"As I said, as long as the investment doesn't exceed $50 million, you can make the call yourself." Martin laughed.
"I did make the call," Drew said with a smile, lying across Martin's back and placing a folder in front of his eyes. "But I still wanted the big boss to know—we've acquired another subsidiary."
Feeling the softness pressed against his back, Martin glanced at the folder. His eyes quickly locked onto the keywords: The Asylum, 58% stake, copycat movies.
He paused—he actually remembered this company.
The memory came from Modern Martin.
In that memory, this company had been sued by Universal Pictures in 2012. Universal claimed that The Asylum's Battleship infringed on their own sci-fi blockbuster Battleship.
But The Asylum pushed back: "We were working on Battleship a year ago. Universal hadn't even announced anything back then."
In the end, the lawsuit forced The Asylum to rename their film American Warship—but that was it.
By that point, The Asylum had taken the art of copycatting to a whole new level. Not only were they mimicking the originals, they were filming faster—and releasing earlier. Even if it was just a midnight screening, the box office numbers weren't bad.
Ironically, Battleship lost Universal $200 million, while The Asylum's knockoff not only recouped its cost—it made a profit of $350,000.
A similar situation played out with The Hobbit. On the original timeline, The Asylum released their knockoff, Age of the Hobbits, on DVD three days before the official Hobbit movie hit North American theaters.
Warner Bros., New Line Cinema, MGM, and Hobbit producer Saul Zaentz all sued.
The Asylum defended themselves by saying: "Age of the Hobbits is based on a real human subspecies—Homo floresiensis, discovered in Indonesia in 2003. The scientific community calls them 'hobbits'."
Ultimately, the court ruled that it fell under "fair use protected by law and tradition."
Martin couldn't help but admire the hustle."Impressive," he muttered, closing the folder.
"Really?" Drew asked playfully, sticking out her tongue.
Her breath tickled his ear. Martin shook his head with a chuckle and flicked her nose. "Really. At the very least, this investment brings new revenue streams to Meyers Films. That's always a win."
Martin meant what he said.
Sure, for now, he could still rely on the memories in his mind to make smart investments. But twenty years from now?
That foresight wouldn't last forever.
That was one of the main reasons he brought Drew onboard to run Meyers Films. Not just because she was beautiful—but because she was capable.
…
It was mid-to-late May, and Los Angeles had officially entered its hottest season.
At the end of the famous Mulholland Drive in Beverly Hills, perched atop a cliff, in the master bedroom of a sprawling estate—
Cameron Diaz stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a white bathrobe, towel-drying her damp hair with one hand.
She was about to step onto the balcony when someone suddenly hugged her from behind.
"HEHEHE, you're such a hottie, PoPo!"
"And you're not exactly flat yourself, Drew!"
Cameron Diaz batted the mischievous hands away and turned around to roll her eyes at the culprit.
Drew Barrymore sniffed her own fingers dramatically and grinned. "Mmm, you smell amazing. How much shower gel did you use?"
"That's not shower gel, it's essential oils, thank you very much," Cameron replied. "Where's Martin?"
"Downstairs playing with the girls," Drew said casually.
"Why aren't you down there too?"
As Cameron spoke, she stepped onto the large third-floor balcony and looked down.
The breeze teased her still-damp blonde hair, and she gave a gentle shake of her head. The movement was elegant and effortlessly sexy.
In the garden below, Martin was laughing and chasing around Scarlett, Lindsay, Jessica, and the rest. Their giggles floated up like music.
"Oh PoPo," Drew purred, wrapping her arms around Cameron's waist again. "You're so gorgeous. I don't want to play with those little brats—I want to play with you."
"Such a pest," Cameron teased, swatting her hand again.
Behind her, Drew mused, "You know, have you noticed that every woman Martin favors ends up glowing? Nicole Kidman, Charlize Theron, and now you—none of you seem to age."
"What's that supposed to mean? That I used to look old?" Cameron arched a brow.
"No, no!" Drew backpedaled, laughing. "I mean you look even better than before."
She meant it, too.
In fact, Drew was noticing the same changes in herself. Her body seemed to be aging in reverse.
Cameron reached up and touched her cheek. The collagen that had once receded with time now felt renewed. Even the fine lines she used to cover with layers of makeup were gone. It was like she'd turned back the clock ten years.
She could face the public bare-faced again, just like in her twenties—no filters, no foundation.
And it all started after she slept with Martin.
No—after Martin slept with her.
"Martin is seriously amazing," Cameron said, awestruck.
"Hehehe, now you realize?" Drew giggled. "Sometimes I wonder… maybe Martin's not even human. Maybe he's an angel sent by God to save all us bad girls."
She cracked herself up.
But Cameron didn't laugh.
Instead, she thought, You know what? Drew might be right.
I slept with an angel?!
Having just been thoroughly "blessed" by Martin last night, she was now fully recovered—and ready for round two.
Drew could sense what her best friend was thinking. She smirked and said wickedly, "Let's finish him off together tonight."
"Yeah! Let's drained him!"
The two women high-fived enthusiastically, eyes gleaming with mischief—like they were about to pull off the heist of the century.
Down below, Lindsay squealed, "Catch me if you can, Daddy Martin! Come on!"
"I got you now!" Martin's laughter rang out.
"Lindsay, run!" Jessica shouted.