1106-1110

Chapter 1106: Something's Fishy

*“So, when do you have time? I think we should sit down and discuss the specifics of the contract.”*

On the other end of the call, Edgar’s voice was upbeat and relaxed, brimming with enthusiasm.

However, to Mangold’s ears, it felt scorching, sending his thoughts into a chaotic whirl. He couldn’t make sense of anything.

Click.  

Mangold hung up the phone abruptly.

He blinked a few times and looked at Kitsch.

Kitsch, jaw almost hitting the floor, stared at Mangold in disbelief. He tried to say something but found his voice stuck.

Finally, Kitsch shot him a scathing look that screamed: What did you just do?!  

Mangold took a sharp breath. “What did I just do?!”

But now what?

Edgar was ready to move forward with negotiations, while they were still stuck in the underground parking lot of Sony Columbia. What could they possibly do?

Mangold’s mind was a complete mess; all he could think of was to bury his head in the sand like an ostrich.

Kitsch looked like he was on the verge of passing out, his head slamming back against the seat in frustration.

But there was no time to breathe. The phone rang again.

“Ah!”

Mangold saw the caller ID—it was Edgar calling back. The sight gave him the chills, as if he were in a horror movie. Instinctively, he threw the phone aside.

Kitsch couldn’t believe his eyes. “God, what are you doing? Edgar’s going to get suspicious!”

Mangold held his breath. “Then what should we do?”

Kitsch snapped, “Stall him. We need to come up with a plan.”

Mangold hesitated. “What if… we just tell the truth? Maybe he can come up with a solution. After all, Anson has the leverage to push back against them.”

Kitsch frowned. “If we tell Edgar now, it’s as good as picking sides. We can’t afford to take sides yet—we need to get our heads straight first.”

Kitsch felt like he was suffocating. Even now, he wasn’t sure if partnering with Mangold had been the right move.

Years ago, Mangold had shown interest in the project, persistently circling around Kitsch and Johnny Cash, pleading to join. But Kitsch was never satisfied with him. If it hadn’t been for desperation, he wouldn’t have reluctantly turned to Mangold for help.

Looking at Mangold now, flailing around like a headless chicken, Kitsch regretted his decision yet again.

But now wasn’t the time for regrets. “Answer the phone and keep Edgar calm. We can’t let him catch on,” Kitsch said, forcing himself to stay rational.

Chaos. Panic.

Neither of them could think straight, and the confusion was bound to lead to mistakes. Kitsch was right—they needed to get their act together.

Taking a deep breath, then another, Mangold finally composed himself. He picked up the phone again. “Hey, Edgar.”

“The call got cut off earlier,” Edgar said, sounding a bit puzzled.

Mangold scrambled for an explanation. “Yeah, we’re in a tunnel. The signal’s terrible.”

Kitsch gave Mangold a thumbs-up. Nice save!

Sure enough, Edgar didn’t seem suspicious. “You’re driving? Sorry about that—let’s make this quick. I wouldn’t want you getting pulled over by the cops.”

Mangold forced out a laugh. “Ha… ha. Yeah. Let’s set a time to meet. I’ll have my assistant contact yours?”

“Of course. I’m free today and tomorrow, so let’s finalize something soon,” Edgar replied smoothly.

Mangold panicked. Today or tomorrow? That soon?  

“Uh, we can’t make it these two days. We, uh, need to tweak the script a bit. You know, we’re always aiming for perfection. Let me check with James on the progress and get back to you?” Mangold managed to squeeze out an excuse.

“Sure, no problem. Take your time. Anson’s looking forward to seeing the updated script. Just let my assistant know when you’re ready to meet,” Edgar said cheerfully.

After a few more polite exchanges, the call finally ended.

Mangold let out a long sigh of relief. A two-minute call had left him drenched in sweat. Turning to Kitsch, he broke into a goofy grin.

Kitsch rolled his eyes but reluctantly gave Mangold a high-five. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

They’d dodged a bullet—barely.

On the other end of the line, Edgar hung up but kept the receiver in hand, deep in thought. His mind raced.

Something wasn’t right.

Truth be told, Edgar had his doubts about Walk the Line as a project. However, he trusted Anson’s judgment. This could very well be the breakthrough they needed to shake things up.

As a seasoned agent, Edgar knew the brutal reality:

Movies? They mattered—absolutely. But at the same time, they didn’t. Awards season was a PR game. Even a mediocre film could sway the tides with the right campaign. After all, it wasn’t a meritocracy.

Otherwise, how could Shakespeare in Love have beaten Saving Private Ryan?

Edgar’s role was to handle the chessboard while Anson focused on acting. Walk the Line had potential—no doubt about it.

But that phone call?

Mangold and Kitsch had been desperate to bring Anson on board. Now that he’d agreed, why were they suddenly so hesitant?

And the excuse was the script? A script that had been passed around Hollywood for a decade, with Kitsch refusing to make any changes? Now they were suddenly open to revisions, without Anson even asking?

And the tunnel? If they were really in a tunnel, where were the telltale background noises of engines and airflow?

No, it wasn’t a big deal on the surface. But the small inconsistencies hinted at something deeper. Edgar’s mind whirred, piecing together clues.

What could possibly be going on?

Even if Kitsch and Mangold had found a better option, they could have just rejected Anson outright. They hadn’t even reached formal negotiations yet—changes during development were perfectly normal.

Then why all the secrecy?

Could something unexpected have thrown them off?

As Edgar’s thoughts raced, one possibility started to form—a crazy one.

A tunnel?

There was a tunnel near the Sony Columbia offices in Los Angeles. And with all the recent internal turmoil and political maneuvering within Sony Columbia, the pieces seemed to fit.

It might all just be a coincidence. But if it wasn’t…

No hesitation. Edgar picked up the phone again and dialed a number. This time, it was Sony Columbia’s office.

“Hey, David, how’s your day going? Busy as usual?”

Chapter 1107: Daring to Act

After hanging up the phone, Edgar sat still, carefully analyzing the situation.

Conversations like these rarely go straight to the point. Instead, they subtly capture fragments from seemingly mundane moments, piecing together clues to predict the storm brewing beneath the surface.

James Mangold and Jim Ketch had just shown up at Sony Columbia. While their purpose wasn’t explicitly clear, they entered the conference room and emerged less than five minutes later.

The atmosphere felt a little odd.

Then, Mangold abruptly ended the call with Edgar.

If—this is merely a hypothesis—Sony Columbia's CEO Michael Lynton views Anson as a pivotal pawn, keeping Anson tied down might mean restraining Amy Pascal as well.

Could Walk the Line be used as a tool in this game?

After all, Walk the Line isn’t exactly a top-priority project. Perhaps, Michael Lynton doesn’t see any real potential in it. He might consider the project unworthy of investment, aiming to kill it off as a way to weaken Amy Pascal’s position. Anson might simply be an excuse to ignite the situation.

Reflecting on it, Walk the Line has been stuck in limbo for over a decade without entering actual production. If Michael wants to act, this project seems like a logical place to start—discrediting Amy as someone who "keeps making poor decisions" while subtly taking a jab at Anson as well.

This situation is... intriguing.

Initially, Edgar assumed he would agree with Michael, encouraging Anson to step back and rid himself of this unpredictable project.

But after considering the potential dynamics, Edgar found himself siding with Anson instead.

The core reason lay in the fact that Michael was, at his heart, a businessman. His approach to movies followed a project manager's model—analyzing objective conditions on paper and using data to predict success or failure. However, Michael lacked an understanding of films themselves.

Michael’s strength lay in his logical and rational approach to running a top-tier company. But his weakness was his ignorance of filmmaking. Movies aren’t just numbers, and countless films that should succeed based on analysis have failed miserably. While market trends offer some guidance, the heart of the matter always lies in the film itself.

The key is balancing these two perspectives.

Edgar trusted Michael's judgment, as he leaned in that direction himself. But he trusted Anson's intuition more, especially after the events surrounding The Princess Diaries 2. Edgar believed he should stand by Anson this time.

So, what should they do?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Edgar’s fingers lightly drummed on the table as his brain raced, evaluating various possibilities and solutions.

Finally, Edgar picked up the phone and got to work.

After dialing several numbers, Edgar made one final call.

As expected—

No answer.

Edgar wasn’t surprised. This silence only confirmed his suspicions.

He dialed again, but this time, the call went to voicemail.

Without leaving a message, Edgar hung up and tried a third time.

Finally, the call connected.

“Hey, Edgar, sorry—I’m driving,” Mangold's voice quivered slightly, laced with hesitation and unease. His attempts to sound cheerful were betrayed by a nervous undertone.

Edgar remained composed. “Still stuck in that tunnel?”

No tunnel in Los Angeles could take thirty minutes to navigate. In reality, Mangold and Ketch were still in Sony Columbia’s underground parking lot, scratching their heads and unable to figure a way out.

Mangold let out an awkward laugh. “No, no, we’re out now.”

Edgar chose not to expose the lie and cut straight to the point. “Director, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve discussed collaboration with the production company but haven’t signed an agreement yet. Is that correct?”

The implication was clear.

First, Edgar avoided directly naming Sony Columbia.

Second, he emphasized the phrase “haven’t signed an agreement.”

Mangold, though flustered, caught the subtext. Nodding quickly, he confirmed, “Yes, we’re still in discussions.”

Edgar acted oblivious to the tug-of-war between the two Jameses and Sony Columbia. “That’s great to hear. You know, Anson truly loves this project and is genuinely looking forward to bringing this role to life.”

“If necessary, Anson is willing to help connect the team with additional investors.”

Mangold’s eyes lit up, and he turned sharply to look at Ketch.

Ketch, unaware of the conversation, stared back, confused.

Mangold switched the call to speakerphone as Edgar’s voice continued.

“...Anson has experience as a producer and understands how tricky negotiations between directors, producers, and film companies can be. It’s never simple.”

“All we want is to create an excellent film. But film companies only care about production costs and box office returns.”

“Take Walk the Line, for instance. To the companies, it’s just a headache. They don’t care about Johnny Cash or June Carter. Those are just relics of history to them. All they see is a movie that looks like it won’t sell.”

“This is a disaster.”

On the other end, Ketch was moved to tears. All his frustrations and struggles over the years seemed to find an echo.

“Of course, we could approach Focus Features or Fox Searchlight. Biopics fit their market, but they come with their own headaches. They demand scripts crafted to the Oscars' mold, which is another disaster.”

Ketch nodded furiously, finally feeling understood.

“If it’s Anson, he respects the uniqueness of each project—each script, director, and actor. Instead of forcing them into the Hollywood formula, he allows them to grow naturally.”

“So, Anson would be happy to recommend you to a new production company. It’s Silicon Valley money—lacking experience, or rather, completely inexperienced. But precisely because of that, they trust producers and directors, leaving the professionals to do what they do best.”

“If you’re interested, I can share their contact information.”

From start to finish, Edgar avoided mentioning Sony Columbia’s internal struggles or the potential pressure on the two Jameses. Instead, he subtly provided a solution, respecting their pride while offering a way forward—

A masterstroke.

(Chapter End)

*Chapter 1108: Irrelevant*

Negotiation and manipulation are skills that require finesse.

If Edgar had straightforwardly exposed Mangold and Keatscher's predicament and bluntly gone straight to the point, he might have still achieved his goal. After all, the two Jameses were unlikely to refuse Edgar’s olive branch. However, adopting a high-and-mighty stance while directing the conversation often leaves a sour impression—

Just like Sony Columbia.

Such an approach might sow the seeds of discord, leaving an unresolved tension that could become a ticking time bomb in future collaborations. No one would know when or how it might explode.

Yet Edgar didn’t take that route.

Instead, he was amiable, engaging in light-hearted conversation, like a warm and comforting quilt.

His words set Keatscher's heart aflame with excitement and gratitude, eager to repay this act of kindness with unwavering loyalty.

At this point, it was Mangold who remained slightly rational—

Could it really be such a coincidence that a pillow would arrive just as they felt the need for one?

This was Hollywood, after all. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. The more perfect something appears on the surface, the more likely it is to hide a trap.

But Mangold wasn’t foolish enough to blurt out every thought.

When he spoke, it was with caution. “Isn’t this a bit too sudden?”

Edgar chuckled lightly, “Sudden? Director, are you sure about that?”

The comment was dripping with hidden meaning.

Mangold’s heart skipped a beat: Could today’s negotiations with Sony Columbia have leaked? Impossible, right?

Keatscher shot Mangold a stern glance. “No, no, no, not at all. In fact, this is perfect timing. Our negotiations have hit a snag. Clearly, there are disagreements regarding the film’s positioning and script details.”

“Recently, the director and I have been discussing whether we should revise the script or start exploring other production companies that truly respect us.”

“After all, like Anson, we hope to produce a great film that reintroduces the charm of Johnny Cash to the world.”

Mangold was winking furiously from the side, unable to suppress his unease—

Indeed, Keatscher and Mangold had just been debating whether to approach other production companies. Now that Anson was nearing confirmation, the project’s weight had increased. If Sony Columbia wasn’t interested, perhaps others might be.

Edgar’s offer came at just the right moment.

But what if Edgar introduced them to a disreputable company? What if it turned out to be a scam? At least Sony Columbia had its standards; switching to an unknown company was much riskier.

Mangold still found the situation strange.

However, Keatscher couldn’t wait, fully under Edgar’s spell.

Ignoring Mangold’s warning glances, Keatscher declared, “So, of course, there’s no issue. We’re open to all possibilities.”

Over the phone, Edgar’s soft laughter echoed. “Heh, great. No problem. I’ll send you their contact information shortly. You can set up a meeting yourselves.”

“Oh, by the way, his name is Wood. Lucas Wood.”

Before Keatscher could respond, Edgar hung up.

Keatscher looked at Mangold. Mangold looked at Keatscher. Both were stunned.

---

In Hollywood, projects are discussed every single day. Deals worth $50 million or even $100 million are casually tossed around. Names like Julia Roberts and Tom Cruise dominate conversations, exuding an aura of invincibility, as if towering above the world.

Amid this bustling environment, Walk the Line seemed almost negligible—

Low budget. Biographical film. Award-season bait.

It focused on Johnny Cash, a country music legend from the ’60s and ’70s, who lacked the enduring influence of icons like The Beatles, Elvis Presley, or Bob Dylan.

Truthfully, the project garnered very little attention.

A slight oversight could see it swept away in the tide, vanishing without a trace.

Yet Michael McCusker had been quietly following the project’s developments.

McCusker hesitated, unsure if he should keep tracking it. Perhaps Michael Lynton, busy as he was, had already forgotten about it. Still, since this was an assignment from the CEO, McCusker decided it was better to report back.

If the boss didn’t care, he could let it go. But failing to report, only for the boss to remember later, could spell trouble.

Thus, McCusker knocked on Michael Lynton’s office door.

Though both shared the first name Michael, McCusker dared not address his superior so casually.

“Mr. Lynton, I just wanted to inform you that Walk the Line has been signed.”

Michael Lynton paused briefly. “What?”

As expected, he didn’t remember.

McCusker explained, “The Johnny Cash biographical film, with Anson cast as the lead. You’d previously said it wasn’t suitable—”

Michael finally recalled. “Ah, that project. I remember now. So, it’s been signed? Amy Pascal pushed for it personally?”

“No, no, no,” McCusker shook his head vigorously. “Not with us.”

“After the producers reviewed their options, they approached 20th Century Fox and another independent company I’d never heard of. They’ve been in talks with both.”

“Rumor has it Fox was very interested and even entered detailed negotiations, but their team ultimately rejected it.”

McCusker added as much detail as he could to highlight his diligence.

Michael tilted his head. “Oh? So they signed with the other company?”

“Yes, a new company with no experience. Rumored to have Silicon Valley funding,” McCusker clarified. “Sorry, I couldn’t completely stop them.”

Michael waved it off nonchalantly. “No need to apologize. We have no grudge against that project, so there’s no need to destroy it.”

“Hollywood is vast. There’s always some fool willing to invest.”

“I just didn’t want her using this project to further Anson’s influence on the board. Honestly, I think she’s grasping at straws now, desperately clinging to Anson as her last hope. So, I cut that lifeline. The rest will be easy.”

McCusker nodded, pretending to understand, and offered a few flattering remarks.

Then he asked, “So, about this project… Should I keep monitoring it?”

Without even looking up, Michael said, “Ignore it. Let it sink or swim on its own.”

“A Johnny Cash biopic? Anson’s first attempt at a dramatic role? Haha, it might just turn into the biggest flop of the century.”

Dismissive and indifferent, Michael never once took Walk the Line seriously—nor did he regard Anson highly.

To him, the real targets lay elsewhere. Why waste energy on the small fry?

With that, Michael patted McCusker on the shoulder.

“Well done.”

He offered the compliment and prepared to move on.

It wasn’t until a moment later that Michael realized McCusker was still standing there. Casually, he glanced up.

“You can leave now. Don’t you have more important things to do?”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 1109: Calm and Unruffled

McCusker tiptoed as he retreated from Michael Lynton's office. Carefully closing the door with respect, he finally let out a long-held breath.

That’s it?

Apparently, Michael had long since put Walk the Line out of his mind, barely sparing it a second thought. All the while, McCusker had been obsessing over it for no reason.

On second thought, the project wasn’t all that special. Hollywood churned out similar biopic projects daily, with less than 1% actually making any waves.

Daydreaming about "biopic-driven awards glory" was a pastime anyone could indulge in. It didn’t cost a dime or require effort—just a generous imagination.

And Anson taking acting seriously?

Ha.

Just picturing it sent shivers down McCusker’s spine, goosebumps erupting wildly. He quickly dismissed the mental image.

No, he shouldn’t let his mind wander like that. Definitely not.

Turning around, McCusker strode away, determined to forget the matter entirely.

It wasn’t just Michael and McCusker; Hollywood at large felt the same way—

Walk the Line caused no ripples whatsoever, disappearing like a stone dropped into the ocean.

Last year, when Anson starred in The Elephant, the media had initially made a fuss, ridiculing his painfully obvious and overzealous attempt at reinvention. The absurdity of it was almost laughable.

But in the end, they all got slapped in the face.

Of course, some stubborn critics clung to their opinions, insisting that The Elephant winning the Palme d’Or was entirely Gus Van Sant’s achievement and had nothing to do with Anson. He was still just a pretty face.

When news broke that Anson had officially been cast in Walk the Line, Hollywood didn’t even bat an eye. By now, his attempts to break free from typecasting and reinvent his image were old news.

Why pay attention? Let the pretty boy do his thing.

No mockery, no criticism, no attacks—nothing.

To Hollywood and the media, the real headline would be Anson returning to commercial blockbusters. Another biopic role? Not newsworthy.

The inevitable outcome: failure, right?

Lately, the buzz across Hollywood wasn’t about Walk the Line but the tantalizing rumor that Anson might play James Bond in 007. Now that was exciting.

Realistically, Anson had nothing to do with James Bond—he wasn’t British, was only 21 years old, and was still tied to his Spider-Man persona. He didn’t fit the role at all.

Yet, the media was in a frenzy, and fans couldn’t stop talking.

TMZ even compiled photos of Anson’s Cannes red carpet looks, proclaiming him potentially the most handsome, dashing, and fashionable Bond in history.

Fans eagerly agreed.

On online forums, some die-hard fans created mock James Bond movie posters featuring Anson. Seven posters in total caused a sensation, spreading rapidly amid widespread acclaim.

Even the media took notice.

Eventually, American Weekly purchased the posters at a high price, featuring them in their latest issue, further fueling the Bond rumor mill.

Who cared about Anson starring in a biopic? 007 was the real deal!

Amid this whirlwind of hype, Walk the Line faded into obscurity, much like Sandra Bullock’s role in Murder by Numbers.

Such was the challenge and growing pains of a pretty face trying to reinvent themselves.

People held rigid, stereotyped perceptions, boxing actors into specific roles. Every new venture or risky challenge faced immense pressure.

Before the project even began, it was already deemed a disaster. The chorus of voices cried out, "Why bother? Stick to being a pretty face."

If The Elephant had it rough, Walk the Line seemed to be sinking even further.

It was hard to tell whether The Elephant winning the Palme d’Or was a blessing or a curse.

Yet for Kitcher and Mangold, none of that mattered. The only thing that did was this: Walk the Line was finally moving forward.

With the lead role locked in, they could begin auditions, select filming locations, and set the production schedule in motion.

Finally!

After a decade of twists, turns, and relentless effort, the project had taken its most challenging and crucial step. Kitcher and Mangold were nearly in tears.

In this sea of overlooked news, one small yet significant detail was buried:

"Walk the Line officially signed with Forest Pictures, with the studio taking on production duties."

Forest Pictures? Who?

Nobody cared. This was Hollywood, where new hopefuls entered the scene daily, dreaming of a piece of the fame-and-fortune pie, while countless others closed up shop. Such comings and goings were so routine they went unnoticed—

Unless, of course, someone came in with a $10 billion bankroll. That might merit some attention.

In short, yet another fledgling studio had quietly taken its first steps in Hollywood.

---

Ding.  

The supermarket doors slid open, and a man in a black shirt and dark cowboy hat stepped out. A bulky black guitar was slung over his shoulder, and he carried two plastic bags as he strolled leisurely toward the parking lot.

Three seconds later, the doors opened again.

A woman dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, with a crisp, casual look, stepped out. Wearing a baseball cap pulled low, her chin tucked inward, the shadow of the brim obscured most of her face. Empty-handed, she quickly scanned the area before lowering her head again.

“Sorry…”

An elderly man pushing a cart approached, and she stepped aside, murmuring an apology.

When she looked up again, the man in black was nowhere to be seen in the parking lot.

Panicking, the woman jogged toward his car—

It was still in the lot, but the driver’s seat and interior were empty.

She froze, processing the situation. Then it clicked:

A trap.

As she turned to run, she saw the man in black standing by the tailgate of a nearby pickup truck, smiling at her.

Caught red-handed.

Embarrassed, the woman’s mind raced, searching for an escape.

But the man spoke first.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Witherspoon. Fancy seeing you here at the supermarket. Shopping for essentials too?”

The polite, gentlemanly tone carried an undeniable hint of teasing, as if he were a cat toying with a mouse.

(To be continued...)  

Chapter 1110: Secret Admirer

“Damn it!”

Reese Witherspoon realized her cover was blown. Worse, the man in black before her might have known all along.

That overly polite greeting? Clearly mocking her poor stalking skills.

“Hell!”

Unable to hold back, Reese swore under her breath.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and squinted at the man before her, scanning for a way to turn the situation around.

Regaining her composure, she quipped, “Everyone says Anson Wood is a perfect gentleman, but who knew he had such a wicked side?”

The man in black was indeed Anson.

A sly smile tugged at Anson’s lips, but he didn’t deny it. “We both know Hollywood rumors can’t be trusted. Otherwise, none of us would have a good reputation.”

Anson? A pretty face.

Reese? Barbie doll.

Hollywood gossip wasn’t kind to either of them.

Reese quickly pieced it together—Anson was teasing her in his own subtle way. Raising her chin slightly, she asked, “When did you notice me?”

Anson sidestepped the question. “Does it matter?”

Reese frowned, annoyed. “Of course, it matters. If you’ve been mocking me this whole time without my knowing, that’s not exactly a good look for me.”

Shrugging lightly, Anson said, “Then let’s just say it was just now.”

Reese caught the underlying sarcasm. Definitely not "just now." She sneered, “What’s this—sympathy for the weak? Gentlemanly pity?”

Anson simply smiled. “Trying to shift the focus, are we? Making this about me? Isn’t the real issue your stalking?”

“So, I’ve got myself a secret admirer now?”

For the past week, Reese had been tailing Anson.

Truth be told, Reese’s stalking skills were mediocre at best. For someone as seasoned with paparazzi as Anson, her attempts were laughable—he’d caught on from the start.

But why? Anson couldn’t figure it out either.

Clearly, it had to do with Walk the Line. Reese Witherspoon was one of the actresses the two Jameses had painstakingly persuaded to join the cast.

Much like Anson, Reese had been handpicked by Johnny Cash himself. Her sweet smile reminded him of a young June Carter, his muse and wife.

Reese came on board slightly later than Anson. Since the biopic revolved around Johnny Cash, building the cast around the male lead made sense. Once Anson signed on, the two Jameses focused on convincing Reese.

In real life, Reese was six years older than Anson, but this worked in their favor—June Carter was three years older than Johnny Cash, creating an unintentional parallel between their on- and off-screen relationships.

Reese hesitated, though. Negotiations dragged on, with updates like, “She’s very interested” or “She’s already met with the Cash-Carter family,” but no firm commitment.

So why was Reese secretly stalking Anson?

Intrigued, Anson hadn’t exposed her. He wanted to see how far she’d take this and what her endgame might be.

Even today, Reese seemed nowhere near a conclusion. Her clumsy attempts reminded Anson of Mr. Bean—a comedy of errors. Pretending not to notice was almost harder than addressing it.

But one playful jab from Anson was enough to make Reese laugh.

“Secret admirer?”

Reese shook her head. “No, you’re not my type.”

Anson considered this seriously and nodded in agreement. “You prefer boys, not men. Understandable.”

Reese had been married to Ryan Phillippe for four years. The golden couple had fallen in love at Reese’s 21st birthday party, swept up in a whirlwind romance that quickly led to marriage.

In just four years, Reese starred in Legally Blonde, solidifying her status as a top-tier actress, and Sweet Home Alabama, cementing her “America’s sweetheart” reputation. Meanwhile, Ryan had appeared in films like Gosford Park and fathered two children with Reese.

Yet, Ryan’s boyish good looks—a blessing early on—became a curse as he aged, limiting his roles.

Anson hit a nerve.

Reese paused momentarily but refused to back down. “So, someone couldn’t wait to shed their teenage image at Cannes? Trying to prove you’re more than a high school heartthrob?”

A sharp retort.

Feigning a wounded gasp, Anson clutched his chest dramatically but smirked.

“So,” he countered, “which magazine was it? Vogue? Does Ryan mind you keeping that issue?”

Reese was caught off guard by the comeback, momentarily speechless. “Are you always this narcissistic?”

Anson replied confidently, “It’s my only weapon. If I don’t believe in myself, Hollywood will eat me alive.”

After a pause, he added, “Like it’s doing to Ryan.”

Bullseye.

Ryan’s self-assurance had waned as Hollywood boxed him into roles that didn’t allow growth, leaving him disheartened.

Reese, visibly shaken, stood her ground. “I thought you’d empathize with Ryan.”

“Why would a pretty face criticize another pretty face, right?” Anson spread his hands. “I could say the same about you.”

Reese faltered slightly.

Anson pressed on. “So, what do you think? Can I handle Johnny Cash?”

Reese stayed silent, unwilling to reveal her true thoughts.

Her silence spoke volumes.

Anson smiled knowingly. “Let me guess—you don’t think I’m the right choice for Johnny Cash. You doubt I can do justice to the role, and that’s why you’re hesitating about signing on.”

“But I’ve already signed. You don’t have a choice, and you don’t want to back out. So, you decided to follow me, trying to see if this ‘pretty face’ has any substance.”

“Well? Are you satisfied with what you’ve found?”

Reese said nothing but stood up straighter, studying Anson with newfound curiosity.

For the first time, she saw beyond the surface.

Anson was more than a pretty face.

(End of Chapter)