is the interview over, Mr. Busy Man?"
"It's over, though it was cut short abruptly."
"What happened?" Jeff asked curiously.
"That idiot reporter seemed like she was high on something... Anyway, you'll see it in the papers tomorrow."
"Haha, I know the feeling," Jeff said. "The Los Angeles Times hasn't been a serious paper for a long time. They've tried everything to save that old ship, but I don't think anything can patch the holes now. Nothing stays intact under the impact of the new era. Those who can't adapt are destined to go extinct."
It sounded like casual chatter, but Leon felt Jeff was taking a subtle jab at Spielberg—the "Tsar of Cinema." It was like comparing him to Nicholas II, who misjudged the changing times and refused a constitutional monarchy. By the time "Bloody Sunday" happened in 1905, it was too late to save his throne.
The revolutionaries' anger and guns didn't give him a second chance.
Spielberg's situation was similar. As the world's most successful commercial director, he refused to bow to current trends, staunchly boycotting superhero movies.
Jeff continued, "Where are you right now?"
"Beverly Hills."
"Beverly Hills? Did you buy a house in LA?"
Jeff wouldn't have been surprised if he had. "Street Jesus" had achieved massive success in film, TV, and music; his ability to rake in cash was jaw-dropping.
That was exactly why Jeff chose to partner with Leon. The money was one thing, but his youth was key. The old-school Hollywood investors usually struggled to cough up hundreds of millions for high-risk films in one go.
"No, I'm at a friend's place," Leon said honestly.
"You're a major player in the industry now; maybe you should consider picking up some real estate in Los Angeles," Jeff advised. "You're going to be spending a lot of time here. It'll be your second home. The housing market is at rock bottom right now. Trust me on this."
"I'll consider your advice. You're a thoughtful friend."
It wasn't just polite talk. Housing prices in LA were high—especially in rich enclaves like Beverly Hills, Holmby Hills, and Malibu—but the price per square foot was a steal compared to New York. No matter how much money you spent in Manhattan, you couldn't buy a standalone mansion with a garden and a tennis court.
"I'll wait for you at the office. From Beverly Hills to Burbank... is thirty minutes enough?"
"If traffic plays nice, no problem."
Hanging up the phone, Leon went to the bathroom for a quick rinse.
Even after resting for ten minutes, his legs were still shaky. He walked out and almost collided with Taylor, who was just stepping out.
She was wearing blue silk pajamas, held together only by a sash at the waist. The deep V-neck plunged down to her stomach, offering a peek at her curves. Her face was still flushed from the shower, and she wore a drying cap on her head. She was radiating serious "young housewife" energy.
"I just weighed myself," Taylor complained. "I'm two pounds heavier than last month. This is all your fault!"
"My fault?"
Leon looked confused. Every time they met, it was a cardio workout. He should be helping her lose weight, if anything.
"Who else? All the takeout we eat together... I never see a single green vegetable." Taylor had switched modes entirely, going from gentle lover back to her usual diva self.
"Alright, next time I see you, I'll show you something different."
"Next time? Are you leaving now?"
"Yeah... I have some work to handle."
"You seem busier than I am." Taylor crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Can't you just keep me company today? I only have a few days off before I have to do a dozen concerts."
"I can't. It's important, babe."
Leon touched her cheek, then stepped into the shower, blasting himself with cold water for two minutes.
Taylor leaned against the bathroom wall, watching the whole process.
She sighed, shaking her head. "I made a reservation at a German restaurant. Since you're such a carnivore, I thought you'd like it..."
Ever since Leon and Robbie officially announced their breakup, Taylor stopped being secretive about their dates. In the past, they had to keep their distance at events to avoid the tabloids branding her as the "other woman." Now, even if the paparazzi caught them, it would just be seen as a public confirmation.
"That's sweet of you, babe." Leon stood in front of the mirror, toweling off. "But really, not today. Rain check."
"Fine, I guess that's how it is. Career always comes first for you." Taylor spread her hands. "But I have one demand..."
"What is it?"
"Don't stay at a hotel tonight. I'll be waiting up for you..."
Leon smirked, dressed quickly, and pecked her on the cheek. "Even if you didn't ask, I would've snuck back in tonight anyway."
---
Burbank is located near the Hollywood Hills, only a 15 to 20-minute drive from Beverly Hills.
It is the true heart of the American film industry. In addition to Warner Bros., giants like Disney and other studios have their headquarters here.
Guided by staff, Leon arrived at the President's office on the 20th floor.
The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear Jeff's voice inside.
"Seize the opportunity, Dennings. Not every girl gets a shot like this..."
"If you can make a splash on TV this year, maybe next year we'll put you as the lead in a superhero movie. Wonder Woman would suit you perfectly."
There was a young woman in the office with Jeff.
She had black hair, big eyes, and full lips. But the most striking thing was her figure—specifically, a chest that defied gravity. The buttons on her black shirt looked like they were holding on for dear life.
Seeing Leon appear, Jeff immediately tore his eyes away from the girl.
He adjusted his tie, transforming from a leering old man into an old-school gentleman in a split second, rising from his swivel chair to greet him.
They shook hands.
"It's been about two months, Mr. Leon. I didn't expect you to make such a huge move that would shake the industry in such a short time. The Rap of America is a stroke of genius."
Jeff wasn't exaggerating. Warner Bros. wasn't just a film giant; they had a massive TV production division too. The phenomenon The Big Bang Theory was produced by Warner Bros. Television. Their parent company, Time Warner, owned networks like CNN and HBO.
After The Rap of America blew up, Time Warner summoned all their executives to discuss how to seize opportunities in the streaming era, using Leon's show as a case study.
"Compared to Warner, it's hardly a 'huge move.' Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 2 broke a billion dollars globally. I think the title for this year's box office champion is already locked up."
They exchanged corporate pleasantries, though Leon's eyes kept drifting to the black-haired girl.
She was staring at him, too. Whenever their eyes met, she would lower her head and look away.
"Is this young lady your secretary? It seems you have an eye for more than just movie projects."
"No, of course not." Jeff waved the girl over. "Dennings, come here. Didn't you say you were a fan of Leon?"
She stood frozen, blushing, afraid to meet Leon's gaze. Usually, girls with that kind of... stature... were outgoing, used to being the center of male attention. But she was an exception. Her shyness seemed inversely proportional to her cup size.
"Come here! Damn it, you aren't this quiet on set!"
Only after Jeff swore did she slowly walk over, looking like she had made a major life decision. "Hello, Mr. Leon. I'm Kat Dennings. I didn't expect to see you here. I'm so excited... please forgive my manners..."
"No, meeting such a beautiful lady is my honor." They hugged politely.
Even though it was a formal hug with a solid seven inches of space between them, Leon could still feel the softness. Even someone as curvy as Beyoncé couldn't pull that off.
Jeff handed him a whiskey and sat on the edge of his mahogany desk. "I've never seen Miss Dennings like this. She's usually a tough girl on set. Every actor she works with gets roasted by her... By the way, you can see her starring in a new show on CBS next month."
"Really? What's the show called? For Miss Dennings' sake, I'll definitely watch it." Leon took a sip of his drink, looking at her with interest.
"2 Broke Girls," Kat said. "It's a sitcom. It's my first time playing a lead..."
After a bit of small talk, Leon learned that although Kat was only 25, she, like Amber Heard, had been grinding in the industry for a decade.
Back in 2000, she played a sharp-tongued Jewish girl in Sex and the City. Although it was a small role, her biting delivery made an impression. She later did films like Big Momma's House 2 and Charlie Bartlett, mostly playing rebellious teens or typecast roles.
It wasn't until she was cast in Thor as Darcy Lewis that she really caught the industry's eye. Her beauty and figure in that movie almost overshadowed the lead, Natalie Portman.
"Forgive me, Miss Dennings, I rarely watch superhero movies." Leon took the opportunity to butter Jeff up. "To be precise, I have no interest in Marvel superheroes."
"Haha!" The ass-kissing hit the mark perfectly. "That's why I feel such a connection every time I see you, Leon. We share a soul. Marvel movies are just cartoons for children. They might get lucky once or twice, but they can't succeed forever..."
With Warner's Man of Steel project officially greenlit, the war with Marvel was on. The outcome of this war would determine Jeff's future. Dropping the Superman card early was a decision he had fought the board for.
"Dennings, Mr. Leon and I have some private matters to discuss." Jeff checked his Rolex, dropping a subtle hint for her to leave.
"I understand." Kat picked up her purse from the sofa, walked toward Leon, and stopped. She whispered, "Mr. Leon, could I have your phone number? I know you're a professional investor. I need to know your thoughts on my performance in 2 Broke Girls. It's very important to me."
"No problem." Leon took her iPhone 4.
He entered his number and dialed it.
"Thank you so much!" Kat looked like she'd won the lottery, bouncing slightly in excitement—causing quite a visual reaction.
After she left, the atmosphere in the office turned serious.
Leon crossed his legs and swirled his glass. "Are you really not going to wait for Spielberg?"
"That arrogant man has worn out my patience." Jeff waved his hand dismissively. "He really thinks that without him, no one in this world can bring that movie from fantasy to reality."
"As of now, Spielberg is still your best choice." Leon tried to act less interested in Ready Player One.
It was a fact. His "cheat code" only let him copy Spielberg's answers. Simply copying wouldn't surpass the original creator.
"No, I think you can do better than Spielberg."
"Are you joking?" Leon laughed.
Among the three titans of commercial cinema, not even George Lucas or James Cameron would claim they could leave Spielberg in the dust. They had made historic films, sure, but in terms of total box office achievements, Spielberg was in a league of his own.
"Originally, the board strongly opposed giving this project to you. They demanded I bow to Spielberg and wait quietly for him to finish his other work... Naturally, I couldn't apologize to that arrogant man."
"And then?" Leon asked. "What convinced the board?"
Jeff shook his head, a smirk appearing. "You convinced them."
"Me?"
"Exactly!" Jeff paced around the office. "They thought you were just an outsider who knew nothing about movies, someone who got lucky with Straight Outta Compton... until last week. With The Rap of America, you slapped everyone in the industry across the face."
He paused, then laughed self-deprecatingly. "Including me."
One success could be luck. Consecutive successes proved a pattern.
Leon had struck gold twice in the visual medium—once with the most successful music biopic in history, and again with a variety show that disrupted the entire TV ecosystem. Unless he had a cheat code, no one would believe a singer could achieve this.
"I hope your praise goes beyond just words." Leon chose his words carefully. "Warner's signals regarding Ready Player One have been ambiguous, to the point where I almost lost interest."
"No! This time the company has made its stance clear. We will fully support you!" Hearing the words "lost interest," Jeff panicked slightly. "We will pour resources into this—IP, marketing, everything. You'll get the same level of support as Harry Potter."
It was a string of beautiful promises that left out the two things Leon cared about most: money and copyright.
After a moment of silence, Leon questioned the copyright issue first. "So, what price are you planning to sell the Ready Player One rights to me for? I hope to hear a beautiful number."