Chapter 28: Nicole in the Kitchen
"Yes, I'm cooking. What—don't believe I can?"
Nicole caught the skepticism in William's eyes and immediately bristled.
"No, it's not that," William replied calmly. "Just… a little unexpected."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted over her—this woman whose face seemed utterly flawless under the streetlights.
Nicole Kidman, at the absolute peak of her beauty.
At this moment, William couldn't be sure whether stepping away from Tom Cruise would lead her to an Oscar sooner or later than in the original timeline.
But one thing he was certain of:
This woman's ambition was ferocious.
Sooner or later, she would become a Hollywood Best Actress winner.
"You know," Nicole said suddenly, smiling,
"I really like the way you look at me—like you're appreciating something, not judging it."
She had never been shy about attention, and William's gaze didn't bother her in the slightest.
After today's scenes, she was more convinced than ever that she'd made the right bet.
She didn't know why William had remained obscure for so long—but judging from his acting alone, not to mention the sharp instincts behind those Adult Valley films, she could tell:
This man was a massive, undiscovered Hollywood stock.
More importantly—
He was still unknown.
And she was the first to invest in him.
Their increasingly suggestive conversation did absolutely nothing to disturb Sergei in the driver's seat.
As a former Soviet intelligence officer, professionalism was second nature to him.
Besides, Sergei had no grand ambitions anymore—he simply wanted a quiet, stable life in America.
Soon, the car reached Sunset Boulevard.
As they passed Hughes Market, Nicole asked William to have Sergei pull over.
While Nicole went inside to buy groceries, William looked out at the street and spoke quietly:
"Sergei, I forgot to ask—does Ramirez know his notebook is missing?"
Sergei paused briefly before answering.
"At least at the time I took it, he didn't."
Which meant… things could have changed.
William nodded.
"Find a way to put it back tomorrow. Let's avoid alerting him."
They'd cut ties with the 18th Street gang eventually—but not yet.
In Hollywood, making money was never simple.
It wasn't as easy as writing a script, shooting a film, submitting it to a festival, and waiting for distributors to hand over checks like a charity.
Timing, leverage, and silence mattered.
And right now—
It wasn't time to flip the table yet.
To truly make money in a place like this,
you either needed connections and background,
or undeniable strength.
William had neither.
Which was why, for a long stretch of time,
Adult Valley films would remain his primary source of income.
At least until the Nikkei Index crashed, he couldn't afford to cut off that revenue stream.
Doing so would derail his entire plan.
That meant the 18th Street gang—the tumor he'd personally allowed into his operation—had reached the point where it needed to be removed.
Once his own security was strong enough,
it would be time to formally sever ties with them.
Of course, if José decided to break off on his own before that, all the better.
After chatting with Sergei for a bit about recruiting more of his compatriots, William saw Nicole emerge from the supermarket, a paper bag in her hands filled with groceries.
Once she got back into the car, William glanced at the bag in her arms.
"So, what are you planning to cook?"
"Roast beef with potatoes, baked beans in tomato sauce, and fried fish fillets.
And a bottle of Seaview sparkling wine."
Hearing that very British menu, William couldn't help but feel quietly relieved that stargazy pie hadn't been invented yet.
Expecting an actress to cook French cuisine was unrealistic anyway.
Being able to handle British food at all was already impressive.
He smiled—slightly against his better judgment—but thanks to his precise control over facial muscles, it still looked sincere.
At least Nicole didn't notice what he was really thinking.
Hughes Market wasn't far from her apartment.
Two minutes later, the car pulled up again.
After getting out, William leaned toward the driver's window.
"Sergei, pick me up tomorrow at eight."
"Yes, boss."
Sergei was always like that—steady, concise, never wasting words.
As William and Nicole entered the building side by side, across the way—
Catherine Zeta-Jones happened to be standing on her balcony.
Since her last encounter with William, she'd quietly asked around near his studio and learned that he was the owner.
At that moment, only three words flashed through her mind:
Casting couch.
She didn't look down on it.
Adults were adults.
In Hollywood, trading one's body for resources was often the most cost-effective option.
Countless women spent their entire lives struggling in this city, never even getting close to a producer—let alone a studio owner.
So Catherine didn't feel disdain toward Nicole Kidman.
Only ambition.
And the wish that she could swap places with her right now.
Of course, William and Nicole had no idea they'd been seen.
And since neither of them was particularly famous yet, they didn't worry about it.
---
Nicole's Apartment
After entering, Nicole set the groceries down on the kitchen island.
"Ice?" she asked, holding up two glasses.
"With ice," William replied, loosening his tie before dropping onto the couch.
Honestly, if it weren't for playing Ben, he wouldn't bother wearing a tie at all.
Seeing how relaxed he was in her home, Nicole smiled faintly.
She turned, opened the freezer, pulled out a large block of ice, and began chipping it with an ice pick.
Watching her handle the ice pick made William think of Basic Instinct.
Calling that movie a B-film was generous—in his eyes, it practically belonged in the Valley.
Yet as a Valley film, the script would've been dull.
A novelist who murdered her lovers with an ice pick?
Too straightforward. Too literal.
He didn't dwell on it for long.
Nicole soon returned, holding two glasses of sparkling wine.
She casually straddled him, long legs framing his waist.
"Wow—weren't you just saying we should cook fi—"
Before he could finish, she pressed a finger gently to his lips.
"Shhh…"