Chapter 170 Cancelling the Collaboration
Luann Weaver sipped her coffee. "I used to avoid conflict because there was no need."
Had she not married Myron Curtis, she might still be living her low-key life, idly passing her days.
Although Nicholas didn't know the details, he realized Luann must have been wronged by Wilber Gilbert.
"That's true," he agreed. "The gentle are easy to bully."
"In any circle, inside or out, there's always someone who abuses their power."
"But now that you've got the Curtis family behind you, surely no one on the upper west side would dare touch you."
Luann smiled, but her expression revealed nothing. "It's too late for business talk today. Let's discuss the song tomorrow."
"Sounds good," Nicholas nodded.
After dinner, Luann drove Nicholas home before heading back to her own place.
As she arrived home, dawn was beginning to break on the horizon.
She pushed the door open and flipped on the hallway light.
Soft light spilled across the living room, casting a somber tinge on the silhouette of someone hunkered on the sofa.
Myron Curtis sat there, slightly hunched, hands intertwined with elbows resting on his knees, his forehead pressed against his knuckles. His face was cloaked in shadows, betraying no emotion.
At the sound of movement, Myron stood up and poured Luann Weaver a hot cup of coffee.
"You're back."
"Mm-hmm."
"Here, warm yourself up."
He handed the cup to Luann, who took a careful sip. After a small pause, she spoke with a hint of obedience, "I went to see Nicholas, he's been my friend for about four years. He needed a bit of help with something."
Hearing Luann's candid response swept away some of the darkness in Myron's heart.
Yet, with a tinge of jealousy, he asked, "Why didn't you meet during the day?"
Luann replied with a light smile, "That's a question only Grace could answer for you."
Myron squinted his eyes, silently prompting for more.
Luann naturally went on to explain Grace's doing.
"She took over Nicholas's recording studio, spent six hours in there laying down tracks, that's why we got delayed."
Myron remained silent for a moment, not picking up the thread of Luann's words, but instead gently stroked her hair.
"It's still early; let's head back to bed for a while."
"Okay."
At 5 AM, Grace's group was on a relentless dash to the show's venue.
In the dead of night, she had two cars ferry them, leaving no room for rest.
Upon arriving at the venue, there was little time to spare, so Grace caught some quick shut-eye in the car and even managed to put on a face mask.
But the wait extended until 7 o'clock.
Waking up groggily, Grace found the face mask had been removed at some point. She peered into the bright daylight and complained, "What's going on? Why hasn't the crew gotten here yet?"
Her assistant, wiping a blood-stained hand with alcohol wipes, startled at her voice and dropped what they were holding with a clatter.
"I... I've been calling them repeatedly, but no one's answering."
Grace replied with irritation, "Keep trying. If they don't answer, shoot them a text."
The assistant nodded, his movements eager and anxious.
It wasn't until nearly 8 a.m. that the assistant finally got through to the crew.
Already simmering with frustration, Grace took this opportunity to vent.
"What on earth are you doing? We've been here waiting for three hours!"
"Grace hasn't rested all night because she's been preparing for your show."
"And what do you do? Miss the time? Can't even make a phone call to inform us?"
"Do you seriously think Grace gives a rat's tail about your show?"
The other end of the line was silent for a moment.
"Good, because we couldn't care less about Grace either."
The assistant's eyes widened in disbelief, "What did you just say?"
Back in the day, the producers of the show courted Grace nonstop, showering her with gifts and sweeteners until she finally agreed to come on. And now they were backing out?
"Was I not clear enough?" the voice on the line continued, a note of annoyance creeping in.
"I'm not shooting with her anymore, we're switching talent."
"Understand?"
The assistant glanced at Grace in a panic.
Grace gestured dismissively for the phone.
"What's the meaning of this?"
The voice on the line came back, apologetic but firm, "Sorry, Miss Grace, but Young Curtis gave us a call, laid some cash on us to axe the deal with you."
"As for the cancellation fee, let's just say you're not getting one."
"You know how it works, Miss Grace."
Used to throwing her weight around, Grace was enraged. The shoot would’ve only taken two hours. They had prepped for her several times, and each time, right before filming, her people would lazily inform them Grace was tied up with another project and couldn't make it, causing significant monetary loss for setting up scenes, not to mention manpower and materials.
Grace's voice was slow and deliberate as she said, "Myron Curtis paid you off?"
"Yes."
"I'll double it. Now make sure you come crawling back."
A scoff came through the other end, a suppressed laugh laced with mockery.
"Miss Grace, please, get real. In the Upper West Side, who dares cross Young Curtis? He's made his wishes clear. Even if you offered ten times the amount, I wouldn't have the guts to spend it..."
With that, the line went dead.
With a frustrated sigh, Grace put down her phone.
The assistant watched her cautiously, trying to soothe her despite the lack of emotion on her face, "Don't be mad, Grace, you..."
But Grace suddenly lifted her hand and hurled her phone at the assistant's face with such force that she cried out in pain, clutching her forehead and retreating silently to a corner, her eyes brimming with tears.
After a moment, Grace commanded, "We're going back to the mansion."
The front yard's flowers had faded.
Upon Grace's arrival, she saw gardeners bustling about, uprooting the dead flora and planting new, extravagant varieties.
They all greeted her with utmost respect as she approached.
"Miss Grace," they chimed.
Her high heels clicked on the stone pathway, echoing crisply with each step.
One section of the pathway was covered in moss and stains that hadn't been tended to.
There lay a shaking figure, ignored by the staff as they passed by, invisible to their sight.
Grace sauntered over and deliberately grounded her heel into the unmoving man's hand. The sharp pain made Joshua gasp for air, snapping him back to consciousness.
"Pathetic," Grace sneered.
Joshua withdrew his hand and attempted a stiff smile, though it barely masked his discomfort.
"Luann Weaver isn’t someone to take lightly," he quipped.
"I take it you got served by her too, since you're back here at this peculiar time?"
Grace had just been nominated for Best Actress, and Mr. Curtis was ecstatic. He had been throwing her a celebratory bash for the past couple of days.
Logically speaking, Mr. Curtis should have been the one calling her back.
But here she was, and obviously, things hadn't gone her way.
"Damn that Myron Curtis," Grace gritted her teeth in frustration. "Is he around? Is he here?"
As soon as she finished speaking, the servants behind her responded in unison.
"Good to see you, sir."
Silence fell over both Grace and Joshua, their expressions frozen.
