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When Henry took the cute pink paper bag from old Gary, he actually thought the girl-agent had left him some kind of spy-grade "special" memento.
But when he pulled out the plush toy—a chubby, adorable tabby-cat doll—Henry froze.
"…This is a Katie doll?"
"Bobbi put real thought into it, didn't she?" Gary said.
He did not dare mention how he and Bobbi had opened Henry's door earlier and been scared half to death by the real Katie.
Henry checked the plush toy with his X-ray vision—no bugs, no transmitters, nothing.
Which made him momentarily wonder whether he had misunderstood Bobbi Morse.
Maybe she was just a normal, bright, pretty college girl… trying to find a boyfriend.
The thought flashed through Henry's mind for half a second before he dismissed it.
One major reason he had quit Hollywood was because of what a very famous agent said about him: ordinary face, no standout features; without heavy training, nothing memorable.
And then that agent "selflessly" recommended an expensive acting workshop…
Yeah, he was just trying to squeeze a referral fee out of him.
Without a Leonardo DiCaprio-level face to begin with, Henry would have to grind twenty years for a chance at recognition through acting skill.
He had zero interest in being a lifelong side character.
And people who claim action stars "don't need looks" are lying—if you're going to be an action star, you still need a memorable face or vibe.
Henry was memorable only in how unmemorable he looked.
Plastic surgery couldn't fix that.
…Maybe disfigurement could.
Given Hollywood insiders' practiced eyes, the idea of a woman falling for him at first sight was absurd.
So Bobbi's friendliness was probably just her personality—she was nice to everyone.
Such people do exist.
The world isn't as dark as people pretend. Even beggars on the street eventually encounter someone who tosses them a coin.
Seeing Henry staring at the plush toy with a conflicted expression, Gary nudged:
"That's Bobbi thanking you for showing her around these past few days. Sure, giving a man a plush doll is a bit odd, but it's a very girl thing to do. She told me she'd look for you again next vacation."
Henry put the toy back into the bag and laughed.
"So that's half a year away. Maybe she'll meet her soulmate this semester.
We'll see when the time comes. But if you stay in touch with her, thank her for me."
"…Alright." Gary looked downright disappointed.
So exaggerated it was clearly intentional—Henry couldn't help laughing.
"Gary, since when are you so eager to play matchmaker? And she's your ex-wife's distant relative—not yours.
And with her looks, you think she's lacking suitors? I'm unemployed. I'm literally considering going back to Alaska to fish king crabs so I can pay your rent."
Gary harrumphed.
"You don't look worried. And someone your age ought to have a girlfriend. Live like a young person.
You're so bored you adopted a 'tabby cat'—"
He air-quoted dramatically.
"—If you tell me next that you adopted a Bichon Frise, I'll forbid it."
Henry laughed. "If I had both a cat and a dog, the place would be a warzone."
"Exactly! So isn't it better to have a girl around to keep you in line?
Why should I suffer through marriage while you skate free?" Gary complained.
Henry sighed. "…So that's the real reason. Old man."
Gary made an overly dramatic "oops I slipped" expression—so fake it made Henry want to punch him.
Before Henry could consider punching him, a silver-gray Rolls-Royce stopped outside the building.
A large, powerfully built white man with brown hair and brown eyes stepped out in a black suit.
"Are you Mr. Henry Brown?" the man asked.
Henry and Gary exchanged a look.
Neither recognized him. He didn't act like a government man either.
So Henry said cautiously, "I might be. And you are?"
"Mr. Brown, hello. I'm Happy Hogan.
Ms. Katharine Hepburn sent me with an invitation—she requests your presence at a banquet tonight."
He took an envelope from inside his jacket and held it out politely.
Henry blinked.
Happy Hogan.
As in Tony Stark's future driver and bodyguard.
Working for Katharine Hepburn now?
Or was someone else behind this invitation?
Henry opened the envelope.
The format was familiar.
This was about the time of year when, back when he worked for Audrey Hepburn, Oscar-season banquets happened every night.
Only a few mattered. Audrey often declined most of them politely.
So today's banquet… was it an Oscar-season campaigning event?
But what did he have to do with that?
He wasn't a voting member.
Still—the signature was unmistakably Katharine Hepburn's.
He couldn't turn down the old lady.
Henry tucked the invitation away.
"Got it. Please tell Ms. Hepburn I'll be there."
"Of course." Happy nodded, then got back into the Rolls-Royce and drove off.
Gary exhaled only after the car left.
"So… that was Katharine Hepburn's chauffeur?"
Henry shook his head.
"Probably someone else's. Delivering invitations. The lady isn't rich enough to let her driver run around in a Rolls. She doesn't even use cars like that herself."
"Well then get upstairs and prepare! The banquet's tonight!" Gary urged.
Henry smirked.
"It's just a normal banquet, not the red carpet.
Even if I dress up like a peacock, it won't mean anything."
( Bobbi is Barbara morse aka Mockingbird )
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