NABC Chapter 140 "Farewell Dinner"
Chapter 140 "Farewell Dinner"
Chapter 140 "Farewell Dinner"
"Sh ...
With the final stroke of the pen, Michael Ovitz decisively signed his name on the contract provided by Qin Han.
"Slap." He slammed his pen on the table, then stood up with a smile, smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit from sitting for so long, and nodded slightly to Qin Han.
From this moment on, he was no longer the gofer who served coffee and printed documents at William Morris Agency, but the first and currently only executive agent at Hans Films.
I glanced at my watch; it was 3:40 PM.
Now, if he drives back to William Morris, he can just make it before his supervisor leaves work and throw that resignation letter he's been wanting to smash in his face for ages.
"Clang—" A bunch of keys was tossed next to the contract, pulling Michael's thoughts back to reality.
"You can leave William Morris anytime. My people will submit your resignation letter for you. You just need to go and sign it when you have time. If there is any penalty for breach of contract, the company will pay it for you."
"Now, you need to get into character immediately. Rocky has been greenlit, and Warner Bros. could start casting and filming at any time."
"Peter and Stephen also need to start working on the script. If all this work starts at the same time, the villa will soon be so crowded that there won't even be room to move."
Michael immediately understood his boss's meaning, and his professionalism allowed him to quickly get into the swing of things: "Understood, Hans needs a formal office space."
"Hollywood Boulevard or Beverly Hills area? How big does it need to be? Besides individual studios for a few screenwriters, do we also need small audition rooms and production meeting rooms?"
"The venue size should be chosen based on the standard of being able to accommodate three to five projects starting filming at the same time." Qin Han smiled and gave his plan: "After the venue is finalized, I will draft an invitation for the opening ceremony in the name of Han's Film Industry."
To be honest, in Qin Han's mind, the Han clan should have already chosen a proper venue and held a grand unveiling ceremony.
However, I had too many things to do before and didn't have time to properly choose a place.
Now that we have a reliable assistant, and with the urban legend in Los Angeles about a "mysterious Chinese kung fu organization saving Oscar" gaining momentum, the time is almost ripe.
Once the venue is selected, and some simple decorations and signs are put up, by next week at the latest, Hans will be able to send the invitation to executives of the seven major film studios, well-known directors, actors, and politicians who hold real power.
I believe there should be quite a few people willing to give face to the Han family and attend the event.
"Remember to choose a place where you can lay out a red carpet," Qin Han said with a smile, giving his final request.
Upon hearing this, Michael immediately understood Qin Han's intention: Could it be that the person who resolved the "Oscar bomb crisis" that night was really this young boss in front of him?
Therefore, this is not a simple listing and operation, but a grand show of "riding the wave to ascend the throne".
By leveraging the high-profile repercussions of the terrorist attack that has captured the attention of the entire United States, Hans Films will reap all the benefits of public opinion and seize a brand new seat in the old power structure of Hollywood.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it right away." He immediately straightened his back. "Within two days, I'll have the venue list and invitation list on your desk."
The next morning, Qin Han called everyone to the living room.
Sylvester Stallone, Stephen King and his wife, and the Russell siblings who had just finished training all looked at him with suspicion.
"The Han's organization is expanding, and this villa is becoming too small." Qin Han stood in front of everyone, his gaze sweeping over this group of "Hollywood upstarts" whose fates were about to be changed, and announced with a smile, "The official offices are about to be completed. Everyone, it's time to move out and have your own new world."
This statement is like a pebble thrown into a calm pond.
Sylvester Stallone was incredibly excited: he had been looking forward to this day for a long time. Having a place of his own meant saying goodbye to the past and starting a new life in Hollywood.
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Stephen King awkwardly pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, while Tabitha gripped her husband's arm tightly.
The couple from Maine had a look of longing for an independent apartment in their eyes, mixed with a hint of nervousness about the unknown.
In the corner, Renée Russell stood at the edge of the shadow of the floor lamp.
Her gaze wandered around the living room, finally settling on the beige cushion on the sofa where she often sat: it even bore the marks she had left the night before when she was hunched over reading the script.
Qin Han turned his gaze over, about to speak.
"Honey, I think George and I should stay put for now," Renee said first.
Her voice wasn't loud, but she spoke quickly, as if trying to hide some kind of guilt: "I'm only receiving a basic salary from the company right now. 'Enter the Dragon' hasn't been released yet, and the pay hasn't been distributed. The rent for luxury apartments outside is too expensive, and George still needs to go to school; I can't afford it."
Qin Han looked at her for a few seconds but didn't expose her lie. As long as she asked, the Han family could easily advance her ten years' rent.
"Okay, then you and George can stay in your original rooms on the second floor for now." He nodded readily, then grabbed his car keys and headed towards the entrance: "Sly, Stephen, take your luggage, let's go."
Three large men left the villa carrying suitcases.
Renee stood on the porch of the villa, the warm California morning breeze ruffling her long hair and brushing against her cheeks.
As she watched the taillights of Qin Han's red sports car turn the corner at the end of her vision and disappear from sight, she gently bit her lower lip.
A complex mix of emotions welled up inside her: having been brought here from that slum filled with biker gangs and despair, she had grown accustomed to the warmth and life in this villa, to the aroma of Chinese food wafting from the kitchen, and even more so to the sense of security she felt knowing that person lived upstairs.
Once she moves out, in this Hollywood full of temptations of fame and fortune, and bizarre and dazzling things, she doesn't know if she will still be able to sleep so soundly every night.
A high-end serviced apartment on the west side of Sunset Boulevard.
On the spacious terrace, a strong headwind made everyone's clothes flutter.
From here, the heart of Hollywood is laid out before you, and in the distance, the huge and eye-catching signs of the major film studios gleam in the sunlight, seemingly within reach.
Qin Han leaned against the balcony railing and tossed two bunches of silver keys to Sylvester Stallone and Stephen King respectively.
"The company has already paid six months' rent in full." He looked at these two future pillars of Hollywood and laughed. "This is the last time Han's will act as your babysitter."
"Hollywood never tolerates incompetence. The upcoming rent, high-end steaks, Cuban cigars, and the custom-made clothes you need to change into when you go out—"
Suit----"
"It all depends on the stories and acting skills in your heads. I hope that in six months, I won't see you slinking back to the cold, gloomy East Coast."
Both of them were people who struggled to rise from the bottom, so they naturally understood the meaning behind Qin and Han's words.
Sylvester Stallone gripped the key tightly, a burning desire that seemed capable of devouring everything igniting in his eyes; Stephen King swallowed hard, his eyes behind his glasses, which always held a hint of unease, now filled with unwavering resolve.
As night falls, a Chinese restaurant at the foot of Beverly Hills.
Bruce Lee sat at the head of the round table, chatting and laughing with George; Peter Benchley blended perfectly into the Han family group, elegantly introducing the origin of each dish to Stephen King and his wife, showing off his hastily learned Chinese culture.
Sylvester Stallone devoured a roast goose, praising it highly: Michael Ovitz, who had just finished his onboarding process, sat next to him and became the most active person at the table.
He fully demonstrated the natural social skills of a future super agent, taking good care of everyone's feelings and occasionally throwing out a humorous joke, which made Tabitha cover her mouth and chuckle.
As the banquet drew to a close, Qin Han personally filled everyone's wine glasses with champagne.
All eyes were focused on the young man who had dug them up from all corners and gathered them together at the same table.
Qin Han smiled and turned around, pointing his cup out the window: in the direction he was pointing, Beverly Hills was brightly lit in the night.
"In China, this kind of occasion has a unique name: farewell dinner."
"7
"But even though people have dispersed, their hearts remain connected."
His gaze swept over Stallone, Stephen, and Peter's faces: "Hopefully, it won't be long before we're all neighbors again there—in Beverly Hills."
"I'll definitely complain that the Sly family's lawn isn't mowed properly!"
"Respect to the Hans! Respect to Hollywood! Respect to Beverly Hills!"
"Ding!"
The wine glasses collided in mid-air, carrying with them an unstoppable and overwhelming ambition.
It was already late at night when we returned to the villa in West Hollywood.
Qin Han sat on the sofa, flipping through the list of office space options that Michael Ovitz had given him before leaving the restaurant, under the lamplight.
Suddenly, the wooden floor of the stairs made a few soft creaking sounds.
Renee, wearing a loose cotton nightgown and barefoot, quietly walked down the stairs with the Rocky script in her hand.
Seeing that Qin Han was still in the living room, she quickly turned around, wanting to go back to her room.
"Come down, casting is about to begin. Tell me your thoughts on the script and the character." Qin Han smiled and waved to the girl on the stairs.
Renee stuck out her tongue, sat down on the sofa opposite Qin Han, curled up her legs, and rested her chin on her knees. Her originally bright eyes were now shrouded in a deep sense of dejection.
"What's wrong? Can't seem to get into the flow?"
"Yes, Qin." Renee's voice carried a hint of frustration and defeat.
She tossed the script onto the coffee table and scratched her head in frustration: "The character of Adrian—she's so boring. She's thirty years old and still being exploited like a slave by her brother."
"She didn't even dare to lift her head in the pet store, and she couldn't utter a complete sentence in front of the man she liked. I can't understand this kind of inferiority and cowardice at all."
Qin Han closed the document; this was indeed a problem.
Adrian in the script is the darkest dust of the lower class; while Renee, even though she grew up in the slums, still has the sunny and outgoing nature of a California girl in her bones.
In addition, having to struggle in society from a young age to raise her younger brother, her first reaction to harassment from motorcycle gangs is always to resist, not to compromise.
She needs to understand the pitiful state a girl can be in when facing oppression.
Qin Han stood up, deliberately putting on a stern face. His tall figure blocked the light from the floor lamp that fell onto the sofa, and a heavy shadow instantly enveloped Renee.
An indescribable sense of oppression washed over her, causing Renee to instinctively shrink back, pressing herself against the back of the sofa.
Qin Han walked up to her, looked down at her, and suddenly reached out his hand.
Renee was startled, her eyelashes trembling violently.
However, the hand didn't touch her face; instead, it went straight to taking off the thick, non-prescription glasses she had specially put on to get into character.
"Ah—" Renee let out a very soft gasp, feeling that the lights were becoming increasingly dazzling.
Before she could adjust, Qin Han's fingers ran through her long golden hair and roughly rubbed it a couple of times.
Her once-smooth hair instantly became disheveled, with a few strands falling in front of her eyes, shattering her carefully maintained neatness.
Qin Han walked around the sofa and went behind Renee.
Renee couldn't see him; she could only feel the sofa back behind her suddenly sink.
In the quiet living room, the man's steady and powerful breathing was amplified infinitely.
Renee tensed up instantly. She could clearly feel a warm breath brushing against her sensitive earlobe and slender neck, causing an uncontrollable shiver.
"You think you don't know how to act out feelings of inferiority?" A deep voice whispered in her ear, "Think back to before you were brought to this villa."
"In that dark, damp slum, in that alley you pass through every day on your way home from get off work. When that biker thug named Buck, reeking of cheap beer, corners you against the wall—"
"Think about your situation, Renee. You couldn't look at him, you could only stare at the dirty puddle on the ground. You prayed that someone would appear, but you knew that no one would care whether a factory worker in an eyeglasses factory lived or died."
"That feeling of powerlessness. That cowardice of feeling like an object that can be trampled on at will. That humiliation of rotting in the mud, where even breathing feels superfluous."
Renee's breathing became rapid, her chest heaving violently beneath her thin nightgown, and the vulnerability she had been deliberately suppressing in her eyes surfaced completely like the rising tide.
Her eyes reddened, and tears welled up in them.
Qin Han straightened up, took a half step back, and looked at the girl in front of him with messy hair and timid yet restrained eyes.
"Remember how you feel right now." His voice regained its calm: "You are Adrian."
Without glancing back, Qin Han turned and headed towards the stairs.
Renee sat alone by the floor lamp, still breathing heavily, her rapid heartbeat booming like a drum in the quiet living room.
She stared blankly at the script on the coffee table, her mind a complete mess.
She couldn't even tell whether the feeling that made her tremble and almost suffocate was because she had finally gotten into character and found the soul of the role.
It was still because of that man's extremely aggressive approach.
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