A gentle push roused Demi Moore. She opened her eyes to find Simon, fully dressed, standing beside the bed. Everything from last night came rushing back.
The curtains were open, but the light outside suggested it was still early.
Demi sat up, letting the thin sheet slip deliberately as she gave him a conciliatory smile. "Morning, Simon."
"Morning," he said, setting a square box on the nightstand. "I've got to head to work. Breakfast is downstairs, I had it sent up. Driver's outside whenever you're ready to leave."
Demi's gaze landed on the box emblazoned with Gucci. "That for me?"
"For her," Simon said, nodding toward the woman still asleep on the far side of the bed. He reached out, pinched Demi's chin lightly. "All right. That's it. Bye."
Demi watched him leave the bedroom, then flopped back onto the pillows with a disgruntled mutter. "It's Saturday. Who goes to work on Saturday? Damn man."
She turned to the lush, far more curvaceous figure under the sheet beside her and gave it a slap. "He's gone. You can stop pretending."
"You tricked me," came Renée Russo's muffled voice from the pillow. Then, with real venom: "You both tricked me."
Demi reached for the box, opened it, and lifted out a classic Gucci Floral silk scarf, the timeless design inspired by Grace Kelly herself, still in production. Versatile, elegant.
She admired it with a mix of envy and irritation. She could afford a Gucci scarf, of course. It was the favoritism that rankled.
Wrapping the sheet around herself, she headed for the bathroom and pushed open the door.
Demi was already luxuriating in the massive marble tub. Seeing Renée, she waved lazily. "Use another bathroom. I don't share."
"I like it even less," Renée retorted, clutching the sheet to her chest. She leaned against the doorframe in silence for a moment before asking, "So what now?"
Demi played dumb. "What do you mean?"
Renée just stared, hard.
Demi began to feel nervous half-afraid the woman would storm in and dunk her head underwater. "There is no 'now.' Hollywood's full of assholes. How was I supposed to know what comes next?"
Renée kept staring. "Don't pretend I'm stupid. You're angling for the lead in Ghost."
"Yeah, but that bastard didn't promise me anything. He probably just wanted to get laid." Demi spread her hands, then added with sudden schadenfreude, "You got it worse. He probably doesn't even know your name."
Renée fell silent.
Her expression flickered, dark, then resigned. After a long pause she turned and left without another word.
Demi settled back against the tub's edge and began to scheme. She'd said that, but she wasn't giving up. A married woman taking that kind of risk last night she deserved something. Even if Ghost slipped away, she'd wring some other opportunity out of the little bastard.
She soaked for an hour in the luxurious tub, then slipped back into last night's gown and went downstairs.
Renée was already at the dining table.
Demi picked a few items from the central platter and sat opposite. Noticing the scarf now tied around Renée's neck, she teased, "You really like his gift, huh? Already wearing it."
Renée only glanced at her and continued eating.
She'd showered and dressed in another bathroom. Standing at the mirror to fix her makeup, she'd realized why he'd given her a scarf.
Her neck looked like a strawberry patch.
She'd tied it on reluctantly and felt, to her horror, a flicker of warmth toward him. Then she'd scolded herself soundly.
No principles.
Now, thinking he might truly not know her name…
Sigh.
Just a dream, then.
He was so dazzling in Hollywood.
And she was well fourteen years older. What could she possibly expect? [TL/N: MILF]
Hearing Demi's jab, facing the woman who'd dragged her into this, Renée couldn't muster even a pretense of civility.
…
Leaving Palisades, Simon spent the morning with Amy at the Malibu Daenerys Studios construction site.
After months of planning, the overall design was finalized, the valley leveled, access roads widened. Groundbreaking was set for mid-May; main construction and interiors both six months, move-in targeted for June next year.
Lunch was with Angela Ahrendts, who'd flown in from New York—president of Gucci USA.
Simon remembered plenty about Angela from the original timeline, which was why he'd singled out her résumé when Sophia sent the stack.
In that timeline, she'd revived Burberry as CEO, then joined Apple as senior VP of retail once rumored as Tim Cook's successor.
At twenty-eight now, she'd already impressed both Simon and Sophia in her few months on the job. Sophia was already planning to adopt some of Angela's ideas for European and Asian stores and had privately told Simon she might hand Angela full Gucci operations in two or three years.
Santa Monica.
Inside a seafood restaurant on Venice Beach, Angela spent the entire lunch outlining ideas on customer experience, financial management, and marketing.
Simon listened attentively, asking the occasional question.
With the Westeros empire expanding rapidly, he only needed high-level grasp of operational concepts enough to stay informed. He neither had time nor energy for granular detail.
Lunch ran until two.
Near the end, Angela raised another matter: "Simon, for the 'Gucci Night' at Cannes, Sophia really hopes you'll come to France yourself."
After the Oscar success in March, Sophia had immediately decided to replicate the event at Cannes in May. The festival opened May 11; Gucci Night was scheduled for May 20--the second Saturday.
Simon had heard about it in Melbourne but hadn't committed, saying it depended on his schedule.
Now, hearing it again, he asked, "Do I absolutely have to go?"
Angela nodded. "If you're not there, a lot of the guests we want probably won't show."
Simon reviewed his calendar.
Batman post was comfortably ahead of schedule; much didn't require constant oversight. He was splitting time roughly half-and-half between post and company management. Busy, but not chained to L.A.
Daenerys had run smoothly during Batman's shoot, proving it no longer needed his constant presence.
So he agreed.
Seeing time was up, Simon signaled for the check and asked Angela, "Any plans this afternoon?"
She hesitated, shook her head.
Simon caught the flicker in her eyes and realized the misunderstanding. "Daenerys set up a data-analytics firm to support Blockbuster. I'm heading over. The head's ideas overlap a lot with what you were just saying. You two might enjoy talking."
Angela flushed slightly at her brief misread and nodded. "Nancy, we know each other."
Daenerys Analytics was near Santa Monica Beach. From Venice, less than two kilometers north.
Looking at yet another Daenerys division crammed into a three-story building, Simon grew even more eager for the studio complex to finish.
Nancy Brill was waiting. She lit up at Angela's arrival, pulled her aside for excited whispers, nearly forgetting her boss entirely.
Angela, less bold than Nancy about ignoring Simon, chatted briefly then said, "Simon wants to see what you've been working on."
"Let's go upstairs," Nancy said, nodding. To Simon: "I actually just found something I wanted to run by you."
The three headed up.
Second floor: analysts' open office--slightly chaotic, walls plastered with charts. Staff glanced curiously at the big boss. Simon greeted everyone warmly before letting Nancy begin.
"Blockbuster's data system upgrade won't finish until September. But using historical data, we've already started collaborating, offering suggestions on logistics, inventory, management." She pulled a file from a cabinet and handed it to Simon. "Like this. It's what I wanted to show you."
Simon opened it: a detailed report on rental/sales by genre across Blockbuster stores.
Skimming, he asked, "Ideas are easy. The key is, how do you ensure Blockbuster implements your suggestions without watering them down?"
Nancy answered, "I'm overseeing personally. They won't."
Simon looked up. "Personally?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "Besides the board seat, I'm now senior operations consultant at Blockbuster."
Simon blinked. "How did I not know this?"
Nancy looked genuinely puzzled. "Did you need to?"
Simon was momentarily speechless. Remembering her last power play against Blockbuster management and Angela's soft laugh beside him, he warned, "When you decide to oust Wayne Huizenga and take the chairman job yourself, give me a heads-up, okay?"
Nancy answered dead seriously: "At current expansion pace, by end of next year--over a thousand stores--Huizenga won't be able to keep up."
Simon surrendered. "I was kidding."
"I wasn't."
Simon eyed the petite woman, still shorter than him in skyscraper heels and asked cautiously, "So, Nancy… any plans to oust Simon Westeros too?"
She shook her head. "No. You own 100% of Daenerys. I'd just get myself fired."
Simon exhaled in relief. "That's good."