New York boasts three elite luxury housing zones: Manhattan's Upper East Side with its lavish duplexes, townhouses, and Long Island's sprawling estates.
The duplexes are the easiest to snag—if you've got the cash, you're in. Townhouses, with more space for parties, are a bigger flex in land-scarce Manhattan. You need not just money but a certain social standing to score one.
Then there's the beachfront estates in the Hamptons on Long Island—the ultimate status symbol. You need serious fame and clout to even get a foot in the door. Think Rockefellers, Madame Chiang Kai-shek, Steven Spielberg, finance titan George Soros, the Roosevelts…
Tucked in the suburbs, commuting to Manhattan's core usually means a helicopter ride. It's hands-down the glitziest, most extravagant playground on Earth today.
Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby captured the dreamy allure of this very spot.
With Dunn's current stature, he could absolutely claim a Long Island estate. Problem is, he hasn't found one on the market that fits. Plus, he's young, still climbing the career ladder—Universal's acquisition isn't even in the bag yet. No rush to kick back and enjoy life just now.
So, he dropped $40 million on a Manhattan townhouse instead. Plenty good for his New York crash pad and playtime.
That night, 16 Victoria's Secret supermodels showed up to a private bash Dunn threw.
As the only guy at the party, Dunn's vibe… wasn't exactly magical.
A lot of the models had stable families and incomes—they weren't looking to lean on a man anymore. His subtle hints? Totally ignored.
Then there were the ones still hustling for their big break. But after years in the game, they'd already networked with power players and billionaires.
In short, they'd all found their sugar daddies.
Victoria's Secret Angels, a game-changer in the modeling world, exploded onto the scene after their Super Bowl debut, grabbing America's attention—and the eyes of some very calculated players.
Dunn wasn't the only one playing the field. Nope, it's a guy thing!
The supermodel circle had long been scoped out.
Take the stunners Dunn had his eye on at the party: Laetitia Casta, Daniela Peštová, Letícia Costa—all backed by mega-rich heavyweights.
Especially Inés Rivero, the Argentine beauty. Dunn dug around and got the vibe her backer was… that big shot from Oracle!
A guy with clout that outranked Dunn's—how do you compete with that?
The rest? Either their skin tone wasn't his thing, or he just couldn't vibe with their icy, high-fashion attitude. Later waves of Insta-famous models might lack the same polish, but they definitely hit closer to Asian tastes.
"Good thing Ambrosio and Lima are fresh-faced Brazilian newbies who hit up Leo's party and crossed my path," Dunn mused. "A year or two later, and those two prime catches might've been snatched up by someone else…"
"No wonder Gisele Bündchen skipped introducing all those other beauties backstage and made a big deal out of Heidi Klum and Angela Lindvall. She knew the score."
"Angela Lindvall's new to the VS show—an outsider's rookie, hustling for a leg up. Heidi Klum's married, but it's shaky. She's ambitious, not content where she's at, and dying to climb higher—definitely looking to network with bigger fish."
Dunn let out a long breath. At least there were some stragglers he could snag!
Otherwise, after all his effort schlepping to the VS show in New York, coming up empty-handed would've been pathetic. Leo would've never let him live it down.
The next morning, Dunn woke up to find the two lovely ladies who'd been beside him gone, leaving only a faint whiff of perfume.
He got up, freshened up, and headed downstairs. Passing the music room, he spotted Angela Lindvall, the all-American bombshell, cradling a guitar and strumming away.
Her rhythm… wasn't great. Not even close to little Taylor's level.
But when she focused, those sharp, mysterious eyes softened, giving her a whole new charm.
Dunn smiled, strolling over and tapping the door lightly. "Mind if I come in?"
"Sir?"
"Just call me Dunn."
"Dunn!" Angela flashed a sweet smile, brushing some stray hair behind her ear. "Last night… did you have fun?"
Dunn laughed heartily. "Oh, it was great! I didn't expect you and Heidi to sync up so well—your chemistry was right up there with those Brazilian girls."
Angela set the guitar down and sauntered over. They were about the same height. Tilting her head, she locked eyes with him. "Dunn, you want to keep this going?"
Dunn paused. "What about Heidi? Isn't she married?"
Angela grinned. "That's just a tiny hiccup. It only stops her from moving in with you… or, well, us."
Dunn hesitated. In his past life, Heidi Klum had ditched her marriage to break into entertainment, cozying up to Harvey Weinstein.
This time around, would it be because of him?
"What, am I not appealing enough?" Angela pouted, putting on a coy, pleading look as she pressed herself against him, radiating a vibe that screamed take me.
Dunn chuckled. "Angie, if you're not appealing enough, then no woman on this planet could get a guy going."
She smirked. "So… we keep this up? Like last night?"
"Sure. If you're in, move on in."
Faced with this sultry, one-of-a-kind "old fox" of the supermodel world—nicknamed for her unique, fox-like catwalk—Dunn wasn't about to say no.
But Angela wasn't like those wide-eyed Brazilian newbies. She was American, seasoned, and savvy. She'd been posing since she was 7, debuted at 13, and had grown up in the game with a clear roadmap.
"Dunn, AA and Adriana are Brazilian—they chat in Portuguese all the time. If I live with them, I'll totally feel left out," she said, throwing him a flirty glance.
Dunn caught her drift. "You want your own place?"
"Can't I?" She swayed her hips, dialing up the charm.
Dunn frowned. "Won't you get lonely on your own?"
She laughed. "Not at all! Plus, I'm American—I've got tons of friends in the scene. If you're into it, I can hook you up. Different girls every time—how's that sound?"
Dunn hadn't pegged her ambitions as this big. "Where are you thinking of moving?"
"I've got my eye on a high-rise apartment. Super reasonable, just over $38 million," she said, wrapping her arms around him like he didn't have a choice.
$38 million, and she calls it "just"? This girl's got guts!
"Manhattan center?"
"Yup."
Dunn took a breath, keeping his tone light. "Angie, that's… not exactly cute."
She tilted her perfect face up at him, smiling. "We're not dating—cute's got nothing to do with it. All I need is to keep you happy and satisfied in bed, right?"
Her words sent his mind racing, and he fought to keep his cool.
Angela bit her lip, her thoughts crystal clear. "I'll stick with you for three, maybe four years. During that time, I won't touch another guy—you can send security or a housekeeper to keep tabs on me, whatever. I'll hold up my end."
Dunn lifted her chin, staring into her deep blue eyes. "And after four years, that luxury apartment's yours, huh?"
"It's what I deserve!" she shot back, meeting his gaze with that classic American "it's only fair" stubbornness.
Dunn was floored.
He'd heard the modeling world was bolder and wilder than Hollywood, but seeing it up close? Unreal.
He'd done his share of deals with girls in Hollywood, but it was always subtle—hints, not hard numbers, and never straight cash.
Angela putting a price tag on her youth like this? First time for everything!
A $38 million penthouse, plus 35% in gift taxes, for four years of her prime. Not cheap.
But it lined up with what supermodels chased and valued.
At yesterday's party, he'd learned they preferred property transfers over straight checks—same as those Hong Kong actresses with their tycoon deals.
It dodged tax audits and money-laundering probes.
Lots of perks.
Seeing him quiet, Angela jumped in. "I've got connections. Even if some girls have their own 'bosses,' I can still get them for you—just gotta be discreet."
Dunn nodded faintly, pressing her shoulders down. "Kneel."
Her eyes sparkled, her smile curving like a crescent moon as she squealed, "Dunn, thank you!"
Amid the rustling sounds, Dunn sucked in a sharp breath a moment later, nearly losing it. He yanked out his phone to distract himself, dialing his assistant, George Paxton. "George, look into buying an apartment—under $40 million…"
"Yeah… hiss… Handle the money with Scott… Yup, I met a model. I'll send you her info later—set it up. Security, staff, make sure they're solid… Not 'monitoring,' just… hiss… make sure she doesn't go overboard the next few years…"
He hung up, looking down at Angela kneeling there, and grinned.
Some money's worth spending!
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