"Anson, Anson, this is 'America Weekly'..."
"Little Frank William Abagnale, look over here!"
"Anson Wood!"
As Anson walked down the red carpet, media outlets on the left side shouted frantically, trying to catch his attention using various keywords in an attempt to make this superstar pause for a moment.
Then—
"Lucas!"
A call that was very, very unexpected caught Anson's ear. He looked in the direction of the voice and instantly recognized a familiar face.
It was Nicholas Flynn from The New York Times.
Anson immediately realized he'd fallen into a trap, unwittingly stepping into Nicholas's ploy.
Other reporters around him looked puzzled, their eyes quickly darting between Nicholas and Anson as they tried to decipher the meaning of "Lucas" and why it made Anson stop.
A faint smile appeared on Anson's lips as he looked at Nicholas, casting a knowing glance his way.
Nicholas got the hint and didn't make any further moves, only tightly closing his mouth:
"Don't worry, the secret is safe with me."
Anson was well aware that his family information wouldn't stay private for long; if the media were determined, they'd dig it up. But he still hoped to keep them in peace for as long as possible.
"Hey, Nick."
Anson greeted him, and the surrounding looks of envy and jealousy instantly engulfed Nicholas like a storm, making the air feel as though it was about to ignite.
Nicholas didn't have time to pay attention to others. He quickly threw out his question, "How does it feel to attend the Golden Globes for the first time?"
Anson relaxed, standing there with a casual and dashing presence that easily captured attention. The flashbulbs went off like a waterfall, and the camera shutters nearly drowned out the screams of the audience.
— "Anson, marry me!"
A gut-wrenching scream tore through the heated atmosphere.
This scene made the smile on Anson's face widen. He raised his voice and replied, "Please wait for me at the City Hall for a bit."
Ah, ahhh.
Ah!
Screams spiraled out of control, and the entrance to the Hollywood Hilton Hotel seemed to turn into scorched earth.
Drawing his gaze back, the surrounding reporters whistled and joined in the fun, making it difficult for Anson to speak without being interrupted.
After a brief pause, Anson was finally able to respond. He lightly shrugged and spread his hands, "A little nervous. I'm just trying to find a place to stand here."
Relaxed, at ease, and poised.
That's Anson. But then again, considering his first time on the red carpet at the Emmy Awards, where he showed unparalleled grace and poise, it shouldn't be surprising or remarkable now.
Nicholas wasn't surprised, nor did he have time to be. He knew he had to seize the moment. "So, do you have a feeling you might win tonight?"
"After all, at the Emmys, you won on your first nomination."
"Hah," Anson chuckled softly. "That probably used up all my luck."
"No, I don't think the award tonight is going to be mine. I just want to enjoy the party. I heard the Golden Globes buffet is delicious."
As humorous as ever, there wasn't a trace of tension.
Nicholas could see the reporters around them itching to move, each trying to grab his attention.
Here, The New York Times didn't hold an advantage. Nobody cared.
So, Nicholas had to act fast and cut straight to the point.
"Anson, there are rumors you turned down 'Ocean's Twelve.' Was it because of Brad Pitt or Matt Damon?"
Bombshell!
Anson could immediately feel the heat wave on his skin, almost burning, which made the smile on his face reach his eyes.
"Is it my imagination, or did the space within five feet just go silent?"
This was the reality. Everyone—reporters and staff alike—held their breath. Even the approaching TV camera crew froze like a game of statues.
Everything seemed to pause—
Tense, anxious.
But Anson found it amusing.
He poked through the tension.
The reporters realized they'd been holding their breath, and laughter filled the air, a bit awkward yet unavoidable.
Then.
"Actually, it was because of George Clooney."
Anson gave a different answer.
He knew the reporters wanted to probe into his relationship with Brad and Matt. All three would be present at the awards tonight, and every move would be scrutinized. Anson's answer would set the tone for the evening.
But it seemed Anson didn't grasp the subtext, offering another explanation.
"Obviously, George thought I was too young to pull off the charm of a black suit. I completely disagree, but I will defend his right to express his opinion."
Hah.
Laughter erupted.
On the poster for "Ocean's Eleven," George, Brad, and Matt were all dressed in sleek black suits. Anson was making a joke about that—
A complete fabrication.
Anson didn't hide his nonsense, yet he cleverly turned the topic back to himself. And with the final remark, the humor hit just right.
Moreover, Anson never directly answered.
Nicholas noticed this slippery behavior and prepared to press on. But this time, he lost his chance as the NBC live team showed up.
Everyone wanted Anson, including the TV stations.
Irenne Haynes, dressed in a light purple gown, approached elegantly. The camera focused on Anson, and she called out to Nicholas.
"Sorry, but can we borrow Anson for two minutes?"
Nicholas: Ha. No.
If he had actually said no, it would have been hilarious. But he couldn't; he had to give NBC some face.
Grinning, a fake smile plastered on his face, he nodded as he watched the TV station swoop in.
Not just Nicholas, but the other reporters rolled their eyes.
The camera didn't catch it, but Anson didn't miss it. The sight made his smile fully bloom.
Irenne gazed at Anson, feeling a bit dizzy—
The suit was tailored to perfection, not a stitch too much or too little. The fine fabric wrapped around his body, outlining his muscles.
From a distance, his lean figure gave off a pale, slender vampire-like vibe. But up close, it was different; the muscular tension stretched the fabric, sending out waves of raw, powerful energy that made hearts race.
Perfectly fitting.
Only then could one fully appreciate the charm of the outfit.
Or rather, the chemistry of it being worn by Anson.
No wonder the fans at the front of the red carpet were all in a daze.
Even Irenne momentarily held her breath, her mind blank for a second, completely captivated by Anson's charm.
Fortunately, Irenne didn't get completely lost. She managed to regain her composure.
"I can't believe what I'm about to ask, but who made this suit?"