*Chapter 188: Kate Beckinsale’s Excitement*

This situation ended up benefiting Wayne.

Originally, he had planned to return home after lunch and continue working on his script. However, because the experience was so enjoyable, he stayed until dinner time. In fact, if he didn’t have to attend the charity auction organized by the Beverly Hills Fire Department and Police Department that evening, he might have stayed the night.

It’s worth mentioning that Kate Beckinsale, who wasn’t supposed to divorce her current husband for another year or so, had already separated from Michael Sheen—perhaps because of Wayne.

Upon hearing this, Wayne didn’t hide his intentions: “In that case, Kate, why don’t you move out? If you want a divorce, I can help you.”

“That would be wonderful! Thank you, darling!”

Kate Beckinsale responded with excitement rather than anger or frustration, clearly showing that there had been no real feelings left between her and Michael Sheen. Perhaps there had never been any love between them.

“I don’t care about the assets. I just want custody of Lily, my daughter.”

“No problem. I’ll have the lawyer do everything they can to help you.”

Wayne readily agreed and handed her the keys to Villa No. 9. This made it even more convenient for him to “have coffee” with Kate Beckinsale.

Nearby, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Téa Leoni couldn’t help but look at Kate with envy.

Hollywood marriages are mostly built on mutual benefits. There may be some emotional attachment, but it’s rarely more than 1%, with most of it driven by desire. At least, that was the case for their marriages.

Now, Kate Beckinsale had become as lucky as Monica Bellucci, finding Wayne, who was near-perfect in every way. It seemed like a dream come true.

“I could do it too, right?” Catherine Zeta-Jones’s eyes glimmered with a hint of desire.

But thinking about Michael Douglas’s influence in Hollywood made her hesitate. Unlike Michael Sheen, who had been a third-rate star for eight years, Michael Douglas was no small figure in Hollywood. Even though he wasn’t as powerful as Wayne, the Douglas family still had its influence in the industry.

What’s more, Catherine had only married Michael Douglas last November, with their grand wedding inviting half of Hollywood’s stars. It hadn’t even been six months, and divorcing so soon could anger the Douglas family and cause trouble for Wayne.

A smart woman wouldn’t make things difficult for her man.

“I guess I’ll have to wait,” Catherine Zeta-Jones sighed inwardly.

On the other hand, Téa Leoni quickly dismissed her thoughts. She knew that Wayne wasn’t the kind of man to settle for just anyone. At almost 35, her looks were already fading, and she couldn’t compare to Nicole Kidman or Kate Beckinsale, whose beauty seemed timeless. In a few years, Wayne probably wouldn’t even look her way.

That thought left Téa Leoni feeling melancholy. But that sadness was quickly shattered by a passionate kiss from Wayne before he left.

“Why worry about all that? Enjoy life while it lasts!” she thought. “I’ve worked hard in this damn Hollywood for so long, and now I’ve got fame, money, and a handsome man to ‘play poker’ with. What more could I ask for?”

As Wayne’s figure disappeared, Téa Leoni couldn’t help but ask, “When will we have coffee together again?”

Wayne paused, gave a gesture indicating he’d call her, and then smoothly got into his car. Under the longing gazes of several women, he drove away from the villa.

The road conditions in Beverly Hills were indeed better than downtown Los Angeles. Around six o’clock, Wayne returned to his estate.

“Sorry, Meta, I’m a bit late,” Wayne apologized.

“I accept your apology, sir. However, due to the time constraints, you’ll need to eat while selecting your outfit.”

Meta, perhaps used to Wayne’s casual behavior in private or simply very composed, showed no sign of irritation or even slight frustration. Her calmness made Wayne feel a little awkward.

“Why don’t you just pick the outfit? It doesn’t really matter what I wear,” Wayne said, already seated at the dining table and digging into his meal. Though, compared to his usual behavior, he ate more politely.

Meta noticed this and finally showed a hint of a smile. After Wayne finished enough to satisfy his hunger, she led him to change into the custom-made suit she had prepared in advance, clearly knowing he would need it.

Half an hour later, dressed in a tailored tuxedo with his hair slightly styled, Wayne was ready. Accompanied by Mia, who was wearing a stunning starry purple evening gown with delicate makeup, they headed to the Hilton Hotel for the charity auction dinner.

“Ah, that Silver Angel—”

“It’s Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne is here!”

“Click, click, click.”

At the hotel entrance, more than a hundred reporters had been waiting, cameras ready. Those in the know immediately recognized the car and license plate, identifying who was inside.

Wayne wasn’t surprised by this. While other charity events might not attract much attention, Beverly Hills’ charity auctions were often attended by entertainment industry elites and politicians. Many of them thrived on media exposure. Even if no reporters were invited, someone would have made sure they were there.

But unlike those who sought the spotlight, Wayne didn’t care for fame or attention. As soon as he stepped out of the car, he ignored the photographers and walked straight into the hotel with Mia, following the usher to the main banquet hall.

The layout was nothing out of the ordinary, much like any other event seen in movies or shows. The hall was divided into three parts: a semi-circular stage at the front, surrounded by tables and chairs, and a free-roaming area near the entrance.

The entire hall was decorated in an opulent French palace style, radiating luxury.

Arriving neither too early nor too late, Wayne saw that many people had already gathered. Unsurprisingly, he recognized at least a third of them.

There was Harvey, Howard Stringer, and Spielberg, as well as familiar faces like Leonardo DiCaprio, Tom Cruise, and Tom Hanks.

Many attendees paid attention to newcomers entering the hall, so once they spotted Wayne, several of them politely ended their conversations and prepared to greet him.

Harvey was the quickest to make his move.

"Hey, Wayne, I knew you’d be attending tonight’s banquet too."

"No choice, gotta pay the 'protection fee' after all."

Wayne joked casually with him, without showing any disdain on the surface.

Of course, what he said wasn’t entirely untrue. If it weren’t for the hefty protection fees, how else would Beverly Hills have the top safety rating and the lowest crime rate in the nation? It's not like ten years later when you’ll see police cars patrolling every street at night.

Right now, the police station has dozens of patrol cars and 30-40 well-trained officers on standby.

Even during the day, any suspicious-looking passerby with disheveled clothes gets eyed and questioned by the police. If it’s a white person, it’s not so bad, but if it’s a Black person or someone of another race, officers often have one hand on their gun, and if there’s any sudden movement, it's the American-style quick draw, unloading an entire clip.

They operate under a "better safe than sorry" mentality—after all, they’re protecting the lives and property of the rich. Even if they make a mistake, it gets swept under the rug.

Take Los Angeles for example—there are frequent news stories about police accidentally killing Black people, leading to protests and demonstrations.

But have you ever heard of that happening in Beverly Hills?

So, that protection fee isn’t exactly for nothing.

"Hey, Wayne, long time no see."

Wayne calmly chatted with Harvey as they walked to a secluded area.

At that moment, DiCaprio and Howard Stringer, among others, also arrived.

It’s worth mentioning that of the CEOs of the Big Seven, only Howard Stringer from Sony-Columbia and Michael Eisner from Disney were invited to tonight’s banquet.

That’s because both of them wield far more power than the typical CEO at their respective companies.

Take Paramount’s Sherry Lansing for example—she’s really just an employee. For a high-end charity banquet like this, someone of her level wouldn’t even get an invite.

On the other hand, Spielberg, a renowned director who holds a third of DreamWorks’ shares, was invited, despite Paramount’s ongoing efforts to suppress him.

"By the way, I looked into that thing you asked me about," DiCaprio suddenly lowered his voice after a bit of small talk.

"Oh? Which company and how much?" Wayne raised an eyebrow and asked.

His tone was casual, as if he didn’t care if anyone overheard. After all, buying a modeling agency isn’t exactly shady business. If Boss Xu could start a dance troupe across the Pacific, why couldn’t he run a modeling agency in America?

"One is a New York-based company with 32 models, three of whom are top-tier. They’re all under four-year contracts, and the asking price is around $4.8 million."

"The other is based in Los Angeles, with 47 models, though none are top-tier. You could probably buy it for about $3 million."

Seeing Wayne’s nonchalant response, DiCaprio continued without holding back.

In the modeling world, the gap between top-tier models and the rest is enormous in both income and fame, which directly affects the value of their agencies.

On the side, Howard Stringer and the others, curious about Wayne’s next big move, couldn’t help but chuckle when they heard this. They hadn’t expected Wayne to be interested in buying a modeling agency, but considering his style, it wasn’t all that surprising.

"Have them send me the photos and profiles later."

"Got it!" DiCaprio grinned, flashing his signature mischievous yet charming smile.

"But I’ve done you a huge favor here~~~"

"Don’t even think about it," Wayne immediately cut him off. "I’m already planning to rename the company ‘Wayne’s Secret Garden,’ so how about I make you the lead actor?"

Everyone’s interest was piqued at that comment.

DiCaprio raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You’d really give me a cut of the box office?"

Wayne rolled his eyes and replied bluntly, "Dream on. No one gets a dime of box office revenue from a Hemera Productions film."

"..."

DiCaprio was left speechless.

The others, already familiar with Wayne’s ‘rules,’ could only twitch their lips in response.

"But I could offer you a lead role in a series as big as Mission: Impossible or The Bourne Identity, or in a critically acclaimed, box-office success that could help you win an Oscar."

"Of course, the paycheck wouldn’t be low—$40 million, making you the first actor in the world to get that much for a single film."

"Hiss—"

Everyone gasped in shock.

If anyone else had made such a claim, they’d dismiss it as bragging, even Spielberg.

Spielberg could certainly produce a high-grossing franchise, but guaranteeing both box office success and Oscar potential? That was a different story.

Not even James Cameron could promise that.

But if it was Wayne saying it, the group found it much more believable.

DiCaprio, hearing this, held his breath, his eyes lighting up.

"Come on, do I even need to think about it? Of course, I want the role that’ll help me win Best Actor. I’m not interested in an action franchise."

DiCaprio made his intentions clear, speaking quickly.

"Alright, but if you win the award, you’ll owe me three movies, and you’ll play whatever role I say."

"No problem! Three movies, no sweat!" DiCaprio agreed without hesitation.

For him, nothing was more important than earning that Oscar on his own merits.

But he underestimated Wayne’s audacity.

"Good, three it is."

"..."

(End of Chapter)