"You need to think this through!" Harvey Weinstein's voice was cold as he stared at James Wan in the living room of a luxurious suite at the Hilton Hotel. "Are you really going to refuse to work with Weinstein Company?"
James Wan didn't answer immediately. He looked at Harvey Weinstein, whose domineering expression and contemptuous gaze were easy to find irritating.
Indeed, in front of Harvey Weinstein, James Wan was just a small-time director without any real leverage. But the person he had backing him wasn't just anyone!
Compared to Harvey Weinstein's demeanor, who wouldn't prefer to work with someone like that?
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Weinstein," James Wan said, trying not to offend such a big shot while also remaining firm. "I already have a partner, and I've made a commitment. We've even signed a preliminary agreement."
Harvey Weinstein was very optimistic about the project. When he first saw the script and proposal, it gave him a feeling similar to when he first saw Scream.
Considering the massive profits the first Scream movie generated, how could he easily let this one slip away? Even with the risks involved, a $1.5 million investment was nothing to him and was well worth the gamble.
"It's just a preliminary agreement," Weinstein said dismissively, waving his hand. "Any damages for breaking it will be covered by Weinstein Company and Dimension Films. You don't need to worry."
Once again, James Wan tried to be polite. "Mr. Weinstein, I'm sure we'll have opportunities to work together in the future."
Weinstein understood the underlying message and narrowed his eyes, asking, "So you're refusing?"
Back when he was interested in Scream, even Wes Craven wouldn't have dared to refuse him like this.
"Think it over carefully. I'll be back tomorrow, and I hope you'll have made the right decision," Weinstein said, standing up abruptly.
James Wan was momentarily stunned, unsure of what Weinstein meant by that.
While he was still confused, Weinstein walked towards the door. James Wan quickly stood up to follow him.
Weinstein pulled open the door, turned around, and pointed at James Wan. "You stay here and think it over."
James Wan instinctively stopped in his tracks.
Weinstein then walked out and slammed the door behind him, clearly not in a good mood.
"What's he playing at?" James Wan scratched his head. "There's a beautiful woman waiting for me downstairs!"
Thinking of Rose Byrne made him feel warm inside. He decided to ignore Weinstein's words and headed towards the door. Weinstein might have a lot of influence in the independent film scene, but James Wan had the support of Matthew Horner. Worst case, he could just leave the indie scene altogether.
Images of Matthew and Anne Hathaway flashed through his mind. Thinking about how Matthew was still hitting on women even during the Oscars, James realized that was the role model he should be following. How could he waste a precious evening stuck here?
Rose Byrne was still waiting for him downstairs.
At the door, James grabbed the handle and tried to open it, but the door wouldn't budge.
"Huh?" He was puzzled. He tried again, but the door still didn't move. "What's going on?"
James Wan looked down at the lock and suddenly recalled Weinstein's parting words. He quickly realized: that damn fat guy had locked him inside!
He took a step back, his already dark complexion growing even darker.
Weinstein was just too overbearing!
James Wan returned to the living room and sat on the sofa, realizing that he was essentially being held captive. Technically, what Weinstein had done was illegal.
Calling the police? Not the best option. He was just a small director, and fully antagonizing Weinstein would do him no good. Plus, if Weinstein dared to pull this stunt, he probably wasn't worried about the consequences.
Calling the hotel? He looked around and found that there was no phone in the room.
After searching the suite, James Wan suddenly remembered hearing stories about Weinstein frequently inviting actresses to hotels under the guise of discussing roles and work. Perhaps Weinstein had deliberately removed the phone from the room.
It was highly likely that actresses had encountered similar situations before...
Most people, considering their careers and futures, might choose to stay put, even if they didn't agree to work with Weinstein, simply waiting for someone to unlock the door the next day.
Directors or actors of his caliber rarely dared to openly clash with Weinstein.
There were rumors in the industry—some actresses who had been forced by Weinstein chose to remain silent, afraid to speak out. Hollywood had always had a dark side that avoided the light.
If James Wan didn't have a powerful backer, he might have chosen to endure it as well. After all, spending a night in the room wasn't the worst thing. Surely, Weinstein wouldn't try anything further...
But as he considered this, James Wan shuddered. The idea was too terrifying, too disgusting.
The possibility, though small, still existed. Who knew if Weinstein, after so many years of women, had developed a new taste? After all, hadn't the legendary fashion emperor become gay in a similar way?
It was best to leave as soon as possible.
James Wan, thinking clearly, knew he couldn't go up against Weinstein alone. He needed to call in the big guns for this.
So, he pulled out his phone and called Matthew.
In the banquet hall, the atmosphere at the "Oscar Night" party was buzzing. With dinner over, the place had turned into a social hub, with men seeking women, women seeking men, and even some looking for the same sex.
Some people were networking for work, but most were just looking to enjoy a great night.
The atmosphere of the Hollywood scene easily influenced individuals within it. Many people who were relatively conservative when they first entered Hollywood eventually became well-known playboys or playgirls.
The more you hear, see, and experience, the less you care about it.
Everyone was living the high life, so why be the sober one?
Matthew certainly didn't want to be the only one sober when everyone else was drunk. His goal was to be the object of everyone's envy.
Under many envious gazes, he led Anne Hathaway out of the banquet hall.
After their late-night meal, both had drunk quite a bit, and with alcohol and hormones coursing through them, there was no hiding the flames of passion in their eyes.
This was Oscar night, a night full of passion. How could passion be absent?
Matthew pulled Anne Hathaway out of the banquet hall and, as soon as they turned into a quieter hallway, eagerly pressed her against the wall. They began to kiss passionately, not caring about the occasional passing waiter.
"Princess Anne," Matthew said, pulling back slightly. "You're irresistible."
Anne Hathaway was too breathless to respond.
Matthew grabbed her hand and started leading her forward. "Come on! Let's go upstairs!"
Anne Hathaway's red gown had been tugged askew. She quickly adjusted it as she followed Matthew, asking as they walked, "Aren't we going to your place?"
"That would take another ten minutes," Matthew said, glancing back at her. "Do you want to wait that long?"
Anne Hathaway shook her head quickly. "I can't wait."
They turned into the elevator lobby. While waiting for the elevator, Matthew called the hotel. Since he was a regular, he easily secured a luxury suite.
After hanging up, he kissed Anne Hathaway again. "Don't worry, darling. We've got the whole night and all of tomorrow."
The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. They were the only two in the elevator.
Anne Hathaway glanced around, then moved into the blind spot below the camera. She stared at Matthew and said, "I heard you had an elevator rendezvous on an Oscar night before?"
Matthew didn't deny it. "That was a long time ago."
"Ah..." Anne Hathaway's voice was drawn out. "It was with Scarlett Johansson, wasn't it?"
Her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she whispered, "Matthew, I'd like to try that too."
"Gladly," Matthew said, moving closer.
Although he noticed the camera, he didn't plan to do anything too wild, just like he had with Scarlett Johansson years ago—just a tease, nothing more.
Anne Hathaway looked perfectly proportioned, but she had a large frame, the epitome of a typical American bombshell.
However, she often liked to drape herself in a veneer of British elegance, sometimes even speaking with a fake British accent.
Neither of them were saints. By the time the elevator reached the floor where Matthew had booked the room, their clothes were nearly in disarray.
Matthew had heard that Anne Hathaway, in her rush to shed her teen idol image, had started shedding her clothes at a rapid pace in her movies. For a teen idol trying to transition to more serious roles in the indie film scene, where the boundaries were more flexible, disrobing faster was the only way to showcase her art and acting skills.
From the "Dream Princess" to "Fantine," she had taken a sharp turn from the traditional idol path to the rebellious, intense roles, mostly by stripping down on screen to show off her acting chops.
Matthew had been particularly struck by a scene of Anne Hathaway in Brokeback Mountain years ago.
Back then, he could only watch, but now he could finally see how it felt.
After all, you don't get an Oscar without taking it all off. Rose might have had enough weight to sink the ship, but the role that won her Best Actress this year still involved stripping.
As they exited the elevator, Matthew hoisted Anne Hathaway over his shoulder. Taking the key card from a surprised bellhop waiting by the elevator, he strode towards the room he had booked.
But before he had taken many steps, his
phone rang.
Matthew ignored the call. At this moment, nothing mattered more than what he was about to do. The ringing stopped, but as he reached the door, a text notification came through.
Setting Anne Hathaway down, Matthew swiped the key card to open the door and quickly pulled out his phone to check the message.
It was from James Wan, and it only had two words: Save me!
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