Actor in Hollywood

As Edgar gazed out the window at the city, cloaked in a light layer of melancholy after the autumn rain, he had already pulled himself together, organizing his thoughts.

Modeling was an opportunity, especially for Anson at this stage. They needed to get Anson's name out there, widely recognized.

In fact, Edgar didn't need to be in Paris at all—

In Hollywood, the role of a manager is very clear: career planning.

A manager is responsible for guiding an artist's career, negotiating with producers, directors, and production companies to secure auditions, offering sound advice, and helping actors reach the positions they aspire to.

However, a manager is not responsible for handling an artist's personal life or day-to-day work tasks. Of course, if there's a conflict or incident on set, the manager must step in to resolve it. But aside from handling such crises, those matters aren't part of the manager's duties.

The division of labor is very clear.

In other words, Edgar didn't need to accompany Anson to Paris for this trip. These kinds of details should be handled by an assistant or a manager.

However, Anson currently had no assistant or manager.

More importantly, this job in Paris might affect Anson's next steps in terms of image-building. Edgar needed to liaise with the media, brands, and potential sponsors, as well as explore the European market.

So, Edgar crossed the Atlantic and came to Paris himself.

After quickly gathering his thoughts, organizing the day's schedule, and checking the time, Edgar turned and entered the room across the hall.

"Anson?"

"Anson!"

*Thud*.

A pillow came flying his way, and Edgar was startled. He suddenly realized he had never seen Anson's "morning grumpiness" in action before. The warning signs had barely registered when he tried to dodge—just a fraction too late—the pillow smacked him square in the face.

With a dull thud, Edgar stood there, feeling utterly defeated, taking a deep breath.

"Anson, you need to get up. We're leaving soon. If you haven't adjusted to the time difference..."

*Thud*.

A second pillow hit Edgar's face. This time, he didn't even bother trying to dodge. He closed his eyes and took it. His brain was just starting to catch up.

"Your aim is spot on! You're wide awake, aren't you? You're just being lazy in bed, right?"

A muffled laugh came from under the covers, followed by a burst of laughter that quickly turned into a controlled chuckle.

The next moment, Anson sat up, stretching lazily, pretending to have just woken up. With mock surprise, he "discovered" Edgar standing there. "Hey, good morning, Captain."

Edgar: Could he swear?

But after thinking it over, he held back. Sparring with Anson verbally probably wasn't the smartest idea. "Fifteen minutes to wash up and get ready. That should be enough, right? We're leaving at 9:30."

With that, Edgar turned to leave.

*Thud*.

As soon as the door closed, Edgar bit his lip and let out a muffled scream of frustration. He threw a few punches at the air, wildly swinging his arms in every direction, venting his frustration. Then he calmed himself down, straightened his clothes and hair, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

In reality, Anson was fast. Lazy in bed or not, once he got up, he moved quickly. In less than ten minutes, he was fully dressed and ready in the lobby, leaving Edgar momentarily stunned, caught off guard yet again.

"Let's go."

Anson was the first to head out, leaving Edgar trailing behind.

Wait, something wasn't right. Why did it feel like *he* was the one dragging his feet?

"Hey, hey!" Edgar protested, quickly catching up, their laughter echoing down the hotel hallway.

Their accommodations in Paris had been provided by *Vogue*, and they were staying at the iconic Four Seasons Hotel on George V Avenue, located in the heart of Paris's Golden Triangle.

The hotel sat in the very heart of Paris. One corner turn on its historic streets would lead you to the Champs-Élysées, with the Arc de Triomphe visible in the distance. Tall, symmetrical plane trees made the city's center feel like a garden, where the history of Paris seemed to be etched into the architecture, with time seemingly flowing backward along the brick walls.

Despite being built in 1928, the hotel's interior followed modern design principles, with clean, sharp lines and a stylish black-and-white color scheme. It was elegant without being flashy, subtle in its luxury, quietly blending into the charm of the Golden Triangle.

Even on the bustling George V Avenue, the Four Seasons remained a fashion landmark, discreetly drawing people's attention.

Passing through the black marble entrance, winding past the stone wall partition near the executive lounge, the view suddenly opened up, revealing the hotel's lobby bathed in soft yellow light. The scene was busy yet serene, unfolding before them.

Thanks to its prime location, the Four Seasons was a perennial favorite for travelers coming to Paris. With Paris Fashion Week just around the corner, the hotel was even busier, with tourists and fashion insiders alike filling its halls.

It was a scene of constant motion.

Jean-Louis Kalfon was currently hosting a visiting oil tycoon and his new girlfriend, both in Paris for the first time to attend Fashion Week. Their approach to everything revolved around the power of a checkbook—firmly believing that no problem couldn't be solved with enough zeros on a check.

Jean-Louis couldn't deny that even he felt a little dizzy at the sight of the numbers they were tossing around.

But this was Paris. This was the Four Seasons Hotel on George V Avenue. Some things simply couldn't be bought with money, especially here, where each guest was a figure of importance. Upsetting one guest in favor of another could trigger unpredictable, and potentially damaging, consequences.

As the hotel's lobby manager, Jean-Louis had handled countless such situations before.

The oil tycoon had his heart set on the Eiffel Tower Suite, but it was already occupied by another guest—one who could not be offended. Jean-Louis deftly redirected the conversation, with a touch of charm, and successfully got the tycoon's girlfriend excited about the Four Seasons Suite instead.

While the Four Seasons Suite was technically a tier below the Eiffel Tower Suite, it still offered an impressive view of the Eiffel Tower along with the vibrant streets and architecture of Paris.

"...This is truly the most exclusive experience Paris has to offer. Even Brad Pitt opted for the Four Seasons Suite when he attended Fashion Week last year," Jean-Louis added casually.

His words had the desired effect—the girlfriend's eyes lit up, and the Eiffel Tower Suite was quickly forgotten. She now had her heart set on the Four Seasons Suite, which also brightened the mood of the tycoon.

Jean-Louis personally processed their check-in and was about to escort them to the suite when something else caught his eye, causing him to change his plans.

He called over a bellhop to escort the couple to their room while he straightened his jacket, put on a smile, and hurried over to greet the familiar figure he had spotted.