Santa Monica.
In the parking lot outside Daenerys Films' headquarters, Simon and Amy got out of the car. Jennifer and Amy's assistant, Vanessa, stepped out of another vehicle, and the four of them walked into the company building together.
Simon was still discussing the film with Amy. "I've thought about it. Since CAA backed out at the last minute, forget about Robin Williams. Take this script and the outline for that ghost movie of mine, and give them both to Robert De Niro. Ideally, sign him for both projects at once."
Amy confirmed, "The one Bruce Joel Rubin is writing—The Sixth Sense?"
The last time they'd met with Ghost's screenwriter, Bruce Joel Rubin, Simon had been reminded by the story of Ghost and come up with another ghost film—the 1999 box-office hit The Sixth Sense from the original timeline. That cleverly plotted thriller had been the second-highest grosser of the year, behind Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, pulling in over $600 million worldwide—outperforming even Ghost.
Simon nodded. "Yeah, De Niro would definitely be interested in trying out roles like a teacher and a psychologist."
Amy smiled. "Actually, De Niro was my first thought too. But that means both films' budgets will definitely push past $10 million."
Deep down, Simon wanted to break free from relying on big stars, but he knew that with Daenerys Films' current standing, they couldn't challenge Hollywood's traditional rules in the short term.
"Over budget or not, quality comes first no matter what," Simon said, then remembered something else. "The negotiations between the Writers Guild and the Producers Alliance broke down again recently, right?"
"Yeah, looks like another strike this year," Amy replied, understanding his point. "I'll push Robert Harring and Bruce Joel Rubin to finish the scripts for Steel Magnolias and Scream before the strike hits."
Hearing Amy's casual tone, Simon suddenly realized that no one in Hollywood right now anticipated just how severe the upcoming strike would be.
The Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers and the Writers Guild renegotiated their Basic Agreement every three years, and disputes arose almost every time, but they were usually resolved quickly. Aside from Hollywood's first major writers' strike in 1960, which lasted 151 days, the others had been short— the most recent in 1985 had only gone on for 15 days.
But the 1988 Hollywood writers' strike would drag on for 155 days.
Simon had already been considering using this strike as an opportunity to slip in and expand Daenerys Films' television production business. Given Hollywood's current optimism, if handled right, the benefits for Daenerys Films could go far beyond that.
They reached the second floor, and Amy headed to her office with Vanessa.
Simon glanced at Jennifer following behind, noticing her hair was down again today. He recalled how her hairstyle had been switching between loose and ponytail lately, as if she were wrestling with the decision, and teased her with a smile. "Are you starting to change your hairstyle based on your mood, like Amy?"
After spending more time together, Simon had noticed Amy Pascal's little habit of switching hairstyles with her moods.
Jennifer hadn't expected Simon to pick up on such details. Remembering Janet's words from that night, she suddenly thought, He's so awful—he must have noticed.
Her cheeks flushed hot, and unsure how to respond, she simply lowered her head and pretended not to hear.
Seeing his assistant go quiet, Simon didn't press. He just smiled and said, "You should tie it up. I like it when you have it up."
Tie.
Tie it up.
Like riding a horse.
You bastard, don't even think about it!
Jennifer mustered her courage, lifted her head, and shot Simon a glare that lacked any real menace. Instead, she quickened her pace and fled into her office.
Simon watched in confusion as Jennifer shut her office door. He was baffled—it was a casual joke, was it really that offensive?
Arriving at his own office, Susan in the outer room told Simon that Ms. Bigelow had been waiting for over ten minutes.
Pushing open the door, Katherine was seated on the sofa in the reception area, flipping through a script. She wore a deep green military-style jacket, slightly flared jeans, and black high-heeled ankle boots. Even from the side, she exuded a sharp, commanding presence.
Noticing Katherine about to stand, Simon quickly stopped her. "No, stay seated."
Katherine looked puzzled but stood up anyway.
Then.
Her height immediately towered over Simon's. Combined with her outfit, it gave him the distinct feeling of Don't bother asking—I won't say a word even if you beat me.
Ktherine sensed his gaze and awkwardly lifted the script in her hand. "Do you want to take a look first?"
Simon walked over, took the script, his eyes still appraising the utterly unapproachable woman before him. He smiled. "Could you take off the jacket? I'm scared that if I nitpick the script later, you might hit me."
Katherine shot him an exasperated glance but sat back down on her own.
Simon settled onto the long sofa beside her, propped one leg up, and placed the script on his knee. He glanced at the title: Blue Steel. It was the very film from the original timeline that had been Katherine's second theatrical feature after Near Dark.
He wasn't surprised. Blue Steel's screenwriter, Eric Red, had also written her previous film, Near Dark. In their earlier discussions, Catherine had mentioned she was refining this script with Eric Red, though the title had only been finalized recently.
He'd actually seen the movie in his memories, and his strongest takeaway was: This time, absolutely do not cast Jamie Lee Curtis as the lead. Simon appreciated many androgynous actresses, but he always felt Jamie Lee Curtis wasn't androgynous—she just came across as a man.
As Simon opened the script, the office fell silent.
Katherine gazed at the young man's focused profile as he read. After a moment, she snapped out of it, picked up her coffee from the side table, and took a sip. She wanted to strike up some random conversation, ask how he'd been lately or something.
But.
From late October onward, his every move seemed to be in the newspapers.
He'd suddenly made so much money, nearly faced an investigation, and hadn't even gotten a break over the holidays, stirring up trouble for a giant like Motorola.
Little bastard.
And.
He won't even start a conversation.
He's definitely doing it on purpose.
After a moment of silence, she lifted her coffee cup. "Want some coffee?"
Simon looked up. "Sure."
Noticing him eyeing her cup, she suddenly recalled that morning and felt a vague worry he might lean over, snatch her cup, and then... she quickly stood. "I'll get it for you."
At the door, she realized he'd locked the office door behind him—he must have been planning something naughty.
Little bastard.
She muttered to herself again, went to the outer room to brew a fresh pot of coffee, returned to the office, hesitated, then—making up some vague excuse in her mind—locked the door behind her anyway.
She poured him a cup and sat back down. After a thought, she said, "You must be really busy, right? Maybe I should go, and you can just let me know when you've finished reading it."
Simon shook his head. "Not at all. This afternoon is just for you."
Hearing his matter-of-fact tone, she could only pretend to sip her coffee. Then she noticed the obvious mischievous grin on his lips, so she stretched out her leg, lifted the hard heel of her boot, and lightly tapped his toe.
She hadn't put any force into it, but her boot ended up trapped between his feet. When she instinctively pulled back, the black ankle boot stayed behind with him.
Staring at her boot, she wanted to grab it back but didn't dare get closer. Instinct told her that if she leaned in, she might not get away at all.
"You can't do this."
"Hm?"
"I'll tell Janet."
"Hm."
"Give me back my shoe."
"No."
"Little bastard."
"Thanks for the compliment."
They stalemated for a moment. She felt herself getting angrier—yes, definitely angrier—and then she couldn't help but stand up and lean over to snatch the boot back.
Then.
Sure enough, she was caught entirely.
As Kathryn leaned forward across the table, her fingers outstretched toward the errant boot trapped between Simon's feet, a surge of determination propelled her. Yet, in that instant of vulnerability, his hand shot out with calculated precision, encircling her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip. The motion pulled her off balance, drawing her closer until her body hovered mere inches from his. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Simon," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread of protest, laced with the awareness of the boundary she was on the verge of crossing. "This... this isn't right. You're with Janet." Her eyes met his, wide with hesitation, reflecting the internal conflict that warred within her. Janet's image flashed in her mind—her friend, her confidante—making the pull of desire feel like a betrayal. She attempted to retract her arm, but his hold remained steady, not forceful, yet insistent, as if inviting her to surrender rather than compelling her.
Simon's gaze held hers, his expression a blend of mischief and intensity that belied his calm demeanor. He released her wrist slowly, allowing her the choice to withdraw, but instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, exploratory, as if testing the waters of her resolve.
Kathryn froze, her body rigid with indecision. The warmth of his mouth against hers sent a shiver through her, igniting a spark that she had long suppressed. She pulled back slightly, her lips parting to voice another objection, but the words dissolved as his hand cupped the back of her neck, drawing her in once more. This time, the kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips with a subtle insistence. Hesitation lingered in her response; her hands pressed against his chest, not pushing away, but not fully embracing. "We can't," she murmured against his mouth, her voice trembling. Yet, even as she spoke, her fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, betraying the growing surrender.
The internal struggle was palpable—loyalty to Janet clashed with the undeniable chemistry that had built between them. Simon sensed it, pausing to whisper, "Tell me to stop, and I will." His words hung in the air. Kathryn's eyes searched his, finding no malice, only raw desire mirrored back at her. In that moment, the dam broke. She leaned in, her lips meeting his with a tentative passion, her gentleness emerging as she allowed the kiss to unfold at its own pace. Their mouths moved in harmony, soft and exploratory, her hesitation melting into quiet acquiescence.
As the kiss intensified, Simon's hands roamed with deliberate care, sliding up her arms to her shoulders, then down to the zipper of her military-style jacket. He peeled it away slowly, revealing the fitted black turtleneck beneath, which clung to her curves like a second skin. Kathryn's breath hitched, but she did not resist, her gentle nature allowing him to lead while she followed with soft sighs. He lifted the sweater over her head, exposing her lace-trimmed bra, the delicate fabric contrasting against her smooth, porcelain skin. Her beauty in this state of partial undress was striking—her body a canvas of elegant lines, her breasts full and pert, rising and falling with each accelerated breath.
Simon paused to admire her, his eyes tracing the contours of her form. "You're exquisite," he murmured, his voice low and reverent. Kathryn blushed, her gentleness evident in the way she averted her gaze, a soft smile playing on her lips. He unclasped her bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away to reveal her bare breasts, the nipples hardening in the cool air. Her skin was flawless, a soft alabaster glow that invited touch, her figure a harmonious blend of slender grace and feminine softness. Without the confines of clothing, she appeared even more beautiful, vulnerable yet alluring, her gentle demeanor radiating an innocent sensuality that captivated him.
His hands continued their exploration, sliding down to the waistband of her pants. He unbuttoned them methodically, drawing them down her legs along with her panties, leaving her in only the sheer stockings that encased her toned calves and thighs. Kathryn assisted subtly, lifting her hips with a quiet compliance, her movements fluid and unhurried. Now fully exposed save for the stockings, her naked form was a vision of natural elegance: her waist tapered gracefully to hips that curved invitingly, her pubic mound neatly trimmed, leading to the soft folds of her intimacy. Her skin shimmered faintly under the room's light, unmarred and radiant, embodying a beauty that was both ethereal and profoundly human. She lay there, her long hair cascading around her shoulders like a silken veil, her eyes half-lidded with a mix of shyness and emerging desire.
Simon positioned himself between her legs, his gaze locked on hers as he lowered his head. His breath warmed her inner thighs, eliciting a soft gasp from Kathryn. Gently, he parted her legs further, his fingers tracing light patterns on her stockings before venturing higher. His tongue made first contact with her outer lips, a slow, deliberate lick that sent a jolt through her body. She arched slightly, her hands clutching the sofa cushions, her gentle nature manifesting in whispered encouragements rather than demands. "Simon... please," she breathed, her voice a melody of surrender.
He delved deeper, his tongue exploring her folds with expert precision, circling her clit with teasing flicks before applying steady pressure. Kathryn's hips bucked involuntarily, her body responding to the waves of pleasure building within her. He sucked gently on her sensitive nub, alternating with broad strokes that lapped at her entrance, tasting her arousal. Her moans grew softer yet more insistent, her fingers threading through his hair as she guided him with tender pulls. The sensation intensified, a coiling tension in her core that Simon nurtured patiently, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady.
As her climax approached, Katherine's breaths came in ragged gasps, her body trembling under his tongue. "I'm... oh, God," she whispered, her voice shining through in the way she yielded completely. The orgasm crashed over her like a tide, her muscles contracting rhythmically as she cried out, her essence flooding his mouth. Simon lapped at her through the aftershocks, prolonging her pleasure until she lay spent, her chest heaving, a serene smile gracing her lips.
Satisfied with her release, Simon rose, his own arousal evident in the bulge straining against his pants. He helped Kathryn to her knees on the floor before him, her stockings whispering against the carpet. She looked up at him with wide, eyes, her gentle disposition making the act feel intimate rather than hurried. Simon gathered her long hair into his hands, twisting it into a neat ponytail with a makeshift tie from a nearby cord, securing it to give him control. "Open for me," he instructed softly, unzipping his pants to free his erect length.
Kathryn hesitated only briefly, her lips parting as she took him into her mouth. Her movements were gentle at first, her tongue swirling around the head with careful exploration, her hands resting on his thighs for support. Simon groaned, his hand on her ponytail guiding her deeper, setting a rhythm that gradually increased in intensity. She accommodated him with soft, yielding motions, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, her eyes meeting his in silent communion.
As desire built, Simon's grip tightened on her ponytail, pulling her forward to take him fully into her throat. He thrust steadily, fucking her mouth with controlled depth, mindful of her comfort yet driven by need. Kathryn gagged softly at times but adjusted with grace, her nature allowing her to submit without resistance. Saliva glistened on her lips, trailing down her chin as he moved, the sensation of her warm, wet throat enveloping him pushing him toward the edge. "That's it," he murmured, his voice strained. With a final, deep thrust, he came, his release pulsing into her mouth. Kathryn swallowed dutifully, her eyes watering slightly, but she remained composed, pulling back only when he released her.
Panting, Simon drew her up to the sofa once more, positioning her on her back with her legs draped over his. She lay there in only her stockings, her naked body a masterpiece of beauty—her skin flushed with post-orgasmic glow, her breasts heaving gently, nipples erect and inviting. Her curves were perfectly proportioned, soft swells and elegant lines that evoked admiration. Without clothing, she was breathtaking: her abdomen flat yet feminine, leading to the apex of her thighs where her pussy still glistened. Her face, framed by loosened strands from the ponytail, held an expression of serene contentment, her full lips parted in anticipation.
Simon shed his remaining clothes swiftly, his body lean and toned, pressing against hers as he entered her slowly. His cock slid into her wet pussy with ease, filling her completely, eliciting a soft moan from Kathryn. He began to thrust rhythmically, each movement deep and measured, his hands roaming her form. Leaning down, he captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking with firm pressure, his tongue flicking the sensitive peak. Simultaneously, his fingers pinched the other nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, the dual sensations drawing whimpers from her.
Kathryn's hands caressed his back gently, her nails grazing lightly as she arched into him, meeting his thrusts with subtle undulations. "Yes... like that," she whispered, her voice a gentle encouragement. Simon's pace quickened, his hips driving into her with increasing fervor, the slick sounds of their union filling the room. He trailed kisses up her chest to her neck, licking the delicate skin there with long, savoring strokes, tasting the faint saltiness of her perspiration.
Moving higher, his tongue traced the curve of her earlobe, nibbling gently before sucking it into his mouth, sending shivers down her spine. Kathryn tilted her head, exposing more of herself, her breaths coming in soft pants. Finally, he ventured to her armpit, lifting her arm to expose the smooth, sensitive area. His tongue lapped at the tender skin, the intimate act heightening their connection, her body responding with heightened arousal.
Throughout, Kathryn remained gentle, her responses affectionate and yielding, wrapping her legs around him in stocking-clad embrace. Their bodies moved in tandem, building toward mutual ecstasy. Simon's thrusts grew more urgent, his mouth alternating between her nipples, neck, earlobes, and armpit, each lick and suck amplifying her pleasure. She climaxed again, her pussy clenching around him in rhythmic waves, her cry soft and melodic. Moments later, he followed, spilling into her with a groan, their bodies entwined in shared release.
Some time later, on the long sofa, Simon was still in his original spot. Kathryn lay back on the other side, one arm lifted to cover her face, her chest still heaving rapidly. The military-style jacket that had given Simon such an intimidating vibe was off, revealing a fitted black turtleneck sweater. Her feet, now in only sheer stockings, dangled weakly over his lap.
Simon flipped through a few more pages of the Blue Steel script. Once she'd calmed down, he ventured, "Come over to my place tonight?"
"No," Katherine refused instinctively, then added softly after a pause, "With all the people around you... if we get caught, I won't be able to show my face. And Janet."
Simon thought of the relentless paparazzi tailing him and felt a bit frustrated. Hearing Catherine mention Janet, he was silent for a moment. "I'll come clean to Janet. I'm too greedy—I can't be a good man."
Catherine immediately said, "Don't tell her."
Simon replied, "Janet's smart."
Katherine insisted, "Anyway, you can't tell her."
"Fine," Simon said with a helpless smile. "I'm heading to San Francisco soon—for location scouting on Basic Instinct, and some other things. Why don't you come too? If we're careful there, we probably won't get spotted."
Katherine kept her arm over her face and shook her head. "No, I'm not going to help you with something like this."
Simon smiled wryly. "Then what do we do? You don't want to here, won't go to San Francisco, and you're afraid of being seen at my place."
Katherine lightly kicked at Simon's leg. "It's not my problem—this is on you."
Simon couldn't help but tickle the sole of her foot, earning a few more kicks in return. He conceded, "Fine, let's talk about the script instead. What are you trying to say with this story?"
"I don't feel like talking right now."
"Hm, then we won't."
Simon nodded, caressing the calf draped over him, occasionally turning a page of the script, quietly savoring the languid intimacy of the afternoon.
---
[Rome: Hey there, I'm Jerome, the guy handling the R18 stuff for the GodOfReader Team. A month ago, Rengie (Owner of this account and my boss) asked me to jump in on this novel, but I turned it down because this Webnovel account didn't have much of an audience or a strong fanbase yet. I get it, since this was Rengie's first account. On top of that, there wasn't even a Patreon set up, which was a big no-go for me.
But things have shifted now. Out of the 14 fanfic novels we've been working on, six wrapped up last week, so I've got some free time on my hands. I need to hit my monthly quota if I don't want my pay to take a hit, so expect more steamy R18+ chapters like the ones before.
You can even suggest fetishes or specific sex scenes for what's next just drop a $1 or $5 tip (whatever works for you) on Ko-fi.com/GodOfReader, and I'll keep your ideas in mind for the upcoming stuff. Just a heads up, though: no netorare at all. We can't stand that crap, and if that's your thing, well, fuck you.]