America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

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The hotel's private beach had been booked by two film crews for the entire Saturday, with members free to revel on the beach anytime with unlimited supplies of alcohol, drinks, and barbecue.

The crews made no secret of their discriminatory stance: non-members were males, no entry allowed, while any female was welcome to join the party on the beach.

Martin, in his swim trunks, walked onto the beach alone.

Aga called out to him, "Martin, come over, let's play a match."

On the five-a-side beach soccer field, Aga, with the strong pull of a director, had gathered a group of female players.

Martin immediately ran over.

Enclosed within the small field were at least a dozen girls in swimsuits.

All from the neighboring crew, young actresses playing female footballers.

Aga said, "We're both captains, let's each pick four players for the field."

Martin stepped on the soccer ball, "Okay."

The female players around were all eager, stretching out their hands and jumping as they shouted, "Director Aga, pick me! Pick me!"

Martin asked aloud, "Who wants to be on my team?"

Not far away, the famously handsome Blake Lively was sprinting towards them, shouting as she ran, "Save me a spot!"

She was tall and leggy with an impeccable figure, though her face was a bit mature.

Blake ran onto the field, winked at Martin, but then went over to Aga's side.

Aga raised a finger and shook it at Martin, "Buddy, you're not charming enough."

Martin turned to the girls, "I'm picking now."

Several female players jumped out, "We're with you."

Martin randomly chose four Latin female players, the tallest became the goalkeeper.

Aga said, "I'll let you kick off first."

"Ladies!" Martin stood at the center of the pitch and said, "We're going to score the first goal!"

He kicked the ball to the girl in the black swimsuit on the left, then turned and ran toward the opposing field, and she immediately passed the ball back to him.

Martin had played soccer back in high school, but it had been many years since he had touched a ball, so when he received it, he fumbled it badly.

An actress in a gold swimsuit rushed over to steal the ball, seemingly unable to stop and crashed into him, ball and all.

Martin truly experienced what it meant to get slammed by the ball-carrier.

No wonder Aga had organized a beach soccer match.

It was Blake Lively herself who collided with Martin, and as she seemed about to fall, she grabbed onto Martin's arm, pressing down hard on it.

Aga dribbled past Martin.

Martin couldn't be bothered to defend against him, only fools defend against men.

Blake got up and rushed forward.

Martin went back to defend, and as soon as he was in position, he saw Blake, who had received the ball, charging straight at him.

No shot, no pass, not even a feint, just Blake Lively barreling into Martin without hesitation.

Martin let himself fall to the ground, landing on the beach.

Blake also fell, landing on top of him.

Perhaps it hurt from the fall, or she remembered something, as she rolled over him back and forth.

Aga was dumbfounded, now understanding why the lead actress from next door wanted to be on his team.

Her target was clearly not him!

The dark-haired Latin girl at the side pursed her lips, almost letting slip the words "shameless."

But considering her current crew was put together by the other party's old man, she had to hold back her urge to curse.

"Sorry." Blake struggled to her feet, "I couldn't stop in time, did that hurt you?"

In front of so many people, what could Martin say? "It's okay."

Blake struggled up, extending her hand to help Martin, and couldn't help admiring, "You're really well-built."

"You're very fit," Martin equally complimented, getting up and brushing the sand off himself.

Blake said, "I played soccer, been the cheerleading captain since sixth grade."

Martin nodded, so she played soccer and still plowed into people with the ball?

Aga, getting impatient, yelled, "You two, are we continuing or what?"

Martin moved around a bit, "Why wouldn't we continue?"

Not far away, Vogel was seated on a beach chair, watching everything with full view.

The disparity in their choices of resources was heartbreakingly evident.

Vogel didn't mind stepping on others to climb higher, to him, this was the Hollywood ladder, where each step upward was built on the bodies of rivals.

Rick came over and said, "Better do it in the afternoon, less chance of accidents at night."

Vogel asked, "Is everything ready?"

Rick nodded slightly, "The snake is ready, just call me on my cell before we leave, and I'll get things prepared in advance."

Vogel understood what Rick was angling for, "After it's done, I'll give you another payment, just keep your mouth shut."

Rick smiled, "As a Mexican, I can't threaten you."

Vogel waved his hand dismissively as Rick left the area.

Twenty or so meters away, Bruce, with dark sunglasses covering his face, pulled out his newly bought camera phone and took several pictures of Rick in succession.

He then made a phone call to the crew's security chief, Dallot, and sent the pictures via MMS.

On the field, the other female players were no longer focused on the game; these Mexican girls dreamed of going to America.

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Aga was knocked into the goal by the enthusiastic female players.

Martin wasn't faring much better, having been knocked down by several female players, with more charging at him with the ball.

It was terrifying!

Martin struggled up like a severely wounded soldier in a heavy bombing, crawling out from the barrage of the female players.

A pair of long legs approached from the opposite side. Blake rushed over to the rescue, pulling Martin up and running away with him.

"Quick, quick!" Martin threw away any semblance of male pride, but safety was far more important than face.

After running for a few dozen meters, Martin stopped.

Blake caught up from behind, wiping the sand off his face and staring at that handsome face, "Are you alright?"

Martin stretched his legs a bit, moving a little, "No major issues."

Blake went to brush off more sand from Martin's body, and when he turned his head, he saw an outdoor shower area, grabbing Martin's arm, "Let's go wash off the sand over there."

The weather was hot, sweat mixing with sand on his skin was uncomfortable, so Martin followed him there.

After the water rinse, not feeling up to more sunbathing, Martin found a beach chair and lay under a sun umbrella.

Blake brought two cold drinks over, handing one to Martin, "This should suit your taste."

Martin took it, nodding with a smile, "Thank you."

Blake lay down on the beach chair beside him, draping a towel over his chest and stomach, but with his long legs resting on one side of the chair, purposely swinging them in front of Martin and asked, "When are you joining the cast? I'm looking forward to rehearsing with you. You're playing my love interest, and I feel nothing rehearsing with the assistant."

Martin replied offhandedly, "I should be done with my end by next week."

He saw Old Cloth walking by in the front and said, "I have something to take care of, we'll chat later."

"I'll wait for you here," Blake said as he watched Martin walk away, pondering.

Attractive looking, a priority for the company to cultivate...

Though a sucker for looks, Blake was from an acting family and thought far more than the average girl.

Arriving at a changing room, Bruce closed the door from inside, "I've notified Dallot, his people are following that stagehand, looks like they went outdoors."

Dallot was previously hired as the security chief for the crew, and he had a lot of clout locally.

Martin was surprised, "Outdoors for what? To poach? It can't be, the outdoor scenes are all shot."

Bruce suggested, "Best to figure out what he's up to. Adapt on the fly, I believe you can handle it within the hotel confines."

Martin emphasized firmly, "Old Cloth, make sure to cover my rear."

Bruce assured, "Rest easy, I've got your back. Dallot and his folks have lots of dealings with Hollywood, paid work, solid reputation. One call from me, and at least a dozen men will turn up."

That didn't sound reliable at all, and Martin felt anxious, but he trusted Old Cloth.

Before leaving, Bruce repeated, "Adapt as needed, figure out his intent—I'll be near you."

Martin returned to the beach and discovered Craven, Aga, and Capisce with their female players, each heading back to the hotel.

The way things were going, it seemed unlikely they'd be out again that afternoon.

Martin returned to the umbrella to find that Blake was still waiting for him to come back.

Blake, watching as Martin approached in the sunlight, felt a pang of pleasure—he was so handsome.

With a good face and a good physique to match.

Martin lay back down on the beach chair, chatting with Blake up until nearly noon.

Both crews had prepared a lavish luncheon, set up in the hotel's grand ballroom.

But the attendance was sparser than expected.

The main male cast and crew members had taken their Mexican female players back to their rooms early.

Martin, fresh from a shower and changed into new clothes, arrived at the ballroom.

The luncheon was buffet-style, and Martin grabbed a stack of food and a bottle of wine. Just as he found a place to sit down, Blake, now in a dress, joined him.

She set a glass down across from Martin, "Pour me one."

Martin asked out of habit, "You're not of drinking age?"

Blake said, "This isn't America." She crooked her finger, signaling a junior actor from the crew, "Get me a bottle of wine."

The junior actor, acting like a servant, obediently went to get the wine.

Blake seemed very considerate of Martin, "Now it's not your responsibility."

The junior actor returned with a bottle, and several others followed, one of them being Mike Vogel.

He brought two bottles of Mexican tequila, sitting down nearby, "Martin, long time no see. Shall we have a drink together?"

Martin smiled, his mind spinning rapidly, stirring the news to provoke his competitive spirit, were they enticing him to drink because people tend to act impulsively with alcohol and then spur him into a fight? He was comfortably tested with alcohol.

Vogel uncapped the bottles and filled two glasses, one he pushed to the edge of the table, taunting Martin, "That time with Andrew Niccol, I reminded you that you owe me a favor."

Martin didn't touch the tequila, taking his whiskey instead, "I'm not a fan of tequila."

Vogel glanced at the alcohol content on the whiskey label, "Suit yourself."

Martin opened the bottle, poured a glass, clinked glasses with Vogel, discreetly saying, "Thanks for last time."

They drank together.

Once the drinking started, it was hard to stop, and Vogel knew this well, chatting with Martin while looking for any reason to keep pouring and drinking.

Martin wanted to see what he was up to.

After a few shots, their boasts began to fly.

Boasting about the amazing things they had done, their fighting prowess, as if one could single-handedly destroy the planet and neither would back down to the other.

Blake felt somewhat disappointed—was the idol's alcohol tolerance not that great?

Martin boasted that he was the toughest, most formidable fighter in Georgia.

Vogel boasted he was the most dangerous man in Southern California.

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