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Rebirth of a Hollywood Socialite.

This is a translated Chinese novel. I am not the author, just translating for fun. Translator: Doyenro (Fan Translate) Author: Zhuang Jiang Alternative universe (AU) She can produce the most terrifying horror films and also create the most profitable commercial films; she can turn artistic films into commercial successes and turn commercial films into artistic achievements. Future critiques of Laila all say that she is synonymous with the Hollywood miracle, one of the greatest directors of all time. She even unintentionally becomes the most skilled photographer and strategist. However, she knows that all of this comes from her biggest secret, which is—she has been reborn! T/N: * The Female Lead(MC) is very patriotic to her old country, so it may be annoying to some people. * The English gets better from chapter 65, the chapters 1 - 65 will be edited soon. * The actors' or actresses' characters may be different from reality. It is just an alternate universal fictional novel. * Alternate History * Contact me if a novel of the same is officially translated so that I can stop. * Original Chinese novel completed.

Doyenro · Thành thị
Không đủ số lượng người đọc
884 Chs

Chapter 222 - Slap Yourself?

An unexpected phone call interrupted the warm moment between the grandfather and granddaughter. Laila opened her phone and saw an unfamiliar number on the screen.

"This is Laila Moran," she answered the call.

"Hello, Director Moran. I'm Hunter Ford from American Express," a respectful male voice came from the other end of the line. "I wonder if you have some time recently. I'd like to visit you in person."

Laila's eyes narrowed, and her expression darkened, but she didn't let it show in her voice, maintaining her initial tone. "Hello, Mr. Ford. Are you calling about Charlize Theron?"

"You're quite direct. Yes, it's indeed about Miss Theron. I hope I can explain it to you," Hunter said.

Hunter was probably encountering someone like Laila for the first time. While Westerners were generally more straightforward than Easterners, certain matters that couldn't be directly addressed were often implied. Not many people would bring up the issue as openly as Laila did in her second sentence.

"What explanation do you have? Go ahead and say it now, I'm listening," Laila said, not in the mood to waste time with meaningless pleasantries. She believed in getting straight to the point and didn't have the time for their games of formalities.

"Heh," the other side let out a warm laugh. "Director Moran, I believe you might have some misunderstandings about our company. So, if I may, I'd like to explain it to you in person."

Laila's gaze darkened slightly. This person seemed quite interesting.

"Fine then," Laila provided an address of a nearby café. "Tomorrow at 2:30 PM. I hope you can provide an explanation that satisfies me."

"Of course, thank you for your understanding. I look forward to meeting you."

After hanging up the phone, Laila saw her grandfather looking curious.

"What's going on? Who was that? What explanation?"

Laila didn't want her grandfather to get involved in this matter. It was her issue, and she preferred to handle it herself. She would involve her grandfather only if she couldn't resolve it on her own.

"It's nothing, just some work-related matters. Don't worry, I can handle it."

Oswald heard her and didn't press further. "Alright, let's go downstairs then. If we don't go soon, your grandmother will come up looking for us."

"Sure." Laila smiled and linked arms with her grandfather, leaving the study.

The next day, with speculations about what the other person might say, she arrived five minutes early at the café they had agreed upon the previous day. As soon as she approached the door, she saw a man walking towards her.

"Hello, Director Moran, I'm Hunter Ford. It's an honor to meet you," he made a welcoming gesture, leading her to a quieter spot inside.

After sitting down on the chair he had pulled out for her, Laila observed the man in front of her who was currently ordering coffee from the server. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with grey-brown eyes and hair. He wore a well-fitted suit, looking like the kind of person who wouldn't be out of place at a high-class event.

"What would you like to drink?" he asked Laila.

Laila didn't even look at the menu. "Just some tea."

Not many people came to a café to order tea.

"Black tea alright?" The server seemed somewhat surprised by her request, but in this upscale area, the goal was to satisfy the wealthy clientele, even if it meant preparing tea, which not many would specifically come here for.

It wasn't the future yet, and in the United States, coffee was still the main focus. If it were in the UK, her request wouldn't seem so peculiar.

Hunter seemed unsurprised that Laila wanted tea even though she was invited to a coffee place. He said as if he hadn't noticed, "Tea is healthier, and Director Moran seems to lead a very healthy lifestyle."

"If you've grown up in a sickbed from a young age, you'd consider any emphasis on health to be reasonable," Laila answered calmly, taking a sip of tea.

If Claire heard her say this, she would probably want to record it to play for her later when Laila was sacrificing sleep and meals for a film.

Emphasize health?

Perhaps there were people like that, but it definitely wouldn't be her!

Laila had mastered the art of speaking nonsense with a straight face. With an expression that didn't change, she could convincingly say anything she wanted, and nobody would think she was just making things up.

"Director Moran, I believe the world recognizes your exceptional talent and believes that shortly, you'll personally create a filmmaking empire. Therefore, you must understand that American Express would never want to create any rifts with such a highly potential guest like you."

"Well, thank you for thinking so highly of me," Laila replied, pulling the corner of her mouth into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Having done all this, are they here to say they won't create any rifts? Are they trying to slap themselves in the face?