This was a French feast, with dishes served one after another. The meal stretched on for over an hour, and the conversation just kept getting livelier. Catherine Zeta-Jones, in particular, was a master at steering the mood—within a few words, she had all the guys at the table cracking up.
After a couple of glasses of red wine, her cheeks flushed a gorgeous rosy hue, like a blooming rose, vibrant and captivatingly beautiful.
Dunn couldn't help sneaking glances at her, swallowing hard every now and then.
If she weren't already married, Dunn would've made a move without hesitation. She was like a ripe, juicy strawberry—way too tempting!
Rachel Weisz clearly saw through Dunn's thoughts. She knew that look all too well—it was the same unabashed stare he'd given her back in the day.
"How about… we slip off to the bedroom, and I keep you company?" Rachel whispered in Dunn's ear, biting her lip seductively. "I'm just as charming as she is, right?"
Dunn's heart skipped a beat. Her warm breath, mixed with the rich scent of wine, was downright intoxicating.
Before he could respond, though, an obnoxiously loud phone ringtone cut through the vibe at the table.
Catherine Zeta-Jones's expression shifted slightly. She quickly apologized, excused herself, and stepped over to a corner nearby to take the call, looking visibly tense.
Dunn caught on immediately, his face darkening. "That's gotta be Michael Douglas checking up on her!"
Rachel let out a little snort. "You've got a way with words."
Dunn huffed. "I've seen plenty of old-guy-young-wife pairs. Murdoch and Redstone don't even pull this kind of thing."
"Well, this is Hollywood. It's a different game," Rachel said, softening the mood.
But over in the corner, Catherine Zeta-Jones was losing her cool. Her voice spiked as she argued, "No! I told you, no!"
Everyone at the table exchanged awkward glances. It was hard to believe the same woman who'd been all smiles a minute ago could flip like this.
"Enough! I'm eating!"
"No, I'm eating!"
"How many times do I have to say it? I'm eating!"
Realizing how awkward the atmosphere had gotten, Catherine hurriedly ended the call and came back to the table. With an apologetic look, she bowed slightly. "I'm so sorry… I, uh, I've got something to deal with. I need to head downstairs to my room for a bit."
Kathleen Kennedy jumped up and walked over, concerned. "Need any help?"
Catherine forced a small smile. "No, it's fine. I can handle it."
Dunn frowned. "Can you still manage this afternoon's work?"
Catherine bit her lip, took a deep breath, and said, "No problem!"
Dunn nodded. "Alright then, go take care of it."
---
Just as Dunn had guessed, downstairs in Catherine Zeta-Jones's room, Michael Douglas was sitting on the sofa, fuming. His anger was so intense that even her assistants were tiptoeing around, barely daring to breathe.
Everyone knew the Jewish community had built Hollywood and held the most sway here. And the Douglas family? They were the poster children for Jewish influence in Tinseltown these days!
Michael Douglas's wrath was something no one could handle lightly. Even Catherine Zeta-Jones felt a flicker of hesitation when she saw his cold, steely glare.
"Didn't you say you were heading back to the company?" she asked, taking a deep breath. She didn't want to fight and tried to keep her tone steady.
But Michael Douglas wasn't having it. It was like he'd swallowed a stick of dynamite. He cranked his voice up to eleven. "If Ryan hadn't tipped me off, you would've totally played me!"
Ryan was Catherine's agent.
Her brow furrowed, her face darkening. It seemed like this wasn't getting resolved without a fight. She waved her assistants out of the room, then, barely holding back her anger, said, "Ryan? What'd he say?"
Michael Douglas roared, "He told me you slept with Dunn!"
Catherine snapped, her temper flaring. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm calling Ryan right now—I don't believe he'd say that!"
Michael sneered coldly. "Of course he didn't say it outright. He just told me you passed the audition and landed the lead in Chicago."
Catherine clenched her teeth, fuming. "What are you even getting at? I passed the audition, and instead of congratulating me, you're picking a fight. What's your deal?"
"Your deal? That's what you should be asking yourself!"
"I don't get it!"
"Still playing dumb?" Michael's eyes were like daggers, boring into her. "What were you doing up there in the presidential suite?"
Catherine was on the verge of losing it. "How many times do I have to say it? I was eating!"
"Eating? Ha! You think I'm an idiot?" Michael snapped, his voice sharp and biting. "This is a film crew—there's work this afternoon. Who drinks on the job? And since when do you eat in a suite instead of a restaurant? Audition discussions are complicated—getting an answer within three days is fast. But you? You nailed the role over lunch? That's realistic? I saw Madonna when I left—she's up for the same part. How'd you beat her? The chemistry test hasn't even happened this afternoon, and you've already got the lead? That's how a normal crew works? Even if your acting's flawless, would the team let you drink? Are you even doing the chemistry test later?"
Catherine was so mad she could barely breathe. "You don't trust me—you just don't trust me!"
"No one could trust this! The facts are right in front of me! Can you give me one solid explanation? You can't!" Michael was like a raging lion, slamming his fist into the sofa in a fury.
Catherine's anger mixed with a bitter sting. Yeah, Dunn's crew was weird. It didn't follow Hollywood's usual flow at all. Morning auditions, and the role's locked in by noon? Not only that, they'd told her agent and invited the actors to eat with the crew. It was practically begging for suspicion!
She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, unsure where to even start.
Michael's rage only grew. "I noticed it back when we were shooting Traffic. That kid's eyes were all over you! I've been keeping watch ever since, and the second I step out to the company, you two hook up!"
Catherine took a deep breath, trying to level her tone. "Michael, I'll say it one last time: nothing happened between me and Dunn. We were just eating upstairs. I don't know why they were drinking or why they gave me the role so fast—that's on them. But me and Dunn? There's nothing there!"
"Bitch! What a bitch!" Michael snarled. "Look at your face—still flushed! The evidence is right there, and you're still lying? Aren't you afraid of going to hell?"
He was practically unhinged with anger.
Catherine stared at him, his bloodshot eyes unwavering, clearly convinced of his version of the truth. She'd had enough of this suffocating pressure. In a fit of recklessness, she grabbed her hair and screamed, "Fine! Yes, we just screwed upstairs—how's that? He's an amazing guy, a thousand times stronger than you, a million times better! With you, I've never once climaxed, but he had me coming over and over. I'd happily let him screw me to death—satisfied now?"
"You! You! Bitch!" Michael raised his hand to slap her.
Catherine smirked, her expression dripping with sarcasm. "I've got work later. You gonna hit me?"
Domestic violence was a career killer in Hollywood—even Michael Douglas wouldn't dare cross that line. He could only resort to softer threats. "No way! You're not doing this movie!"
But Catherine was done playing nice. "Why not? I earned this role with my own talent—not your clout or your dad's. You don't get a say!"
Michael bellowed, "I said you're not doing this movie!"
Catherine shot back, "And I said, if Dunn's on board, I'm in!"
"Dunn…" Michael gritted his teeth, jabbing a finger at her forehead, his eyes blazing. "You really think cozying up to Dunn means I can't touch you?"
Catherine laughed coldly. "Go ahead and try. I know the Douglas family's got pull, but Dunn? Sorry, not to burst your bubble, but you can't do a damn thing about him!"
Michael's fury hit a boiling point. "Fine. You just wait!"