Tony slid into the Mazda MX-5 Miata, driving back to the hotel to change for a pivotal meeting with the director whose film would launch his studio. In his room, he donned a sharp, well-tailored dark navy three-piece suit, paired with a crisp white dress shirt and a matching navy tie that tied the ensemble together. A gold wristwatch peeked from under his sleeve, adding a luxurious, refined touch.
This suit, a gift from his grandmother two months ago for a relative's wedding reception, held special meaning. In his past life, it was his go-to for his first business meeting, and every deal he closed while wearing it had been a success. My lucky suit, he thought, adjusting the tie.
Descending to the hotel's waiting lounge, Tony's confident yet calm demeanor radiated intelligence and quiet strength, amplifying his charm. Receptionists and passing women stole glances, their eyes lingering on his striking figure. Elizabeth, seated nearby, flicked her gaze toward him before quickly hiding behind a magazine. Tony, occupied with paying the hotel bill, missed her subtle reaction.
At six feet one inch, with a lean, tall build, a chiseled jawline, pitch-black hair, and piercing blue eyes, Tony exuded a commanding, masculine presence. Elizabeth, already dressed in a sleek black blazer, white shirt, and black pencil skirt, was a vision capable of stopping traffic even in a quiet corner. Her red lips, naturally vibrant, gleamed under the lounge's soft lighting, the black outfit accentuating her elegance. She lowered the magazine, her blue eyes locking onto Tony's, mirroring the intensity of his gaze.
At five feet ten inches, with a hint of cleavage peeking from her blouse, an hourglass figure, and long legs elongated by high heels, Elizabeth embodied feminine allure. If beauty were a crime, she'd be serving life, Tony thought.
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"Wow, Ms. Foster, you picked the wrong major," he said, his tone playful but sincere. "You should've gone into acting, not production. You're stunning normally, but in black? It's a knockout."
Elizabeth smirked, her eyes sparkling. "Mr. Stark, maybe you should try for a leading man role instead of producing. Look at those women sneaking glances—and that receptionist's definitely fishing for your number at checkout."
Tony grinned. "Alright, since you suggested it, I'll consider it. Let's go."
They hailed a taxi to the airport and boarded a flight to Monterey Regional Airport. On the plane, Elizabeth turned to him, ignoring the stares from male passengers boarding around them. Even female passengers stole quick glances at Tony's sharp features.
"Mr. Stark, if we're headed to Carmel-by-the-Sea, why didn't we fly into San Francisco instead of Los Angeles?" she asked, her tone curious but pointed.
"I had to meet someone," Tony replied smoothly. "Don't worry, we'll be back in New York by tomorrow morning. Tickets are already booked."
Elizabeth nodded, dropping the subject, and turned her attention to a small girl seated beside her, playfully engaging with her. Tony watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips, admiring her warmth.
Two hours later, they landed and hailed a taxi to Carmel-by-the-Sea, arriving at a sprawling mansion. A security guard stood at the entrance.
Tony approached, his voice confident. "We're here to discuss producing your employer's next film."
The guard eyed their professional attire—Tony's commanding presence and Elizabeth's fierce elegance—and nodded. "One moment, sir."
"Also, mention we're offering 100 percent creative freedom," Tony added, knowing the director he was targeting demanded full control.
The guard disappeared inside. After fifteen minutes, he returned, shaking his head. "My employer's not interested. He plans to produce it himself."
Tony didn't flinch. "Tell him we're a new production house aiming to make our debut film a legacy. Only his passion can deliver that."
The guard hesitated, but Tony's unwavering confidence and Elizabeth's poised demeanor swayed him. He went back inside. Fifteen minutes later, he returned. "Alright, he's agreed to meet you. Come in."
The guard led Tony and Elizabeth to a room set up like a mini office. An older man, likely in his sixties, sat behind a desk. They took seats opposite him as the guard left.
"Hello, Mr. Ashwood," Tony began, his tone respectful but firm. "We're launching a new production house, SilverScreen Odyssey, and we want our debut film to be a legacy. You're the director I trust to make that happen. Your early work reshaped cinema—those iconic Westerns with Sergio Leone, like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, A Fistful of Dollars, and For a Few Dollars More, redefined the genre. Your Man with No Name became the ultimate anti-hero, all quiet intensity. Then there's Dirty Harry—you crafted a character that became a cultural icon, the blueprint for the tough, uncompromising cop. Films like High Plains Drifter and The Outlaw Josey Wales proved you're not just an actor but a director who brings grit and depth to every frame."
Colt Ashwood leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "You've done your homework, kid, but this film's personal. I didn't shoot it years ago because I wanted to play the lead myself, and I needed to look older. Sorry, but I'm not signing on."