The napkin with Britney Spears' private number was carefully tucked away in a drawer when Leon got home.
He didn't call right away.
It wasn't about playing hard to get—his year-end schedule was genuinely packed. Final coordination meetings for The Princess Diaries before filming, discussions with Leonardo DiCaprio about Catch Me If You Can's progress, and a slew of necessary social engagements consumed nearly all his waking hours.
More than that, he didn't take the encounter too seriously deep down. Hollywood parties, fueled by alcohol, lights, and atmosphere, often sparked fleeting connections—beautiful but brief, like fireworks in the night sky. Britney was a global superstar, her life swarmed by eyes and schedules. Her "call me" might've just been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, one of countless similar moments in her dazzling life. He didn't expect anything to come of it.
Yet, fate has a way of turning gears when you least expect it.
A few days later, at a Time magazine "Person of the Year" gala, Leon attended another high-profile event. These occasions were more work than pleasure for him now. While chatting with a familiar indie producer about recent film market trends, his peripheral vision caught a figure at the entrance.
It was Britney Spears.
She'd just arrived, dressed in an elegant yet lively lavender dress. But unlike the radiant confidence she'd exuded last time, she seemed different. Her brows were slightly furrowed, her eyes scanning the crowd quickly—searching for something or someone, maybe avoiding something. There was a subtle hint of panic and exhaustion in her expression, like a kid trying to dodge an adult's watchful gaze.
Almost simultaneously, Britney's eyes locked onto him. Her face flickered through a series of emotions: surprise, then a spark of unmistakable joy, like a lost kid spotting a familiar face. But that joy quickly gave way to a playful pout—she'd clearly noticed Leon and remembered giving him her number, which he hadn't used.
Caught off guard by her expressive shift, Leon felt a twinge of awkwardness. He started to raise his glass in a friendly gesture to smooth things over, but Britney, as if making up her mind, brushed aside her fleeting annoyance and hurried toward him. Her steps were quick, almost a jog, dodging a few people trying to strike up conversation.
"Leon!" she said, voice low and urgent as she reached him. "Help me."
"What's wrong?" Leon dropped his playful demeanor, sensing her unease.
"Over there," she said, subtly nodding toward the other side of the banquet hall. Her sharp, relentless manager, Linda, was fielding greetings while her eyes scanned the room, clearly hunting for Britney.
"She's looking for me," Britney whispered. "I've got at least three more media interviews, a photo op, and an endless stream of commitments every day… I'm suffocating, Leon. Just for tonight, I want to disappear for a bit."
Her words carried the weight of exhaustion from being overexposed and a desperate craving for a moment of freedom.
Just then, Linda seemed to zero in on their direction, heading their way.
Britney's face tensed. Without thinking twice, she grabbed Leon's wrist. "Quick, get me out of here—through the side door! Don't let her find me!"
Leon instantly understood her predicament. He knew what it felt like to be cornered by schedules and scrutiny. Without hesitation, he took her hand. "Follow me," he said, leading her deftly through the crowd's edges.
He had an almost instinctive knack for navigating event venues, quickly finding a side door to a service corridor, skillfully avoiding the main crowd and the ever-diligent Linda.
Once they stepped into the quiet back alley, Britney let out a long breath, as if shedding invisible chains. The cool night air visibly relaxed her.
"Thank you!" she said, patting her chest, a mix of relief and exhilaration in her voice. "God, you're my lifesaver. One more minute in there, and my smile would've frozen on my face!"
"No big deal," Leon said, smiling at her renewed energy. "Where to now? Want me to call you a car back to your hotel?"
He suspected she didn't want to return to a place where her manager could easily track her down.
Britney glanced back at the banquet hall, then at the quiet street and the man beside her, who somehow made her feel at ease. A bold, rebellious glint flashed in her eyes.
"No!" she said, shaking her head, her ponytail bouncing. "I don't want to go back to the hotel tonight. I don't want anyone finding me. Leon, got somewhere quiet we can go? No paparazzi, no managers?"
Leon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden request. But seeing the mix of pleading, adventure, and trust in her eyes, he nodded. "Come with me."
He led her to his sports car parked nearby. They hopped in and sped away from the glitzy chaos.
The car wound through the depths of Beverly Hills, stopping at a secluded, highly private villa—one of Leon's lesser-used properties, more like a quiet sanctuary.
Inside, Britney looked around curiously. The place wasn't flashy like a hotel suite; its modern, minimalist design mixed comfort with taste, perfectly matching Leon's vibe.
"Wow, this is nice," she said, kicking off her heels and padding barefoot on the soft carpet. Like a bird finally free, she spun around the living room, her face glowing with a genuine, unguarded smile. "Freedom! No schedules! No flashbulbs!"
Her carefree, relieved joy was infectious, and Leon's lips curved upward. He deeply understood her craving for normalcy and a moment of privacy.
"Want a drink? No juice, but I've got some good red wine or soda water," he offered.
"Soda water, please!" Britney said, curling up on the plush sofa with a cushion, looking utterly at ease. "Finally, no calorie counting!"
And so, in the most unexpected way, pop superstar Britney Spears began a few days of "going off the grid" at Leon Donaldson's villa.
Those days felt like a dreamlike bubble, cut off from the outside world. No intrusive cameras, no relentless schedules, no need for a perfect smile, no Linda micromanaging every detail.
It was just the two of them, relaxed and natural.
They'd cozy up in the home theater, watching classic films or horror movies Leon recommended, Britney squealing and grabbing his arm during scary scenes. They'd sit side by side on the terrace in the afternoon sun, reading or just zoning out, soaking in the rare quiet.
Britney would sprawl on the sofa, whining about the pain of walking in heels for shows or showing off her new manicure. They talked—a lot.
She'd vent about funny or embarrassing tour moments, share stories of learning to sing and dance as a kid in Louisiana, her eyes sparkling as she spoke of her pure love for music. She'd also hint at her fears of being pigeonholed and her desire to try new things.
Leon would share behind-the-scenes tales of filmmaking, the inspirations behind his scripts, and his thoughts on different genres. Occasionally, he'd drop vague insights about future entertainment trends, drawn from his pre-reincarnation knowledge.
In this relaxed atmosphere, Britney revealed a sharpness and ambition beyond her years. She wasn't just a packaged pop star—she had a keen instinct for music and the industry.
Once, after sharing some rough ideas for her next album—wanting a more mature sound while staying true to her style, but frustrated by the samey songs her label sent—she paused, looking at Leon expectantly.