Hearing a voice from behind, Matthew stopped and turned to look at Elizabeth Olsen, giving her a slight nod. "We meet again, Miss Olsen."
Unconsciously, he had switched from using her nickname to a formal address.
"Yes, we meet again." Elizabeth Olsen still wore the same bright smile as before and asked, "Are you heading back?"
Matthew glanced at her. This young actress hadn't changed; beneath her glamorous outfit, she was still as beautiful as ever. But something fundamental had shifted within him, and he simply couldn't muster any enthusiasm.
Instead of answering her question, Matthew asked, "Are you done with what you needed to do?"
Elizabeth took two small steps forward, closing the distance between them. In a low voice, she said, "My sisters were worried about me." She explained, "Mary was concerned I might be too young and inexperienced, so she called me, claiming there was an emergency. I hurried back to the banquet hall, saw that everything was fine, and then rushed out to find you."
Matthew nodded lightly. It was a plausible excuse, wasn't it? Sisters? Aren't sisters there to take the blame when needed?
He would have to be pretty gullible to believe that.
Elizabeth had only rushed out when she saw Harvey Weinstein and his entourage enter the banquet hall, hoping she might catch him before he left. Her luck had held out; she managed to find him again.
Harvey Weinstein wasn't here, nor could he break free from his schmoozing duties upstairs to come down and monitor her, so she was less restrained.
Matthew Horner had a reputation for being reliable, and she wasn't about to let that opportunity slip away.
Following her sisters' bold example, Elizabeth took another step forward, gently holding Matthew's hand. "My sister's matter is settled. Shall we continue?"
A few years ago, Matthew might have immediately turned around and taken her upstairs. But after all the women he'd encountered over the years—even engaging in rather risqué activities—he wasn't about to lose his head.
With his experience, how could he not see through Elizabeth's reasons for leaving and now for coming back?
Even with her perfectly done makeup, she simply didn't interest him.
Most people, especially those like Matthew who were inherently self-indulgent, tend to have double standards: boundless tolerance for themselves but a stricter measure for others.
If he were in her position, he might have done the same to protect himself.
But Elizabeth, being his date, was held to a different standard in his eyes, and he couldn't deny he found it a little off-putting. After all, not everyone would prioritize self-preservation.
As he looked at Elizabeth, an image of a woman holding a blood-smeared porcelain teacup flashed in his mind.
The difference was stark.
Matthew shook his head slightly, bringing his gaze back to the present. He calmly said to Elizabeth, "Maybe another time."
Surprise flickered in her eyes. Was this the same Matthew Horner who was rumored to be unable to resist a pretty face? Did she somehow look less attractive tonight?
The Matthew Horner of public gossip would never have let an opportunity like this go by.
"I'm heading back to New York tomorrow," she said, her voice carrying a hint of suggestion. Since meeting him at the Hollywood Hills Center, she had been reminded of his impact on numerous actresses' careers. "Who knows when I'll be back in L.A.?"
Not wanting to waste more words, Matthew kept a polite tone and replied flatly, "Sorry, Miss Olsen. I have something else going on tonight. That's all."
Only then did Elizabeth realize that he hadn't used her nickname but rather a formal title, putting distance between them.
Her smile faded, replaced by the composed demeanor of a slightly aloof actress. Nodding politely, she said, "Since you're busy, we can catch up another time."
Matthew waved casually. "Goodbye."
Elizabeth gave a polite wave. "Goodbye."
Leaving the hotel, Matthew got into the car and told the driver, "Just take a drive around."
The Mercedes pulled away from the hotel and began to cruise around Beverly Hills' shopping district.
Matthew loosened his tie, slipped off his jacket, and tossed it onto the seat beside him. He unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt and exhaled as he gazed out the window at the neon lights of Rodeo Drive. Beverly Hills was as glitzy as ever.
He found his thoughts drifting back to the events of the night, slightly clouding the bright neon lights outside and leaving him with a faint sense of frustration.
Harvey Weinstein was feeling triumphant. Let him revel in it. Everything was progressing as planned, and he had maybe two years left to gloat. With the women's rights movement gathering momentum, as long as the evidence held up, and with David Ellison and him driving public opinion, Harvey Weinstein's fate was pretty much sealed.
But, honestly, Harvey Weinstein wasn't the source of his frustration.
The faint sense of frustration came from Elizabeth Olsen.
Had she just left, he might've chalked it up to self-preservation. But for her to come back afterward?
It irked him somewhat and made the idea of pursuing women like her feel stale.
Aren't most Hollywood actresses like this? Hadn't he enjoyed those games before? Why did they suddenly feel so unappealing?
Hypocrisy? He was well aware he wasn't sincere either. Could he really expect more from them?
After over a decade in Hollywood, he knew well what kind of place it was. Every woman here was shrewd, constantly calculating gains and losses. If something threatened their interests, they'd avoid it at all costs, even going so far as to kick someone while they were down.
Wasn't that how everyone played the game?
Of course, there were exceptions, like his friendships with James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender. They had always helped each other whenever they could.
Then there was a certain cowgirl he had met who, upon meeting him, didn't hide or flee from armed thugs but instead took them down with a teacup.
The image of that woman with the bloody porcelain teacup flashed through his mind again.
In any circle where conformity runs rampant, there are always those who stand out, people who, despite their flaws and dark sides, possess qualities others lack.
Undoubtedly, a woman brave enough to smash a thug with a teacup was bolder and more straightforward than someone like him.
Matthew knew full well that his seemingly bold moves—like taking down Mexican drug dealers—had all been forced upon him by circumstances.
Would he face a drug dealer's gun if he didn't have to? Was bravery worth more than his life? In those moments, he simply had no choice.
Matthew wasn't a conflicted man; nor was he the poetic, brooding type. When it came to Charlize Theron, he had chosen the role of a heartbreaker without hesitation. He wouldn't linger or get entangled in complicated feelings.
Elizabeth's calculated Hollywood-style approach had dampened his interest in women like her, leaving him somewhat annoyed, but nothing more.
Though he had encountered countless "femme fatales" over the years, Matthew was still himself. His values and sense of duty remained as steadfast as ever.
The image of that woman holding the blood-stained teacup flashed in his mind once more. This woman was different, and in a sense, she had saved his life.
Such a significant debt could only be repaid by committing fully.
With that thought, Matthew pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and sent a message to Margot Robbie.
"Got time? Let me buy you a drink."
He didn't call directly, as it was late, and she might be asleep.
The reply came back quickly, full of Margot Robbie's directness.
"Nope, already asleep."
He typed another message, "Asleep but still replying to texts?"
Her response was just as blunt, "You woke me up with your text."
He went on, "My apologies. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it."
A long pause followed, and just as Matthew was about to give up, another message appeared, "Just a drink?"
He replied, "What else did you have in mind?"
Ignoring his question, she asked directly, "Which bar?"
After a moment's thought, he replied, "Hollywood Boulevard, Black Mamba Bar."
Her final message read, "You're in Beverly Hills? I'm closer, so I'll probably arrive first. I'll be waiting at the bar. No need to reply; I'm changing now."
Matthew put his phone away and told the driver, "Take me to Black Mamba on Hollywood Boulevard."
Black Mamba had once been his and Johnny Depp's favorite hangout. Back then, Johnny Depp was one of its primary owners. It was well-known throughout Los Angeles, and it was here, right outside Black Mamba, that the late River Phoenix had overdosed.
However, since Johnny Depp had moved to France, Black Mamba was no longer connected to him, and he had long since sold his shares.
Since then, Matthew seldom visited, occasionally meeting up with James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender.
As he walked into Black Mamba, he nodded at the bar manager, who greeted him, and then made his way past the entrance fish tank. There, sitting at the bar, was Margot Robbie.
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