Ch-195

"I really loved your work, Bobby," I said with a grin, sliding an envelope across the coffee table in my parents' living room. "Consider this a token of my appreciation."

When he didn't immediately open it, I nudged him. "Go on, open it."

As soon as he saw the figure inside, his eyes widened comically. "Are you sure this is the right amount? This is my entire annual salary."

"Consider it an advance bonus for the year," I said confidently. "You know how my earnings work—sometimes I make way too much, and sometimes I don't. Simple as that. You're working exclusively for me, so I can't have you struggling for funds, can I?"

That was one of my conditions for hiring Bobby—I wanted a manager who was loyal to me alone. In return, I promised him a fixed annual salary of half a million dollars, plus a generous bonus based on my earnings. It was far more than he'd ever make at a law firm, so he had accepted immediately.

His bonus could have been much higher, but since he had only joined me a few months ago, it didn't feel right to pay him more than 100% of his salary just yet.

Bobby wasn't the only one getting a bonus. Over the past few months, I had earned more than enough to share with the people who helped me make it. Yesterday, I had signed a stack of checks after my earnings from [Order of the Phoenix] and my concert tour were transferred to my account. The amount was massive, and I had no intention of keeping it all to myself.

The payout from [Little Miss Sunshine] was pending since the film was still in theaters, but I had already written out bonus checks for it. The actors' contracts didn't include a box office share—none of them were superstars—but I wanted to give them something anyway. So, I wrote checks for $2 million each to all five main cast members. The directors, Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Farris, as well as the screenwriter, Michael Arndt, received the same amount.

In total, I spent $16 million on bonuses for the cast and crew of [Little Miss Sunshine]. And that wasn't all—there were others I wanted to take care of as well. Tobias received the biggest individual payout at $5 million.

Taylor Swift was next with a $3 million bonus. If we toured together again, I knew I'd have to increase her share of earnings significantly. The tour had already skyrocketed her popularity—her album had reached #1 in multiple countries we performed in, including Australia and the UK.

The funniest reaction came from Benji, who received a $1 million bonus. The first thing he said he'd do with the money? Buy an Aston Martin.

Last but not least, the biggest check of all had gone to my charity. I had estimated my annual income for 2006 to be around $500 million, so 5% of that ($25 million) went directly to the trust named after my birth father. The organization had expanded its operations to multiple countries and was even receiving funding from philanthropists besides me.

"So, how long are you staying in LA?" Bobby asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Just two or three more days, depending on when the [Superbad] shoot wraps up," I replied. "I've only got one scene left to film. The rest is done."

He nodded.

"But that's not what's important right now," I said, leaning forward. "I need you to take care of a few things for me, starting with setting up some companies in Delaware."

"A few?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, it's time to formalize my film studio. I've been producing so many movies under my banner, but I don't have an actual studio building or dedicated staff. Now that I'm 18, I want to change that."

Turning 18 had been a huge milestone in my career—I no longer needed to rely on my parents to handle everything for me.

"Alright," Bobby said, jotting it down in his notepad. "What else?"

"I want to establish an official record label. It can be housed in the same building as the studio and will manage and promote both Taylor's and my current and future albums. Make sure we have an in-house editing and recording studio so we don't have to keep renting space from others."

"Anything else?" he asked.

I smirked. "Have you been keeping up with the news about my concerts?"

"Of course," Bobby said. "Who hasn't? Those colorful light bands were all the media could talk about for days. And how you revitalized the live music industry—though I don't think it was ever dead to begin with."

I chuckled at that.

"Who designed them, by the way?" Bobby asked. "I've never seen anything like them before."

"The idea was mine," I replied.

Flashback

"Hi!" A man in his early thirties greeted me with a big smile backstage, handing me a DVD to sign. "I'm John Conti. I know it sounds weird coming from a guy my age, but I'm a huge fan. Not of your films, but your music is on a whole other level."

I wasn't sure how to take that backhanded compliment, so I just chuckled and signed the DVD cover. "Good thing you didn't bring a movie poster, or I might not have signed it."

John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry if that came off as rude. I have a problem filtering my thoughts. That's probably why my boss hasn't promoted me, even though I'm the best performer in the company."

"What do you do, John?" I asked curiously.

"I'm a chief engineer at a remote control manufacturing facility," he said. "Well, technically I'm an archive engineer, but my responsibilities are way beyond my job title—and my pay."

"Remote controls for TVs?" I asked.

"TVs, radios, vehicles, even toys. We manufacture just about every type of remote control you can think of."

John was the last fan I met that day, and he seemed like the perfect person to ask about an idea that had been on my mind.

"I've been thinking about something," I said. "Infrared-based bands for concertgoers. Do you think it would be possible to create something like that with today's technology?"

John frowned slightly, considering it. "And what exactly would these bands do?"

I explained my vision, and after a few moments, his eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah, that's definitely possible. If all you want is for them to light up, that technology existed fifty years ago—let alone today."

I grinned. "How would you like to quit your job and develop this product with me?"

End Flashback

"When he left his job, I gave John some money to build me a prototype of the bands, which he completed in a week. I patented the technology and then sent him to China to get it mass-produced at a fraction of what it would cost domestically."

"While that's fascinating," Bobby interjected, "what does it have to do with me?"

"You need to set up a company for it," I replied. "Well, maybe not a full-fledged company, but at least a separate department. Make John the CTO of that division so he can innovate however he wants. After my first concert in Rio, I got calls from some of the biggest names in the industry—Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake, Coldplay, Madonna, Green Day, even Kanye West. They all want to use these bands. Since I own the technology, it makes sense to lease them out for a fee. I did fund the entire R&D process, after all."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "Alright. It's not my specialty, but I'll take care of it."

I shrugged. "Hire someone else if you need to. I just want you to be my go-to person for this."

Hiring Bobby had been one of my best decisions lately. He was everything Tobias wasn't and more. While Tobias had slowly become a skilled film producer—the area I had handed over to him almost entirely—he wasn't great at contract negotiations. Bobby, on the other hand, excelled in that field. But if I had him working for me exclusively, he'd have too much free time, and sooner or later, he'd quit, which is why I made him my business manager as well.

While Bobby had taken on these responsibilities, there was another reason I had decided to meet him in person. Most of my film shoots were nearly complete, with only [The Night Of] left to start production in a few weeks. That meant I desperately needed my next project. I had originally planned to take a break for Rihanna's sake, but since she was no longer in the picture…

"How are things going with Fox and James Cameron?" I asked. "Any updates?"

"Not yet," Bobby said regretfully.

"Then keep pursuing them," I instructed. "Don't stop until Cameron agrees to meet me. Just make sure this time it's really him."

At his nod, I moved to my next question. "What about Dune?"

"The rights are currently held by Richard Rubinstein, and he doesn't want to sell. At most, you could come on board as a co-producer."

Richard Rubinstein… That name sounded familiar. I thought for a moment before it clicked. "Isn't he the guy who produced [Dawn of the Dead]?"

"Yes," Bobby confirmed. "I take it you've met him before?"

"Unfortunately, I have." I frowned unconsciously. I still remember how I was dropped from Dawn of the Dead. At first, I thought Universal had fired me, but I later found out from Zack Snyder at a Warner Bros event that Rubinstein had forced their hand. Apparently, he had full creative control over the film.

"Have you met Rubinstein in person?" I asked.

"I haven't," Bobby admitted. "He was vacationing with his family at the time, so I spoke to his assistant. But from what I was told, if you agree to the project, getting it approved would be easy."

"I understand that," I said, "but my issue is with him. Talk to him directly and convince him to sell. I don't want to work with him if I can help it. Offer him 5% of the profits if he steps aside, plus a fixed sum of $5 million."

"Five million?" Bobby's eyes widened.

"Yep." I nodded. "Make it very clear that after what happened with [Dawn of the Dead], I don't want to work with him."

Seeing his confused expression, I gave him a brief rundown of how Rubinstein had gotten me removed from the project for no fault of my own—just because he was an out-of-touch old man who didn't understand modern Hollywood.

"Alright," Bobby said as he stood up and shook my hand. "I'll take care of it and update you if anything happens."

With that settled, there was just one more meeting left. One where I knew I had a better chance of success than anyone else in the industry.

But that could wait.

I had a sex scene to shoot first.

(Break)

Anna Kendrick and I stumbled into the room awkwardly, deliberately exaggerating our movements to mimic the unsteady steps of two drunk teenagers. A bottle of apple juice—standing in for alcohol—was clutched in my hand.

"So loud," I muttered, swaying slightly. "Don't let the parents hear you."

I looked at Anna, who fixed me with a smoldering gaze. Without warning, she stepped forward and shoved me backward. With the bed directly behind me, I fell onto it.

Anna straddled my lap and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss wasn't tender or romantic—it was sloppy, almost pornographic, all tongue and aggression from her side.

After a moment, I pulled back slightly. "Are you okay?"

"I so flirt with you in Math!" she slurred, clinging onto me.

"Tell me about it! Samesies." I smiled sheepishly. "I've wanted to tell you for a long time that you're the best—"

"I know!" she cut me off. "I wanted to get with you, like so hard!"

Then, she pushed me down onto the bed, climbing on top of me before diving in for another messy kiss. Her tongue coated my lips and cheeks with her saliva, making it by far the worst kissing scene I had ever filmed.

What followed was a sequence of clumsy undressing—clothes falling to the floor piece by piece—until I was left in just my boxers, and Anna in her bra and panties. I took a few exaggerated gulps from the apple juice bottle before setting it aside, trying to sell the illusion of intoxication.

The next setup had me lying flat on the bed, still in my boxers, while Anna straddled me, clad in only her underwear.

"Evan!" she stage-whispered near my ear before suddenly getting up. "I'm so wet!"

I hesitated, nervously glancing around as if searching for the right response before settling on, "You look so beautiful."

Without warning, she reached down and placed her hand over my crotch. I nearly jumped at the sudden contact.

"Who's down there?" she asked, her voice thick with suggestion.

"Your hand?" I replied, genuinely confused.

"You have such a smooth cock!" she continued, slipping her hand inside my boxers.

Of course, she wasn't actually touching my bare skin—I had made sure to wear an extra layer of briefs beneath the boxers for exactly this reason. The scene was awkward enough as it was; the last thing I wanted was to make Anna even more uncomfortable.

"Thank you!" I said in response to her compliment. "You would too if you were a man! In fact, it would be even smoother than mine!"

Any lingering confidence evaporated the moment Anna kissed me again, her hand beginning to move.

"I'll give you the best Blo-J ever! Just wait!" she slurred, swaying unsteadily on top of me.

I frowned and gently pushed her away. "Are you okay?" I asked, concern creeping into my voice. "Becca, I don't think you wanna do this. You're really drunk."

"No, I'm not!" she insisted. "I want you inside me. I want you to be my first. Just let it happen." Then she kissed me again.

I hesitated but eventually pushed her back gently. "This is way too intense. We're both drunk, and this is not how I pictured it."

Suddenly, Anna went off-script.

"Of course, this is not how you pictured it!" she shouted, her voice raw with frustration. "I have been begging you to make a woman out of me for the last hour, but you just won't listen! Why, Troy!? Why can't you do this!?"

I broke character immediately as soon as she said my real name and started laughing.

Anna, however, stayed in character, shaking me dramatically. "Answer me, Troy!"

Still chuckling, I barely managed to regain my composure. "If that's what you wish, Anna, that's what you'll get."

With that, I grabbed the sheet lying at the foot of the bed. It wasn't part of the scene—just a prop—but I used it anyway, throwing it over both of us. As soon as we were covered, we started moving in exaggerated motions, making it seem like something scandalous was happening beneath the sheets.

The entire crew burst into laughter. Since this was the final scene of the movie, and given the nature of it, the set was closed. Only six crew members were present, including the director.

Anna was clearly having fun now that we'd already shot the essential takes. At this point, we were just experimenting with different versions of the scene. Seth and Evan had written multiple variations of the dialogue, and we were cycling through them, giving post-production plenty of options to work with.

"You know we don't have to act out the deed, right?" Anna said after a moment. "We can do it for real."

"You know everyone can hear everything you're saying, right?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I don't care."

I shook my head, not sure whether she was joking or not. "Let's just finish the scene and be done with it."

She pouted, her eyes misty from the exchange, then delivered her next line: "I don't understand why you have to be such a little bitch about it."

I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing. That was her actual line in the next take we were supposed to do.

That's what I loved about making [Superbad]. We could have these fun little moments without anyone calling us out for wasting time. I had to give credit to Greg Mottola—he made this filming experience incredible. I was low-key sad that it was coming to an end.

(Break)

Dick Parsons studied me carefully. "So, you've decided, huh?"

"I have," I nodded. "I want you to convince Christopher Nolan to give me the role of the Joker in his next film, [The Dark Knight]."

Dick stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head. It was obvious that before convincing Christopher Nolan, I'd have to convince him.

"No," he said firmly. "You can't play the Joker. He needs to be menacing, villainous, and—most importantly—older. The media will eat us alive the second we make the announcement."

"They won't," I countered with confidence. "I have a full plan for how this will work. Just hear me out once."

He sighed but gestured for me to continue.

As I laid out my plan, I watched his skepticism fade, his eyes widening with every detail.

______________________________________________

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