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****
He looked at Ben again. Ben was pale beneath the flush of alcohol, breathing hard, staring around the room like he had no idea how he'd ended up there.
Matt's eyes narrowed.
'What if this is actually the best thing he could've said? It sounded insane. Literally.
But that was the point.'
Matt's mind started working despite everything else happening around him.
If Ben kept insisting he'd been out of control, people could write it off as alcohol. A drunken fight. A spectacularly stupid night that got away from him.
That was bad. But it was survivable. A violent drunk could be a problem. 'A man who had simply lost his mind for five minutes?'
Hollywood could forgive that. Especially if Harvey decided he wanted to.
Matt glanced toward Marvin. The kid was standing there completely composed, not even breathing hard.
That was the problem.
'Actually, from a PR standpoint, that's not a terrible idea. People won't be too hard on an idiot, right? They'll just pity him.'
'Marvin can't retaliate too harshly or sue a guy who is clearly claiming to be mentally unstable. It would make Marvin look like a bully and severely damage his own pristine reputation as the victim.'
Matt's mind raced further. 'Maybe we can even spin this. Maybe some edgy independent film companies will want to capitalize on this bizarre incident and offer Ben some complex, mentally challenged roles… an Oscar-bait performance.'
The more Matt logically thought about it in the heat of the moment, the more he realized that Ben's accidental strategy of claiming insanity might actually be the very best one available. It was certainly better than Matt's own initial plan of forcing Ben to "bow his head, publicly apologize, and admit his mistakes."
Matt looked at his friend with newfound, albeit deeply confused, respect. 'No… has Ben always been this secretly smart under the surface?'
Ben Affleck, who was currently being viewed as unusually clever and tactically brilliant by his good friend, was actually on the verge of crying. He looked frantically around the room at the judgmental, laughing eyes of the elite crowd, who were undoubtedly seeing him as a pathetic fool.
He desperately wanted to scream at the top of his lungs: 'Everything I said was true! I am not crazy! I was really possessed! I physically couldn't control myself! That wasn't me! The kid is a monster!'
Matt didn't have an explanation for it himself. One second Ben had been attacking him. The next, he had been flying across the room.
And Marvin hadn't even looked frightened.
Matt swallowed. 'Jesus, Ben.'
For once, maybe shutting up really was the smartest thing he could do.
He leaned closer. "Don't say anything else."
Ben stared at him.
Matt lowered his voice. "Seriously. Just shut up."
Ben's eyes widened. 'I'm trying!'
He wanted to scream it.
'I'm fucking trying!'
But the words stayed trapped behind his teeth.
He knew what Matt thought. That he'd finally snapped. That he was drunk. That he'd made a colossal mistake and was now trying to invent some ridiculous excuse.
None of it was true. That was what made it so terrifying. 'I wasn't pretending.'
He wanted to shout to clear his name, but his own, battered mind quickly supplied the brutal logic: 'Shut up. Just shut up, Ben. If you actually keep screaming about possession and ghosts, they won't just think you're drunk. They'll think you are clinically insane. They'll lock you in rehab.'
So, drowning in frustration, terror, and humiliation, Ben Affleck finally fell silent. He hung his head. His expensive tuxedo was heavily stained with oily vinaigrette salad dressing, a chunk of lobster meat clung ridiculously to his collar, and shattered glass crumbs were tangled in his dark hair. The scent of spilled red wine radiated off him. The image he presented to the world was undeniably, tragically absurd.
His gaze moved toward Marvin.
The boy was watching him. Calmly. Almost pleasantly. Ben's stomach dropped.
He did this. The thought came with some certainty.
That little bastard did something to me.
Ben opened his mouth. "That kid—"
Matt immediately tightened his grip around his waist. "No."
"But—"
"No." Matt's voice was sharper now. "You're done, Ben. Whatever you're thinking, you're done."
Ben stared at him in disbelief. 'You don't understand.'
He couldn't tell him. Not here. Not with dozens of people watching.
Not with Harvey Weinstein standing ten feet away and half the entertainment press already photographing them.
Matt looked at the state of his friend and sighed.
"Come on."
Ben didn't move. "Ben."
Matt pulled harder. "Let's get you out of here."
Ben finally let himself be dragged away.
His head hung low as they disappeared through the service entrance, leaving behind broken glass, overturned furniture and a ballroom buzzing with questions.
Matt kept one hand firmly around Ben's arm as they moved down the corridor.
Only when the noise of the party began to fade did he finally speak.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Ben looked at him. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then, quietly: "I wasn't."
Matt frowned. "What?"
"I wasn't thinking."
Matt stared at him.
Ben swallowed. "I couldn't."
The answer stopped Matt for a moment.
There was something in Ben's face that didn't look like drunkenness.
It looked like fear. Real fear.
Matt's expression changed. "What happened back there?"
Ben looked over his shoulder toward the ballroom. "I don't know."
Matt waited.
Ben shook his head. "I swear to God, Matt. I don't know."
For once, Matt didn't have a smart answer. He simply kept walking. Behind them, the party was already coming back to life.
People were talking in clusters now, voices low and excited. A few guests were laughing. Others were making phone calls. Most of the invited entertainment reporters had already sprinted out the front doors, heading frantically back to their respective newsrooms to file their explosive stories and earn their midnight bonuses and desperate to get the story into print before anyone could bury it.
The banquet grew even livelier due to the spectacular, violent farce. The guests now had something incredibly juicy and interesting to gossip about over their champagne, and they didn't have to stick to boring, standard industry pleasantries for the rest of the night. And by morning, everyone in Hollywood would have their own version of what happened.
Ben Affleck had attacked Charlize Theron. A mysterious young prodigy had stepped in. Then Ben had attacked him. And somehow, the smaller man had sent him flying. By the time the story reached the morning papers, nobody would agree on the details.
By tomorrow, people would remember the broken table. They would remember the shouting, the sudden silence afterward, the sight of Ben Affleck being left sprawled across the floor.
But most of all, they would remember who had been standing there when it happened.
Marvin Meyers.
Charlize's eyes followed him.
Only minutes earlier, she'd been looking at him differently. In the alcove, there had been calculation behind her interest—a mixture of envy, curiosity, and the fascination that came with being near someone who seemed to have everything she was still fighting to obtain.
Money. Power. Family. Talent.
Connections that reached into every corner of Hollywood.
She'd admired those things. Now she was looking at something else.
Marvin had just stood up to a man twice his size and put him down without hesitation. There had been no security team rushing in to save him. No older executive stepping between them. Marvin had handled it himself.
Charlize's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
The boy she'd been studying as a powerful young creator suddenly seemed far more dangerous than she'd understood.
And, strangely, safer too. That combination unsettled her.
She had spent years learning that Hollywood's powerful men were rarely interested in protecting anyone unless there was something in it for them. Yet Marvin had stepped into the confrontation without asking what it would cost him.
Charlize couldn't look away.
Marvin noticed.
He caught the shift in her emotions almost immediately—the sharp spike of admiration, curiosity, and something warmer underneath it.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
He knew that look. One invitation would probably be enough for this ambitious, fiercely independent woman to willingly climb into his bed without a second of hesitation.
But there was no reason to rush.
Marvin preferred patience. Interest was far more valuable when it had time to deepen on its own. He preferred his conquests to marinate.
He gave her a small, reassuring nod instead. Then he straightened his cuffs.
Charlize blinked, almost as though she'd expected him to come toward her.
He didn't. Marvin turned away and walked across the room.
Toward Harvey Weinstein. Harvey had been watching the entire exchange from the sidelines. His expression was difficult to read.
He'd seen Ben go after the kid. He'd seen Marvin put him down. And he'd watched a room full of people who had spent years treating Ben as one of Harvey's most useful weapons suddenly become very interested in Marvin.
That was the part Harvey disliked.
Not the fight. The shift. Hollywood understood power. It understood money. More importantly, it understood who was gaining both.
Harvey's eyes followed Marvin as the boy crossed the room.
For years, Harvey had built relationships by making himself useful to people with talent. He found writers before other studios noticed them. He found directors willing to take risks. He turned small pictures into events and convinced people that Miramax could make something important out of almost anything.
Marvin was different. He didn't need Harvey. That was becoming painfully obvious. And a talent who didn't need you was the hardest kind to control.
Harvey shook his head, pushing the thought away before it could take root.
'No. Don't get ahead of yourself. The kid was still young. Still learning Hollywood. There had to be an angle.'
There was always an angle.
By the time Marvin reached Harvey, the mogul had already recovered.
The anger was gone from his face. So was the shock. What remained was the smile. Broad. Familiar. Almost warm.
"Marvin." Harvey opened his arms. "Jesus Christ. What the hell was that?"
Marvin glanced past him at the wrecked table. "An argument."
Harvey stared. "An argument?"
"That's what I called it."
For a second Harvey simply looked at him. Then he barked out a laugh.
"You're a funny kid."
"So I've been told."
Harvey's eyes drifted toward the crowd. People were still talking about the fight, pretending not to stare while doing exactly that.
He lowered his voice. "Look, I don't know what happened back there, but Ben was drunk and he's an asshole when he's drunk. I'll deal with him."
Marvin said nothing.
Harvey studied his face. "Charlize all right?"
"She's shaken."
"Yeah." Harvey nodded. "I'll make sure somebody takes care of her."
His eyes flicked toward the direction she'd disappeared.
Then back to Marvin. "And you."
"I'm fine."
"I can see that." Harvey smiled again, but this time there was less warmth behind it. "Come on. Let's get somewhere quieter."
Marvin followed him a few steps away from the main crowd.
Harvey glanced around before speaking. "I owe you a hell of an apology," Harvey said. "I honestly had no idea Ben was going to show up here drunk and start throwing punches. Don't worry. I'll deal with him. He'll learn some manners."
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as though he were about to share a secret. A wink disappeared beneath the sweat gathering around his eye.
"Besides, Marvin, I'd like to make it up to you. I know a few beautiful young women who'd be more than happy to keep you company tonight. You know, help you forget all this bullshit."
Marvin let out a deep laugh. "Come on, Harvey. Look at me."
He gave Harvey an amused look, as though the offer itself was ridiculous. He had no intention of mentioning Ben, acting as if he didn't know that Ben was Harvey's personal lackey acting on orders. Marvin deliberately didn't bring up the attempted setup.
Instead, Marvin let the conversation move exactly where he wanted it.
"You know, I was going to find you tonight anyway." Harvey spoke with a laugh.
"Were you?"
"Sure." Harvey gave him a sideways look. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been busy."
"Everybody's busy."
Harvey laughed. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Everybody wants a piece of you right now. Disney. Warner. Paramount. Half the town's calling my office asking what the hell you're up to."
"Then you already know."
"Know what?"
"That I'm not looking for another studio to tell me what to do."
Harvey's smile thinned. "Nobody's asking you to."
Marvin looked at him. "Really?"
****
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