Chapter 58
That night, Camila slept like a rock, not a single dream in sight.
The next morning, she woke up to the sound of clattering in the kitchen. Rubbing her eyes, she opened the door and was taken aback by what she saw.
Clifford had his sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms, and was focused on beating eggs.
Willie, in a plain white T-shirt, stood by the stove, holding a spatula a bit awkwardly, his profile sharp in the morning light.
Two faces that barely looked alike were now working together at the same stove, one pouring oil, the other chopping veggies, moving in a silent rhythm that was hard to describe.
Camila stood at the bedroom door, her hand frozen mid-rub of her eyes, almost thinking she was still dreaming.
"You're up?"
Willie was the first to turn around, a grin spreading across his face as he walked over lightly.
Just as he was about to say something more, Clifford grabbed him by the collar.
"Back off." Clifford's voice was rough from just waking up, but his gaze was icy. "Who said you could look at my wife like that? Feeling brave?"
"When did she become your wife? How come I didn't get the memo?"
"If she's not mine, she's definitely not yours."
Clifford shoved Willie back and turned to Camila, his cold gaze softening.
He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Go get ready, breakfast will be done soon."
When Camila came out with her hair still damp, the dining table was piled high with food.
Pancakes were steaming; the bacon and eggs were golden and glistening, with edges slightly crisp—clearly Clifford's handiwork.
He pointed to the food, his eyes gleaming with a hint of pride. "The pancakes are Willie's, the bacon and eggs are mine. Which one do you want to try first?"
Camila saw the light in his eyes, then glanced at Willie, who was also looking at her expectantly. She felt that if she chose the wrong dish, the atmosphere might explode.
Just as her fingers touched the fork, her phone rang sharply, displaying "Fiona" on the screen.
She quickly picked up the call.
Fiona's voice came through urgently, "Camila, get over here, something big is happening."
The call ended abruptly, leaving Camila confused. She grabbed her bag and rushed to the door.
"I'll take you," Clifford said, striding after her.
"Stop! It's work-related, I can handle it myself." She waved him off without looking back.
Fiona's location was a five-star hotel.
When Camila arrived, a crowd had already gathered at the entrance, many of them representatives from well-known entertainment companies. Fiona grabbed her as soon as she saw her.
"What's going on?"
"You dare to sleep in!" Fiona poked her arm in frustration.
"Mr. Taylor is here, the Preston Taylor who won international awards. He's looking for a local company to co-produce a sci-fi film. Everyone's here to compete for the deal."
So that's what it was.
Camila nodded. Just then, a tall, burly white man with a bushy beard walked out of the revolving door.
It was Preston. The crowd surged forward, and Fiona pulled Camila along.
"Mr. Taylor! We're from The Past's production company!" Fiona's voice was impressively loud. "You must know that movie, it was a box office and critical hit!"
But Preston's gaze went past the crowd and landed directly on Camila, his blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Are you Ms. Wilson?"
Camila nodded. "Looks like you've heard of me."
"Of course." Preston laughed heartily, patting her shoulder. "I've seen your company's films, very impressive. I'm having a party tonight. Let my assistant get your number, and I'll send you an invite."
His assistant immediately handed over a phone. Camila and Fiona exchanged a glance before giving the number.
Once the crowd dispersed, Fiona pulled Camila into a nearby café and ordered two iced Americanos to calm their nerves.
"Something's off," she said, stirring her coffee with a frown. "He could have easily met with the heads of the big companies. Why did he specifically seek you out?"
"And the way he looked at you, it was like he knew you'd be here."
Camila sipped her coffee, the cold liquid sliding down her throat but failing to quell the unease in her heart.
"We'll find out when we get there. It's not like a big director like him would have any designs on me, right?"
Despite her words, her fingers tapped the table unconsciously, a sense of unease lingering.
At eight o'clock that evening, she opened the door to a private room, greeted by a strong smell of smoke and alcohol.
Four or five men were seated on the sofas, all well-known producers in the industry, each with a young, heavily made-up girl by their side, their eyes filled with fear.
"Well, if it isn't Ms. Wilson?" A drunken producer wobbled to his feet, his breath reeking of alcohol as his eyes lingered on her.
Preston, seated at the head of the table, had his arm around a girl, his hand wandering inappropriately. The girl bit her lip, her face pale.
Ignoring the others, Camila walked straight to him, her voice clear. "Before I came, I did some research. You're here to make a sci-fi film. Our company is new to the movie industry and doesn't have the same credentials as others. Why did you choose us?"
The room fell silent for a moment before erupting in laughter.
Preston released the girl in his arms, pointing a finger at Camila with a mocking smile. "Ms. Wilson, did you really think I chose you for your abilities?"
He paused, drawing out his words, his gaze sweeping over the room. "If it weren't for Albert's recommendation, I wouldn't waste my time meeting a woman."
"Don't worry, I'll give the Garcia Group some face. I've already decided that our side will take the lead on this film. Your company will just play a supporting role."
"We'll handle the script, and as for the actors, your company can provide one, but I have conditions."
Preston spoke brazenly, his eyes darting to the side.
His assistant quickly chimed in, "Mr. Taylor is quite interested in your company's Leila. Can you arrange that, Ms. Wilson?"
Camila looked at the man beside her and smiled slightly. "You'd better make yourself clear. I don't understand what you mean."
"You all say women can't do anything, so speak plainly."
Preston was clearly displeased with her attitude, his large hand squeezing the waist of the young starlet beside him. The woman stood up in pain, her face even paler than before.
"Do you really not know what I want, Ms. Wilson?"
"Isn't this how you got to where you are?"
"Hurry, show Ms. Wilson what I mean."