From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“Clang!”

A figure, slightly careless, bumped into the coffee table, sending the world into a minor earthquake. Coffee spilled, creating a miniature flood; it couldn't have been worse.

“Sorry, oh, God, sorry!”

The culprit seemed flustered and panicked, hastily placing the things in their hands on the sofa next to Anson. While repeatedly apologizing, they frantically searched for tissues to help wipe up the coffee that was spreading across the table.

Fortunately, both cups of coffee on the table were mostly empty, with little liquid remaining, so despite the mess, the extent of the disaster was limited.

Anson waved his hand. “It's okay, don't worry about it.”

If it wasn't necessary, Anson didn't want to attract too much attention; he preferred to keep a low profile.

The culprit looked at the wet table, their face filled with remorse and frustration. “I'm sorry, I was too careless, really, really, very sorry.”

Anson gave a slight smile. “I'm serious, I'm not hurt.” Anson held up the book in his hand and then showed his pants—

Completely unharmed.

Whew.

The culprit's expression visibly relaxed. Then, after another flurry of activity, they personally delivered the coffee to Anson and apologized again before finding a seat diagonally across from Anson, collapsing into it. Judging by their slightly trembling knees, it was clear they had just experienced a storm.

But before they could fully exhale, they abruptly stood up again, gathering all their personal belongings left on the sofa next to Anson, hugging them tightly. They slumped backward, falling back into the sofa. This final action seemed to have exhausted all the energy in their body, leaving them looking lifeless and drained.

No words were needed to see the blankness in their mind.

Seeing this, Anson's lips curled slightly upward, but he didn't say anything more and buried himself back in his book.

However, a sharp intake of breath from the diagonal direction broke the silence. “Anson… Anson…”

The stammered words revealed Anson's true identity. Looking up, one could see a face filled with astonishment, eyes almost popping out, the person frozen in place as if struck by lightning.

It wasn't easy to ignore.

Anson chuckled softly. “Relax, I'm not Dracula.”

The culprit stiffly shook their head. “You're rarer than Dracula.”

“Ha.” Anson laughed directly.

The culprit swallowed hard. “But, how can you… so, that just now was…”

A series of hesitant but meaningful words. It seemed that Annie's retreat hadn't been as silent as imagined, but Anson was mentally prepared for this—

In New York, everyone focuses on their own affairs and rarely looks up to observe the lives of others; but that doesn't mean they're completely oblivious. An occasional, unintentional glance might notice something.

For example, Anson and Annie.

But this isn't the age of smartphones; passersby can't leave evidence at any time. This isn't the age of social networks either; a little ripple can turn into a flood of attention.

So, no need to worry.

Been noticed? Then so be it. Be generous, if you hide it, it may cause more speculation, it is better to be frank.

Anson didn't deny or confirm, but met the person's gaze with a smile, letting the speculation and conjecture spread in the air.

The culprit seemed to realize they had discovered some secret, their eyes darting around, and clamped their mouth shut, but couldn't help but steal glances at Anson. After glancing, they deliberately straightened their back, trying to hide their emotions, but the obvious movements betrayed the turmoil in their heart, which was truly amusing.

“Cough cough.”

They cleared their throat.

“Anson, I never thought I'd run into you here. God, this is… unbelievable.”

“Jon Lucas, a screenwriter.”

As they spoke, they stood up and extended their right hand towards Anson, cautiously offering a greeting.

“Regarding what happened just now, I apologize again. I'm conceiving a script, and my mind is filled with things. I didn't pay attention to my surroundings at all. I've been causing trouble all day. I'm starting to worry that leaving the house while conceiving a script is a dangerous thing. Maybe I shouldn't have come out.”

Anson gently raised his chin, watching Jon with a gentle expression and smiling eyes, but deliberately didn't say anything.

Jon was stunned, then immediately understood.

“Ah, sorry, I'm interrupting your own time, right? Look at me, I always fail to notice these things. Then I won't bother you now.”

“Hope I don't end up on your blacklist of people you refuse to work with, haha.”

After a small joke, Jon awkwardly turned and walked back to his seat.

Just as he sat down, he took another deep breath and stood up again, tightly gripping the things in his arms. He gathered his courage and turned to face Anson.

“Anson, I'm really, really sorry to bother you again, I'm just thinking… this script, the script I'm working on, do you have time to take a look at it?”

Anson's gaze left the book, and he looked up.

Jon seemed restrained and nervous, constantly swallowing.

“I, uh, I'm working on this script, and I have countless ideas in my mind, but I don't know how to organize them. I didn't expect to meet you here by chance.”

“I've also heard about the 'Butterfly Effect' situation. It's no longer a secret in Hollywood. You offered some suggestions to the two screenwriters, helping to complete the script. I think maybe you can give me some advice to help me get out of my current predicament.”

Anson raised his eyebrows slightly. “Just helping to review the script?”

Jon nodded vigorously.

Anson, “If I'm interested, you wouldn't consider inviting me to act in it?”

Jon's eyes lit up. “If you're interested, that would naturally be perfect. But, I just hope you can give me some advice.”

Anson looked at Jon, pondered for a moment, “Hmm… so you mean, you didn't put any effort into creating a chance encounter here, just hoping to meet me and give me the script? You didn't invite me to act and didn't hope that I would be interested in the script and then specifically approve the project?”

Jon: … “No, of course not, you misunderstood, a complete misunderstanding.” Jon laughed nervously, “Ha, everything is a coincidence, really.”

Anson gently raised his chin. “I see.”

Jon: That's it? You just believed it like that?

Anson, “If I misunderstood you, then I apologize.”

“I just noticed that after you bumped into the table, you deliberately put the script on the sofa next to me, and didn't even forget to face the script towards me, so that I could see it, and you kept using the coffee as an excuse to leave the script here, hoping I would be interested in the script.”

“Then, in your self-introduction, screenwriter was the keyword, and the topic was completely centered around the script, and you were constantly observing my expression.”

“So, I guess, you should have come specifically for me.”

“But if that's not the case, please forgive my presumptuous speculation.”