Golden sunlight danced on the balcony, which was covered with lush green vines. Waiters in shirts and suits skillfully navigated through the crowd, carrying four-tiered dessert trays. The air was filled with a lazy and relaxed atmosphere; it was morning after the party, and time seemed to slow down.
Finally, the waiter stopped beside a table near the window, brought his legs together, and bowed slightly.
"Mr. Starr."
After a polite greeting, a tanned face wearing sunglasses looked up and nodded slightly, covering the phone's earpiece and stopping the conversation. Only after receiving permission did the waiter put down the dessert, carefully arranging the table setting before bowing again and silently leaving.
At this point, Darren Starr put the phone back to his ear.
The sunglasses were to prevent the sunlight from hurting his hungover eyes, and also to prevent acquaintances from coming over to say hello—
This was a tacit signal: now is not a good time, so even if you see me, please pretend you didn't and leave.
At least, that's how it is in Hollywood.
"David, don't think I don't understand your plan. You know, I know, and I don't mind. For Anson, this is indeed an opportunity, but you should know that we need to take a risk. After all, that's Brad Pitt. In fact, we can completely do Brad a favor, which can not only clear up misunderstandings, but also expose your plan to Brad. Then, we will become friends with Brad."
"Oh, Darren, dear Darren, you shouldn't treat me like this. Have you forgotten? In the beginning, I agreed to your request without any hesitation."
"Yes, of course I haven't forgotten. So, aren't I talking to you now? As for Brad, honestly, I haven't decided whether I should call him yet."
Darren was not anxious or nervous, maintaining a steady posture. After a brief period of chaos and haste, he immediately grasped the key point.
On the other end of the phone was David Klein.
Was it unexpected for David Klein?
No.
Before making the call, David Klein had already anticipated this.
Perhaps Darren's business operation ability was slightly inferior, but Darren's negotiation and public relations skills were definitely top-notch. Even when facing HBO executives, Darren's silver tongue could still shine.
Nevertheless, David Klein couldn't help but complain, "Ha, you old fox. God! Honestly, do you owe Anson's parents some kind of favor debt?"
"That's my business. But David, let's be frank, this matter is good for you, for me, for Anson, and for everyone. We are very willing to cooperate."
"That would be great. What are we discussing now?"
"Some returns. David, if this matter succeeds in the end, what kind of numbers are you seeking? You shouldn't be preparing to leak some information, right?"
"Jesus Christ. Darren, you are ruining Anson's career prospects."
"No, I'm not greedy. My requirements are very simple, you know, public relations, reporting, promotion, and of course, Anson's salary."
Back and forth, a battle of wits.
The entire confrontation had already exchanged multiple rounds of offense and defense in the blink of an eye.
Then, David Klein heard a key point, feeling somewhat helpless and amused. He looked up at the sky, paused for a moment, "…The current numbers aren't enough?"
"Thank you for the compliment, the feeling is mutual."
"Fine. I understand—eighty. Darren, if you dare to say one hundred at this moment, I will hang up the phone right now."
Here, eighty does not mean eighty million dollars, but "eighty thousand (80,000)," which is eighty thousand dollars.
In a flash of insight, David Klein judged the situation, decisively gave a number, and promptly cut off Darren's path to further bargaining.
Darren was also able to perceive David Klein's decisiveness, and immediately swallowed the "one hundred thousand dollars" that was already on his lips, knowing when to stop and accept the offer. "Happy cooperation."
Seeing Darren agree so readily, David Klein's suspicion arose instead, "Damn it… I can trust you, right? You'll also mobilize your public relations resources, Darren. I need the momentum of that force."
Darren didn't explain further; one sentence was enough. "David, I said, happy cooperation."
"Happy cooperation."
Pa—
The words did not continue, and the other end of the phone had already been hung up.
Darren glanced at the phone screen before realizing that the sunglasses were blocking his view, making it unclear. He lowered his eyes and looked over the frame of the glasses.
Indeed, it was hung up.
However, Darren didn't mind; the smile on the corner of his mouth gently turned upward.
David Klein needed his cooperation and help, revealing the entire plan. Darren understood immediately, grasping his old friend's underlying motives.
Thinking about it carefully, this matter was beneficial to the "Friends" crew and to Anson. Moreover, Darren could also do David Klein a favor, not only avoiding having to repay the favor of arranging Anson's audition in the first place, but also waiting for David Klein's future returns. The transaction was definitely worthwhile.
What's more, if "Friends" could break the salary structure, it would also be a good thing for "Sex and the City."
In Darren's view, David Klein was indeed formidable—
An opportunity, an accident.
In fact, it wasn't a big deal at all, but David Klein captured the connection between things, not only being decisive but also making quick decisions.
He had courage and魄力 (pò lì - boldness).
Of course, Darren was not to be outdone, assessing the situation and completing the judgment in a flash, keeping up with David Klein's train of thought, and maximizing the benefits for Anson and himself on the spot. At most, a phone call lasted less than five minutes, but the two top producers had already completed their confrontation and cooperation.
As Darren said, happy cooperation.
Buzz. Buzz buzz buzz.
Outside the door, there was a burst of engine roaring.
Darren subconsciously looked out, and not only him, but also the guests who were enjoying brunch looked outside inquisitively.
The newcomer was not a sports car.
In Los Angeles, all kinds of sports cars emerge endlessly. For tourists and citizens, they are still attractive, and they are keen to inventory the luxury cars on the streets. But for bigwigs in the industry like Darren, sports cars have long lost their appeal, as they are all the same anyway.
Unless it's limited edition.
And in front of them, it wasn't.
At this time, what appeared in front of them was a motorcycle.
If there were professionals on the scene, they would be able to tell at a glance that this should be the BMW R1200C that once appeared in "Tomorrow Never Dies" as 007 James Bond's ride.
Competent, concise, and dashing.
Parking, turning off the engine, the man in the leather jacket stepped down nimbly. A pair of long legs were particularly eye-catching, and his tall, slender figure with well-proportioned and sturdy lines shone brightly under the golden California sun, easily causing a stir on the scene.
Even Darren was no exception. He originally had no interest at all, but still looked over.
Then.
The man took off his helmet, raised his hand to tidy up his messy golden-brown short hair, and the smile on the corner of his mouth bloomed in the sunlight, instantly stealing the breath of the entire room.
"Hey, Uncle Darren."
