Chapter 8: Asking for a Role
Nicole's question left William momentarily speechless.
"If I didn't shoot it, who did—you?" he shot back.
"And now, Miss Beautiful, would you mind stepping aside? I need to work."
William's blunt response silenced Nicole for a few seconds before she finally spoke.
"You're a damn genius."
She didn't understand cinematography in any technical sense, but as an actress, she possessed the most basic and crucial instinct—judgment.
The young man standing in front of her was someone who would inevitably claim a place in Hollywood.
Once that realization took hold, Nicole's mind began racing.
She had just set her sights on an upcoming audition for Days of Thunder.
Her target wasn't the role itself—
It was Tom Cruise.
A man commanding a three-million-dollar paycheck.
In the early '90s, that figure was astronomical.
Her plan had been simple and clear: get close to Tom Cruise, leverage his resources, and pave her own path forward.
And now—
It was as if God had decided to play a joke on her, placing an undiscovered genius director directly in her path.
Should she gamble on the unknown?
Or play it safe?
The dilemma tangled Nicole Kidman's thoughts.
"A genius who's broke enough to be shooting adult films?" she scoffed.
William rolled his eyes.
"Broke—and still running a production company?"
Nicole shot him a glare in response.
William didn't bother explaining. It was too much trouble.
As long as she didn't interfere with his money-making, that was all that mattered.
So he ignored her and poured himself back into editing.
Seeing that he wasn't engaging, Nicole didn't get upset. She simply stood quietly to the side, watching him work.
Before she realized it, she was drawn in.
A man completely absorbed in his craft carried a kind of lethal attraction.
The look in Nicole's eyes gradually softened, losing its sharpness.
And William—too focused—forgot there was anyone else in the room at all.
---
Several hours passed.
It was already eleven at night.
William stretched.
Honestly, if he had a computer, this kind of film would've been finished in a day.
Unfortunately, he didn't.
So progress was only about one-third complete.
There wasn't much artistry to squeeze out of it anyway—simple cuts, basic scene intercuts.
Another full day would be enough to produce the master copy.
Once he had that, he could sell it to a Adult Valley company.
Yes—sell, not collaborate.
William had no intention of staying in this industry.
His goal was to become Hollywood capital, not repeat his past life as a third-rate low-budget director.
What he needed was fast cash—startup capital.
"HOLY—why are you still here!?"
Only then did William realize Nicole was still in the room.
She had even dragged a chair over and parked herself right beside him.
"Well, you never told me to leave," Nicole said mildly, her gaze lingering on him.
William didn't know what to say.
He hadn't known Nicole Kidman in his previous life—but he knew enough about her history to understand the kind of person she was.
What exactly did he have that was worth her attention?
If it was just his looks, he didn't buy it.
Nicole Kidman wasn't someone ruled by romance.
Her heart belonged to fame and status.
Otherwise, it was hard to imagine how she'd endured eleven years with a husband devoted to a cult.
Most people, upon discovering something like that, would've found a way to divorce, take their share, and run.
Yet she had endured it for eleven full years, purely for the sake of industry resources.
A woman with that level of willpower—there was no way William would believe she was some shallow, looks-obsessed romantic.
"Then tell me, Ms. Kidman," William said at last,
"what exactly are you waiting around for at this hour? I'm just a nobody. What about me is worth your attention?"
He spoke with the most arrogant tone imaginable—
while saying the most self-deprecating words.
Nicole, however, felt none of that supposed humility.
Perhaps the old William had carried a hint of it.
But since their recent encounter, she had sensed something new in his eyes—
Control.
A sense of absolute control over everything.
That kind of presence felt strangely out of place on him, which was precisely why it drew the attention of someone like Nicole Kidman—someone who observed people with surgical precision.
After all, every new acquaintance had to be evaluated:
How much attention were they worth?
How much benefit could be extracted?
"A 'nobody'?" Nicole said lightly.
"Your tone doesn't sound like that of a nobody at all, Mr. Blake."
She stood up from the chair and stretched lazily, making no attempt to hide her graceful figure in front of him.
Or rather—
She was doing it on purpose.
As expected, William's gaze was drawn to her curves.
It was instinct.
Even William wasn't immune.
The only difference between him and most men was that he could still remain rational under fire.
"So," William said evenly,
"Ms. Kidman—what exactly do you want me to do?"
Facing his openly appraising stare, Nicole didn't retreat.
Instead, she lifted her chest slightly, completely unbothered by his attention.
"Do you have any upcoming projects," she asked calmly,
"with a role suitable for me?"
William raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
The aggressive edge in his gaze faded.
He looked her up and down, his mind turning.
Why would she ask that?
Was she asking for a role in his film?
Did she really believe in his directing ability—
Just because she'd seen that low-budget movie?
Honestly, it sounded absurd.
And yet, among all the possibilities, it felt disturbingly close to the truth.
"I'm sorry," William said after a moment,
"your fee is too high. I can't afford you."
After thinking it through, he rejected her.
Of course, the real reason wasn't her price—and it wasn't money.
It was that William had never planned to remain a director.
His goal in this life was to become Hollywood's godfather—
capital itself—
the invisible hand behind the curtain.
If his plans over the next few months went smoothly, his first real fortune would arrive soon.
With that capital, he could attend the grand feast waiting at the end of 1989—
on that island nation called Japan.
It was the nearest opportunity to multiply his wealth dramatically.
With enough capital, he could finally sit at Hollywood's massive gambling table.
And with memories from his past life?
It would be almost impossible for him to lose.
When the time came, he'd stay behind the scenes—
Letting the directors who would one day become legends
work for him.
Wouldn't that be far better?
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