"OK, I'll have the driver take you back." Leon snapped his fingers casually, summoning the crew driver.
Dennings' eyes were already glazed over, and every smile was accompanied by the trembling of her chest.
All the details made it clear that something was going to happen with him tonight.
Leon had never tried what this size felt like, although it wasn't hard to find even more ridiculous sizes in New York nightclubs.
But Dennings' body had the advantage of being pure, natural, and additive-free.
"No, I want you to take me back." Anya's voice wasn't loud, but her tone was firm.
"Why?"
"Recent news says there's a pervert in red clothes haunting Buffalo, often stalking girls at night... I'm a little scared."
"Alright." Leon curled his lip, immediately realizing something was wrong—didn't this girl say she had never been scared by any horror story?
He couldn't be bothered to continue guessing Anya's thoughts, pulled his arm out from under Dennings' longing gaze, and sent her back to the hotel.
The next afternoon, Leon, who had just gotten off the plane, went straight to Apocalypse Music, yawning sleepily in his swivel chair.
Elsa pushed the door open and walked into the office, holding a thick stack of financial documents.
In December, funds from many projects Leon invested in were returning one after another. The final box office share of Straight Outta Compton arrived after a long audit by KPMG.
As the main investor, he received $9.1 million.
"The agency's account has received endorsement fees from Coca-Cola, Gillette, and Tesla, totaling $8.1 million," Elsa reported while organizing the documents.
Apocalypse Music's revenue in December would reach $6 million, with King Von's new song Panda contributing a significant portion.
Robbie's Faded, after selling for more than a year, was still hanging around the 30th spot on the Billboard, and the record sold well in Europe and Australia.
After deducting the singers' share, company personnel expenses, and various miscellaneous expenses from the $6 million, not much net profit was left.
"$1.4 million." This was the figure Elsa gave.
"Very good."
Leon stretched on the swivel chair, enjoying the pleasure brought by money.
The current financial situation was very healthy. Two weeks ago, he used the $1.5 million won from Las Vegas plus $4.5 million in personal expenses to buy a batch of Tesla stocks.
After buying the songwriting copyrights for five of Whitney Houston's works, offsetting income and expenses, the net income was $5.6 million.
Total liquid funds reached $86 million.
In his Merrill Lynch account lay 178,000 shares of Tesla stock. Calculated at the current price of $46 a share, the total value reached $8.2 million.
Excluding these incomes, the earnings from Lion's Den Media, Apocalypse Apparel, and the sales share from Columbia Records were not yet included.
Stringer suggested distributing the money after the Christmas holiday, which would save a lot of work.
Leon had no objection to this.
"Tax season is coming in four months; you have to prepare in advance," Elsa reminded him.
"Damn it..."
The IRS tax hammer was about to smash down again, which meant Leon had to allocate assets more reasonably in the remaining four months.
Use all means, such as converting personal income tax into capital gains tax, to legally avoid taxes.
The ultimate goal was to suppress the tax rate he should bear to be lower than that of the average middle class.
"Help me call Bonnie in."
Thirty seconds later, Bonnie walked in wearing ten-centimeter high heels.
Her tight skirt barely covered her perky buttocks, and the reflection of her black stockings was shiny and eye-catching.
She didn't look like a serious company assistant at all, but more like a streetwalker cosplaying as a white-collar worker.
"Your dressing style is getting bolder and bolder, as if we're back in Brownsville," Leon teased.
"Because I'm recording a vlog, 'A Day in the Life of a New York White Collar Girl.' Fans like to see me dress like this." Bonnie pursed her lips and pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses.
The expression seemed to say: Not only do you have fans, but I also have a large number of followers on YouTube.
Leon shook his head and smiled slightly, bringing the topic back on track. "How are the talks about radio station Z100 going? Did iHeartMedia reply to our email?"
"Not optimistic. I think you should give up." Bonnie sighed.
"Give up? Tell me why."
"Jay-Z has already offered $70 million for Z100. Are you going to match it?"
With traditional media channels shrinking day by day, the valuation of Z100 was around $40 million.
Jay-Z was willing to be that sucker for only one reason—he didn't want to see New York music radio monopolized by Leon.
However, for Leon, if he achieved his expectations at such a price, he would become a veritable fool.
"As I said before, we also offer $70 million."
"Fine, although I don't know what the point of doing this is." Bonnie spread her hands.
"You'll know soon..." Leon curled his lip into a wicked smile.
With the Christmas holiday approaching, the nuclear bomb in his hand had entered standby mode.
It was time to open his heart and have a good talk with Beyoncé.
While the two were chatting, Phil pushed the door open and walked in. As soon as he entered, he was attracted by Bonnie's hot buttocks.
He said in a hoarse voice, "Oh my God, I can't imagine what you look like bending over to pick up documents. No wonder those new male interns don't dare look you in the eye."
Puffy eyes, emaciated body, dark spots appearing on his face.
Phil looked worse and worse. Success in his career made him overdraft his body even more unscrupulously.
Satisfying his spiritual emptiness with bitches, alcohol, and all-night partying every day.
"Go to hell, bastard."
Bonnie raised her finger painted with red nail polish and made an internationally standard gesture.
"Hahaha, your strict look reminds me of my mom." Phil sat down on the sofa. "You occupy three seats in the Billboard top five. Is there anything you can't do? Jay-Z can only rage incompetently on social media. You did what he failed to do."
"Not Like Us is on fire. Look at its current heat; analyzing the lyrics of this song has become a discipline."
The physical record of Not Like Us had not been officially released, so it had not officially landed on the Billboard charts yet.
But its discussion level was already higher than any work on the Billboard.
There are two types of diss tracks: one is completely piled up with profanity, intimidating and suppressing opponents with the gangsta momentum of the work.
The other is to expose the opponent's scandals and scars through various word games to break their defense.
Not Like Us fused these two forms and achieved a perfect balance.
"I didn't write this song for some stupid revenge, but to shut those idiots up."
Leon shrugged, unable to hide the smile on his face.
Within two hours of the release of Not Like Us, Jay-Z, Lil Wayne, and Drake closed the comment sections of all their social accounts in unison.
Among them, only Jay-Z, driven by the vanity of the King of the East Coast, quietly reopened the comment section at midnight.
Unsurprisingly, it was immediately captured by the firepower of netizens.
Music fans gave full play to their imagination to create, and the image of "Cuckold" successfully made him break out of the circle in this beef.
At nine o'clock this morning, Jay-Z, unable to bear the humiliation, finally responded.
The tweet sampled the clown's opening line in Not Like Us—[I see dead people]
Revealing a clear threat to personal safety.
"It's hard to imagine what the scene will be like when you meet at the Grammy Awards ceremony next February. Just don't get into a fistfight." Phil shook his head with a wry smile. "2012 is an election year. Don't cause any negative news at this time... By the way, you can already consider which side to stand for."
"Do you think I have a choice?" Leon felt that the other party obviously hadn't figured out the situation yet.
The American entertainment industry has long been a supporter of the Democratic Party. They believe that more open and diverse policies are conducive to industry development.
Stars who make money like printing it have no mind to pay attention to the real life of the bottom class.
They open their mouths with grand narratives such as environmental protection, equal rights, and ethnic integration.
But around the millennium, the Democratic Party's advantage in the entertainment industry had not yet formed a dominant position.
There were still many old-school tough guys like Sylvester Stallone and Mel Gibson standing firmly on the side of the Republican Party.
The already unbalanced situation tilted completely with the occurrence of the "Diddy sex scandal"—there were few voices supporting the Republican Party in the entertainment industry.
"There is a ninety percent probability that Barack will be re-elected in next year's general election." Phil suggested, "After the Grammy Awards, you have to make some time. Even if it's just for show, campaign properly for Barack starting from the primary stage."
The Republican Party's presidential candidate with the highest voice within the party this year is Massachusetts Governor Willard Romney.
From a political family, highly educated, elegant and decent in speech and behavior, as if carved from the same mold as the Bushes.
Compared with Barack, who is young, smokes weed, and comes with noble black-gold skin, Willard is too "mediocre."
In the current social environment, mediocrity is original sin.
"You don't need to remind me of this at all." Leon sighed.
As long as the presidential primary starts next January, calls from Charlie's office will assign him propaganda tasks on time.
Unless an extremely small probability event like the Democratic Party losing the election occurs, Leon will have to be controlled by Charlie all the time.
For the Republican Party to defeat the Democratic Party, which is good at manipulating public emotions, relying on a "good boy" like Willard is impossible to succeed.
To turn the tables in a desperate situation, unless a black swan event sufficient to change history occurs—"An unexpected wondrous person appears, leading the Republican Party to defeat magic with magic."
As soon as Phil left, Leon took out his phone and made an appointment to meet Beyoncé.
She happened to be at Columbia Records right now, preparing for the next album with Stringer.
After hanging up the phone, he immediately put on his coat and took the stretched Bentley to Columbia Records.
Knock knock—Leon came to Stringer's office door and knocked.
No response.
He turned to ask his secretary, "Is Mr. Stringer not in?"
"He just left five minutes ago. Mr. Stringer's schedule is very busy every year from the Christmas holiday to New Year's Eve." The secretary said, "But Ms. Beyoncé just left instructions; she is waiting for you in the dance studio."
"Dance studio?"
Leon straightened his lapel and walked towards the dance studio.
The door to the mirrored practice room was ajar, and Beyoncé was twisting her body under the guidance of a dance teacher.
A layer of fine sweat beads floated on the back of her neck, and her amber skin glowed seductively under the ceiling light.
"One... Two..."
"One... Two..."
Beyoncé beat the rhythm for herself, her black nylon bodysuit wrapping around the outline of her ample chest.
Her waist and abdominal muscles showed obvious lines with her breathing, and her hip bones propped up two sexy arcs at the edge of her low-waisted hot pants.
"Damn..." Leon leaned against the door, unable to help blurting out black slang.
The reason Beyoncé could be the first to wear the Diva crown in the fierce competition of the new generation was her hot dance moves, in addition to her excellent singing skills.
Even with a group of professional dancers with deep skills standing behind her, she was always the most outstanding one.
The choreographer suddenly turned off the music, and she maintained a kneeling position on one knee, panting.
The muscles at the junction of her buttocks and thighs were still trembling slightly.
Clap clap—Leon couldn't help applauding, immediately attracting Beyoncé's attention.
She flung her dark golden long hair and turned her head abruptly, almost blurting out, "Sweetheart..."
"Shh..."
Leon quietly put his finger to his lips and winked in the direction of the choreographer.
Beyoncé immediately understood, waving her hand to order all unrelated personnel to leave.
"You haven't called me for a long time."
Leon carefully observed the surroundings and didn't see any cameras, so he felt relieved to put his hand around her waist.
The unique smell mixed with perfume, hormones, and sweat went straight from the nasal mucosa to the brain.
Dopamine secreted crazily.
"Aren't you and that girl Taylor preparing to get married?" Beyoncé looked resentful. "The past is the past, the present is the present. I don't want to be a bad woman who destroys other people's relationships."
Such a scandalous thing as cheating was justified by her so grandiosely.
"Getting married? No one can say for sure about the future. I just want to know how you are doing recently?" Leon's fingers ran through her blonde hair.
"Terrible. I tried to talk to Jay-Z, but that bastard perfunctorily brushed me off every time. His mind is full of beef with you."
"Sorry, I didn't expect Not Like Us to have such a big impact on him." Leon suppressed his laughter.
"No, it's not your fault. You should write a song specifically for that bastard to diss him properly!" Beyoncé gritted her teeth, her lips trembling slightly. "Sometimes I really want to write a song myself to curse that bastard!"
Beyoncé releasing a song to diss her husband Jay-Z, the most influential couple in the entertainment industry tearing each other apart publicly.
For a moment, Leon had the urge to write a song for Beyoncé to help her realize her dream. He dared not imagine how huge the traffic would be.
"Alright, what do you plan to do next?" Leon asked tentatively.
Whether the tape in his hand could exert the expected lethality depended entirely on her attitude.
If Beyoncé chose to swallow her pride and stay silent, the exposure of the tape would at most make Jay-Z bear infamy for a while.
There are too many scandalous affairs in the entertainment industry; the storm would pass quickly.
"I don't know..." Beyoncé held her head, her face full of struggle. "My family advised me not to be impulsive. Since the scandal between him and Rachel hasn't been exposed, then maintain the superficial decency."
"What if it gets exposed?" Leon blurted out in excitement.
"What?"
"I mean what if. You know those damn paparazzi are more numerous than rats in the sewer." Leon switched to a serious expression. "Although the probability of this happening isn't high, you have to come up with a response strategy in advance. I'm worried you'll get hurt."
"Thank you. You are the one who truly cares about me." Beyoncé's heart completely melted, collapsing in his arms and drawing circles with her finger.