Chapter 45: Ambition

Chapter 45: Chapter 45: Ambition

#warning, the original author slowly start slipping Chinese elements, I was surprised too, especially since the novel has been good so far.

"They’re certainly eager, Boss. Are you free next month? I have tickets to the Victoria’s Secret show. Want to go together?"

Edward took the tickets from his pocket and handed them to Irene.

Irene stopped eating and took the tickets.

As far as she knew, the Victoria’s Secret show didn’t sell public tickets; it was invite-only. Had Edward been scammed? Unlikely, given his background.

"Where did these come from? And why not invite Britney? Me going to a lingerie show with you sounds odd," Irene said, frowning.

"An elder in my family gave them to me. She’s a partner with Victoria’s Secret, so she gets invites every year. Britney’s recording her second album and can’t go, told me to find someone else. I thought of you, Boss. Why odd? Don’t look at it that way. Even as a lingerie show, it’s a professional event. Plenty of men and women attend..."

"Alright, alright, spare me the lecture. I’ll decide if I go."

Just then, she saw her assistant, Vera, approaching. She waved at Edward. "I have work. We’ll talk about the show later."

Edward pursed his lips and left.

"Boss, I set the meeting for the day after tomorrow in L.A. Chinatown," Vera whispered by Irene’s ear.

Irene didn’t answer, just nodded. "Have you eaten? If not, join me."

After setting her things down, Vera grabbed food and sat beside Irene.

Irene asked quietly, "Did it go smoothly?"

"It was okay. The first meeting, he was wary of me, but better by the second. He probably checked us out beforehand."

"What’s he like?" Irene asked, tapping the table habitually.

"He seems gentlemanly and reserved, but once we talked, he showed deep knowledge of Hollywood," Vera said while eating. She was hungry from rushing back tonight.

"Is that so? Eat slowly. We don’t leave until tomorrow afternoon."

In the afternoon in L.A. Chinatown, the sun was bright. Since Irene started directing, she rarely came here. Being back felt unreal, like another lifetime.

She entered the familiar Cantonese restaurant, went down a narrow hall, passed a vermilion pillar, and saw a small shop named Lu Yu Tea House.

She’d found it as a child. Though called a tea house, it was more like a coffee-bookstore from her past life. It had manga and novels from overseas. Order tea or coffee, and you could stay all day.

The owner was an Asian woman. Her hair was pinned up, a few gray strands, but her face was unchanged from when Irene first met her. She smiled and nodded at Irene.

Irene skipped her usual spot and chose a quiet window seat on the second floor, ordering aged Pu’er she didn’t normally drink.

Soon, a young man came upstairs quickly.

He looked no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, black hair and eyes, typical East Asian features. He wore a pressed but dated dark suit, with a composure beyond his years. Sweat on his forehead showed he’d hurried.

"Director Irene? Sorry to keep you waiting."

He handed over a simple card: Chen Shiyu, Publisher and Editor-in-Chief of The Bridge Journal.

She paused, then stood, smiling and replying: "Mr. Chen, no need for formality. I was early. Please sit."

After pleasantries, Irene got to the point.

"I’ve read almost all back issues of The Bridge Journal, including pieces on DreamWorks’ model and independent film financing. The insights were sharp. It’s a shame that content is rare now."

Chen Shiyu’s smile turned bitter. He rubbed the warm cup.

"Newspapers need to survive. Analysis doesn’t sell ads. Celebrity gossip and box office do. The Bridge Journal is the foundation my father left. I wanted to build a bridge, connecting information and capital between East and West. Unfortunately," he paused,

"the bridge is built, but no one crosses."

"It’s not that no one crosses. Most haven’t seen value on the other side yet."

Irene looked at him, sharp. "But you saw it. Years ago, you predicted streaming would change viewing habits and analyzed co-production risks.

Your understanding of Hollywood isn’t gossip. It’s capital and rules, to the core. You don’t lack ideas, but a platform and resources to realize them."

"You’re right, Director Irene, but you know how hard it is for someone like me to get deep into Hollywood," Chen Shiyu said frankly.

The food arrived. Steamed fish was tender, crispy suckling pig savory, but neither focused on it.

Irene used fluent Mandarin to hit his core: "Mr. Chen, talent shouldn’t stay buried for lack of support. The Bridge Journal being overlooked isn’t about your ability, but that you’re ahead, lacking a link between your vision and current reality."

She leaned forward, voice low but firm: "I can be that link. I need someone like you, not just as a mouthpiece, but as my eyes.

I need you to analyze competitors, track capital, and someday, help me plan in the Pacific market."

Chen Shiyu’s pulse quickened. He felt his defenses, built against years of frustration, cracking. He stayed silent, but his mind raced.

Irene offered terms he couldn’t refuse: "The Bridge Journal can remain as one of our public outlets.

I’ll provide capital so it doesn’t depend on gossip. You can focus on in-depth reporting and industry analysis as you intended.

Behind the scenes, you report to me. I need your information and a team to help me build an enterprise.

My goal is Hollywood, and the broader Eastern market."

This was the first time Irene showed her commercial ambition to an outsider. She didn’t just want to direct. She needed talent for that ambition, and this man was a key piece for her plans across the Pacific.

Finally, she said firmly:

"I value the potential in you that’s hidden by circumstances. I believe the future Hollywood landscape should include both our names. And film culture across the Pacific will enter a new Chapter with our work."

Chen Shiyu met Irene’s knowing eyes. He saw trust, and a grand blueprint.

He breathed, The future she described, his dormant ambition reignited.

"Director Irene, for your trust, Shiyu will serve you."

The two teacups clinked lightly, a crisp sound.