Chapter 790: Dinner Date!

Martin's studio wasn't far from the photo studio. As he walked briskly, he could hear the heated argument between Mia and Sebastian even before he stepped through the main door.

"Who was that man last night?" Sebastian demanded, his voice tinged with anger and hurt. "This isn't the first time I've seen you with him! Mia, please don't treat me like a fool. The way you were holding his arm, it was clear he wasn't just an ordinary friend!"

Mia, her face flushed with frustration, retorted sharply, "Gross is a producer! I've told you this before, he is a producer! I met him yesterday to discuss future projects. I'm a screenwriter now, working on a $60 million film. Isn't it normal for producers to come to me?"

Sebastian, his initial fury subsiding into a simmering resentment, spoke in a low voice, "On the 30th of last month, you were with him at the Four Seasons Hotel. And again on the 6th, 14th, and 19th of this month. Yesterday too, you were with him at the Four Seasons for over three hours each time!"

Mia's expression shifted from anger to shock. "You don't trust me, you've been following me!"

Sebastian, a musician whose life was filled with romantic ideals, sighed deeply. "I might be obsessed with music, but I'm not an idiot," he said, trying to salvage the situation. "Mia, please, after this project, let's leave all this behind. Let's go somewhere else, start fresh."

"Are you crazy?" Mia snapped, her voice a mixture of disbelief and desperation. "Do you have any idea how much effort I've put in to get here? I remember those days waiting tables at Warner Studios, dreaming of a break. Now I'm the top screenwriter on this crew, and you want me to throw it all away? You liked me when I was struggling, but now that I'm succeeding, you're not happy?"

Sebastian, his romantic nature clashing with the harsh reality, said softly, "I'd rather go back to the way things were than see you become someone else."

Mia's response was flat and final. "You can't imprison my dreams in the name of love."

Martin, who had entered the studio and caught the end of their exchange, saw the crew's eyes glued to the spectacle. Knowing that this could disrupt the entire day's work, he decided to intervene.

"Have you quarreled enough?" Martin asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Mia, recognizing Martin from their long history together, looked down, a hint of shame coloring her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Sebastian, too, had known Martin for years. He admitted, "It's my fault. I lost control."

Martin, his expression stern but sympathetic, addressed them both. "We've known each other for years and now we're working together on the same crew. When you go home, discuss your personal issues and resolve them peacefully. Don't let it affect your work, alright?"

Mia nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Martin."

Sebastian, looking contrite, promised, "There won't be a next time."

Martin, satisfied but firm, concluded, "Good. Talk it out calmly when you're alone. Don't give others a reason to laugh at you."

Mia cast a final, frustrated glance at Sebastian before shouldering her Hermès bag and striding out of the studio. The tension in the room was palpable as she left, and Sebastian, after a moment of hesitation, stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed her out.

Saoirse, sensing an opportunity, sidled up to Martin with a conspiratorial smile. "I was right, wasn't I?" she whispered, her voice dripping with intrigue.

Martin, ever the professional, gave her a stern look. "Stop with the gossip, Saoirse. We've got work to do."

The two made their way out of the studio and hopped into the electric car driven by Bruce. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they settled into their seats.

"I've got dinner plans with Greta Gerwig tonight," Saoirse announced, her voice filled with excitement. "It's a girls' night, so you're not invited."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "Greta Gerwig? The screenwriter Disney hired to adapt 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

"Yep, she's started working on the script," Saoirse replied, leaning in closer. "I've read everything she's written. She's amazing."

Martin nodded, impressed. "Seems like you two hit it off."

Saoirse wrinkled her nose playfully. "Of course! I'm your student, after all. I've got a knack for making connections and building relationships."

Martin, who had known Saoirse for years, couldn't help but smile. "Have you had any deep conversations with her?"

Saoirse's playful demeanor turned serious. "We've talked a lot. Greta's taking on 'Beauty and the Beast' to build her reputation and gain more experience. She's also working on a personal project about a girl in Sacramento, where she grew up. It's a story close to her heart, and she wants to write, direct, and bring it to life herself."

Martin thought for a moment, recalling his own experiences. He'd heard of Greta, but his real connection was with Saoirse. "If you believe in Greta's story, you can recommend her to my studio."

Saoirse's eyes lit up with determination. "I will, Martin. I promise you, if you don't like her story, then she'll have to look elsewhere."

Martin nodded, proud of his student's loyalty and initiative. As they arrived at the parking lot, Saoirse waved goodbye and drove off on her own, leaving Martin and Bruce to get into the Escalade and head back to Beverly Hills.

Just as they left Burbank, Martin's phone rang. It was Clara.

"Are you free tonight?" Clara asked, her voice warm. "I'd like to invite you to dinner to thank you for everything you've done for me lately."

Martin looked out the window, considering the offer. "How about I treat you? The Ritz-Carlton, Beverly Hills."

Clara's response was immediate and enthusiastic. "Perfect! I'll be there at 7:30 sharp."

As the call ended, Martin leaned back in his seat, a small smile playing on his lips. It had been a long day, but it seemed like it was far from over.

Martin's voice was calm and reassuring as he spoke to Clara. "I have a long-term room on the top floor of the Ritz-Carlton. When you arrive, just mention my name at the front desk. They'll take you up."

"Got it," Clara replied, her smile evident even through the phone. "See you in two hours, Martin."

After hanging up, Martin turned to Bruce with a hint of anticipation. "Let's head to the Ritz-Carlton."

Bruce nodded, skillfully navigating the next intersection. He glanced at the car's clock and grinned. "I'll drop you off at the hotel and then head over to Venice Beach."

Martin's eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Are the Kardashian sisters there?"

Bruce chuckled. "Yep, all four of them are at Venice Beach."

Martin couldn't help but laugh, giving Bruce a thumbs up. "Bruce my man, you're a legend!"

Bruce shook his head, trying to maintain a straight face. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just meeting up with Kim and Khloe."

Martin cut him off with a playful grin. "No need to explain, Bruce. You're just a good guy taking care of other people's sisters."

Bruce shot back with a middle finger, but his eyes were twinkling. "Look who's talking. You're way better at this than I am!"

Martin smirked but didn't deny it. "Help yourself to anything in the trunk."

Bruce grinned. "I won't be shy."

The Escalade pulled up to the Ritz-Carlton, and Martin stepped out, appreciating the elegance of the hotel. He entered the lobby, exchanging nods with the familiar staff, and took the elevator to the top floor.

The Ritz-Carlton's presidential suite had recently been renovated. Martin's private room now featured a garden-style terrace brimming with lush green plants, a small swimming pool, and a chic glass-walled restaurant overlooking the vibrant nightscape of Beverly Hills' bustling commercial district.

After placing his dinner order, Martin watched as Bruce performed his customary security check of the suite. Satisfied that everything was in order, Bruce nodded and left for his date.

Meanwhile, Clara returned to her rented house just outside Beverly Hills. She took a refreshing shower, carefully applied her makeup, and slipped into a stunning red dress. Knowing the importance of tonight's dinner, she left home half an hour early, eager to make a good impression.

As she stepped outside, the cool evening breeze from the nearby beach ruffled her dress. Clara held the hem with one hand and covered her chest with the other, quickly getting into her car and heading to the Ritz-Carlton.

Upon arriving at the hotel, she navigated to the underground parking lot. After parking, she called Martin, who guided her to the special elevator leading directly to the top floor.

The elevator ride was smooth and quick. As the doors opened, Clara stepped out into the luxurious setting, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The night promised to be memorable, set against the backdrop of Beverly Hills' shimmering skyline.

The housekeeper, standing patiently at the door, smiled and asked for Clara's name before opening it wide. "Please, go directly to the terrace restaurant," she instructed warmly.

By now, the sky had turned dark, but the suite and terrace were aglow with bright, inviting lights. Clara's eyes swept through the elegantly furnished living room, catching sight of Martin seated at the terrace restaurant beyond the glass curtain wall.

She walked briskly to the door leading to the terrace, feeling a rush of night wind as she opened it. The breeze atop the high-rise in Beverly Hills was notably stronger than at ground level, making her shiver slightly.

On the other side of the glass-walled restaurant, Martin was waiting, his expression calm and welcoming. As Clara stepped forward, the wind picked up, swirling around her legs and lifting the hem of her red dress. It fluttered like an open red umbrella, revealing her long, smooth legs, which gleamed in the night lights.

Instinctively, Clara pressed down on her skirt, evoking the iconic image of Marilyn Monroe. She then noticed Martin's amused gaze fixed on her. Emboldened, she let go of her dress, humming a playful tune as she began to dance lightly, swaying her hips and twirling to the rhythm, her high heels tapping against the terrace floor.

Her graceful movements and the way her dress swirled around her made for a captivating sight. Martin leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading across his face as he admired Clara's spontaneous performance. There was something mesmerizing about the fluttering red fabric against the night sky.

As if inspired by the moment, Martin began to hum a familiar tune from his past life, "Red umbrellas, white poles, let's lie down together after dinner..."

The wind suddenly calmed, and Clara's dress settled back in place. She took a moment to adjust her outfit and hair, then walked into the restaurant with a charming smile.

Martin applauded softly, genuinely impressed. "That was an incredible dance. It's clear you've put a lot of effort into your rehearsal."

Clara, quick on her feet and always ready to entertain, set her handbag down and announced, "I've got another dance prepared."

With a flourish, Martin gestured for her to continue.

Clara opened her handbag, pulled out her phone, and started the music player. As the dance music filled the terrace, she began to move her waist and hips in a dynamic, energetic dance reminiscent of Martin's own iconic zombie machine gun dance.

Dinner was momentarily forgotten as Martin sat back and enjoyed the impromptu performance. The terrace, bathed in the soft night breeze of Los Angeles, became a private stage where Clara's red umbrella and white pole dance held him spellbound.