"I want to tell you something," Laila said, her tone calm but serious. "I'm just like you—I was captured by Martin's people. They want me to make a movie for them. I read your script, saw the potential, and that's why I asked to talk to you."
"Martin wants to make a movie?" Buddy burst out laughing. A criminal boss hiding in the shadows, trying to make a film? That kind of ridiculous redemption arc didn't even show up in cheesy TV dramas. "You're kidding, right? No way would he ever think of making a movie!"
If someone told him Martin was planning to rob a bank, he wouldn't even blink. But a movie? That was a whole different universe. That was the kind of dream for people with completely different lives. This was like an illiterate butcher suddenly declaring he wanted to ace the imperial exam—not just laughable, but utterly impossible.
Buddy was about to keep mocking the idea, when he suddenly froze, staring at Laila.
"What did you say your name was again?"
This guy had the slowest reaction time ever. Laila, realizing that, couldn't help but chuckle. "Laila Moran."
"(⊙o⊙)" Buddy's eyes went wide. "The Moran from America?"
"Yes, that one," Laila nodded with a smile she could barely hold back.
"The one from Hollywood?"
"That's right."
Buddy just stood there staring at her… then suddenly let out a sharp scream: "AHHH—!"
Laila flinched. What the hell was that reaction?
Perhaps realizing he'd made a fool of himself, Buddy quickly covered his mouth with both hands, eyes still wide as saucers as he stared at her.
No wonder she had seemed familiar when he walked in. Of course, he'd seen her before—her photo had been plastered across every local newspaper. Even someone who didn't give a damn about movies would know who she was after the media blitz. That legendary Hollywood director who came to their country to shoot a film.
"What are you doing here?" Buddy was stunned. What could someone like her be doing in a place like this? Was she scouting locations?
Wait, no.
He suddenly remembered what she had said—that they were in the same situation…
Realization dawned, and a cold sweat began to drip down Buddy's back.
Martin couldn't possibly have done something that insane… could he? Did he even understand what he had done?
"Seems like you've figured out the situation," Laila said with a faint smile, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Mr. Martin wants me to help him shoot a movie. That's when your script ended up in front of me."
Buddy swallowed hard, still trying to process it all. It all felt so surreal—never in his wildest dreams had he imagined the day when the most renowned Hollywood director would read his script.
"My… my script… you…" He stammered, still lost for words. He looked down at the battered notebook he'd yanked back earlier, his hands trembling slightly. Then, as if realizing how absurd it was to have snatched it, he carefully cradled it and reverently handed it back to her.
Are you kidding? This was Laila Moran! Countless screenwriters dreamed of getting her to read even a single page of their work. And here he was—some no-name writer who had never sold a single script—and she'd read his. He'd be the envy of screenwriters the world over.
"Don't be nervous." Laila accepted the notebook and set it gently on the table. "I want to talk to you about the script. Do you have time?"
"Time? I have plenty of time!" Buddy grinned so hard it hurt, completely forgetting he'd been dragged here against his will. Forget leaving—even if the door were wide open, he wasn't going anywhere now!
Laila smiled slightly. "I find your script very interesting. I want to make it into a film. How does one million dollars sound to you?"
"One… one million?!" Buddy's legs gave out, and he slipped right off his chair. A million bucks?! That was more than he could make in his entire lifetime! And not just any million—it was US dollars!
Laila didn't mind his reaction. In this country, a million dollars was a massive fortune. Judging by his reaction, his life had likely been anything but easy. With that kind of money, he could live comfortably for the rest of his life.
"Yes," she confirmed. She knew that for someone like him—a complete unknown—they could probably get away with offering just ten thousand. But she never cut corners when it came to screenplays. She understood the importance of a good script to a film—and the value of a talented screenwriter to a production company.
If a million could secure a writer who might produce more quality scripts in the future, it was worth every cent. Most importantly—to her, this script was worth that much.
"If you're willing to sell, once we get out of here, I'll make it official and sign a proper contract."
"But… isn't this movie supposed to be for Martin?" Buddy asked, clearly confused.
As far as he understood it, both of them were being held by Martin to work on his film. So how could this script still be up for sale? Once the movie was shot, wouldn't the script automatically become Martin's property? And expecting a gangster to pay royalties? Might as well hope for a miracle downpour of baguettes and peanut butter.
Laila was honestly a bit stunned by his innocence. He thought she was going to make a movie for Martin. Even putting aside whether she wanted to, could that man even provide what she needed to make it happen?
But of course, this wasn't the time to say such things out loud. She knew the meaning of "walls have ears." Martin's men might seem to think nothing of her, assuming a woman like her could never escape their turf—but better safe than sorry. Some words were better left unsaid.
"Let's talk about the script," she said smartly, changing the subject.
Buddy was more than happy to hear what a top-tier Hollywood director thought of his work. Though… the thought that he may have just fumbled a million-dollar deal made him want to cough up blood. Why hadn't he just said yes!?
But now that the topic had shifted, it was hard to go back to that moment. So he forced himself to focus entirely on his favorite script, trying not to drown in the flood of regret.
And as soon as Laila began her critique, Buddy was completely humbled.
So this is what makes her a world-class director…
All those years he had spent revising the script—thinking he'd already polished it to near perfection—were completely dismantled in mere minutes. In her eyes, the whole thing was full of holes.
"What should I do to fix it?" he asked eagerly, desperate to know.
Laila smiled. "You must like American movies, don't you?"