The fight had been going on from the start, and Landon was forbidden to move.
So Landon behaved himself from the very beginning, never lifting a finger—he literally didn't move at all.
Of course, lying there eating grapes was still pretty comfortable.
Just someone who's lousy but addicted to the game.
Loves to provoke, yet folds at the first real hit.
In the end Landon had to take the initiative himself; once he did, the gap in strength showed.
Anyway, Landon was left helpless.
Every morning when he opened his eyes, the scene was enough to set the imagination running—only total anesthesia left him with no way out.
Landon wondered if, long-term, this nerve would die from overuse.
So life isn't all sweetness and pleasure; there's pain as well.
Who could know the pain that comes after pleasure?
He slipped out carefully, finished washing up and warming up, then started his run.
He was curious—and looking forward to—whatever stunt Cameron might pull today.
Jogging along the community path, he rounded a bend and spotted the three familiar figures.
The female bodyguard behind Cameron tilted her head and murmured something; instantly the trio slowed.
As Landon approached from behind, they simply stopped at the roadside to wait.
Cameron turned, a dazzling, sunny smile blooming across her face.
'Hey, Landon! Morning! Fancy meeting you again—what a coincidence!'
Her voice was bright, delighted.
Coincidence? Landon smirked to himself; the staging was obvious.
He kept it off his face, returning a friendly grin. 'Morning, Cameron. Foot all right?'
'All better—thanks to your help yesterday.' She winked and naturally fell in step beside him.
'Mind if I run with you for a bit? Solo laps get dull.'
The two bodyguards drifted back a few paces, giving them space.
'Not at all.' Landon adjusted his cadence to match hers.
He was quietly curious.
He remembered that, at this point, Cameron Diaz should still have a boyfriend—Jared Leto, the actor-musician who'd later front Thirty Seconds to Mars and play the Joker in Suicide Squad.
He also knew that after splitting with Cameron, Jared would date Scarlett Johansson for a while.
In 1999 he'd cameo in Fight Club as Angel Face.
Right now, though, the band was obscure, his fame dwarfed by Cameron's star power.
By the timeline they should still be together—so why was she free every dawn, engineering these 'chance' meetings?
She talked easily as they ran, letting details slip.
'…charlies angels is basically in the can—just looping, maybe some reshoots, posters, trailers. Finally room to breathe.'
Her tone was light, satisfied after a big project.
'That film's got huge buzz.' Landon kept it polite.
'Hope the audience likes it.' She turned, blue eyes smiling.
'Speaking of which, Landon—I recognized you. I saw that Marie Claire issue; the cover was gorgeous.
But I prefer you in the Delmont ads—sunlit, energetic, with a gentle something I can't name. Very handsome.'
So the superstar had spotted him; Landon felt self-conscious—those were his only two credits worth noting.
Yet her tone felt almost like flirting. A flicker of unease stirred.
He hesitated, then tested, 'I heard your boyfriend… Jared's band—how are they doing? Must be busy.' He watched for her reaction.
Sure enough, Cameron's stride hitched, barely perceptible. She recovered quickly, but her voice cooled. 'Him? Still grinding sets in restaurants and tiny venues, I suppose.'
Understanding clicked in Landon's mind.
This 'strong woman, weaker man' couple might not be as blissful as the press assumed.
Her sudden interest could be more than curiosity—perhaps retaliation after a fight, a search for novelty.
Only later would he learn that last week she and Jared had exploded at each other; a frustrated Cameron had stormed out for a run, spotted the one guy who'd ignored her charms, and her competitive spark had flared.
And so the 'americas sweetheart' zeroed in on him while her relationship was on the rocks.
Landon himself couldn't say why he let her get close.
Maybe her open admiration was hard to refuse, maybe the ego boost of a top star's attention, or maybe a Hollywood contact never hurt.
He told himself it was only jogging and small talk—keep distance, avoid the paparazzi, no big deal.
Today Cameron had derailed his pace—and she'd already set tomorrow's run date.
Meeting her expectant gaze, he couldn't bring himself to say, 'I might be busy.'
'All right, see you tomorrow.' He nodded.
Cameron's grin widened; she waved and left with her guards, looking pleased.
Back at the villa Tracy and Rachel were up, in comfy loungewear at the dining table, simple breakfast and steaming coffee waiting.
'You're back—sit, the bacon's getting cold,' Rachel called.
Sometimes Landon felt he'd slipped not into Hollywood but into the Tang dynasty—return to find two gorgeous blondes waiting on him.
Over breakfast Tracy outlined the day.
'This morning I'll take the WMA contract team straight to Neal Moritz and Universal Pictures to hammer out the fast and the furious deal,'
she said, sipping coffee, eyes sharp.
'They're positive on our back-end proposal, leaning toward one of two structures:
One: a million flat plus a million in box-office bonuses;
Two: half a million flat plus one-point-five in bonuses.
Today we lock the model, the tiers, the accounting periods—every last clause.'