Chasing Stars in Hollywood

Laura Gralaf finally found an opportunity and approached Simon Westeros, extending her hand to introduce herself. "Hello, Mr. Westeros, I'm Laura."

Simon had just finished greeting the creators of "Seinfeld." He reached out and shook her hand, not pretending not to recognize her but also not overly enthusiastic. He openly assessed her figure, wrapped in a deep V-cut Gucci dress, and replied, "Hello."

Laura had prepared a conversation starter, but before she could speak, Jerry Hall, who had been beside Simon, leaned in and whispered something to him. Simon nodded with a smile, gave Laura a slight nod, and then walked away with Jerry.

Laura instinctively took a couple of steps to follow but stopped, remembering the social etiquette expected at such parties. Relentlessly pursuing him would only be annoying. She silently cursed the woman beside Simon but maintained a graceful smile as she moved elsewhere, her attention never straying from Simon.

Grace Spurter, observing Laura's attempt to engage Simon, felt puzzled but assumed it was a typical move from someone of high status.

Since Simon Westeros had arrived, Grace's efforts over the past month were about to pay off. However, she remained cautious.

Grace approached Laura, intending to keep an eye on her. Laura, noticing her, spoke smugly, "Grace, did you see the way Westeros looked at me? He's definitely interested!"

Grace silently disagreed but didn't contradict her, staying by her side as they socialized at the party.

About half an hour later, Laura noticed Simon heading towards the hall's exit, still accompanied by Jerry Hall. Was he leaving?

Grace also noticed the movement at the door and felt a bit disheartened. She would have to keep waiting.

But Simon didn't leave them waiting for long. A tall, suited man, looking like a bodyguard, approached them. He glanced at Laura before turning to Grace. "Excuse me, are you Ms. Spurter, Ms. Gralaf's manager?"

Grace quickly nodded, "Yes, and you are?"

She politely extended her hand.

The man didn't shake her hand but handed her a business card instead. "Ms. Spurter, I'm Mr. Westeros' bodyguard. He's interested in Ms. Gralaf. If you have time, please call this number at 9 AM tomorrow."

With that, he left, leaving the card behind.

It wasn't until the bodyguard left that Laura reacted, turning to her manager. She noticed Grace had already put the card away and reached out eagerly. "Grace, that card was for me. Westeros is interested in me!"

Grace shook her head. "I heard him clearly. It's for me."

Unable to get the card, Laura had to let it go for now. Then she realized something and asked, "How did Westeros know you were my manager?"

Grace, thinking Laura wasn't entirely clueless, casually replied, "Think about what kind of party this is. It's not hard for Mr. Westeros to find out a guest's identity."

Laura accepted this explanation and glanced at the bag containing the card. "Tomorrow morning, we should call together, right?"

Grace shook her head. "Mr. Westeros is likely very busy. Even if he wants to meet, it might not be tomorrow. Laura, I'm leaving now. Are you coming with me?"

"It's only 9 PM; it's still early."

"You can stay if you want."

With that, Grace headed for the exit, Laura hesitated, but then followed.

Had Laura not left, Grace would have stayed as well, not wanting anything to go wrong on the final night. However, she was confident Laura would follow, which is why she insisted on leaving.

The two left the Grand Hotel and got into Grace's car. As the car started, Laura asked, "Grace, can you lend me 500 dollars? Kathy and Victoria haven't had dinner, and I need to bring something back."

Before the party, Laura's younger daughter had asked her to sneak some food from the event, but Laura couldn't do such a thing. Plus, she'd been so focused on socializing that she hadn't had time to eat, and now she was feeling hungry.

Over the past month, the Gralaf family had accrued over 26,000 dollars in debt, with 18,000 dollars borrowed from Grace personally. Being a model agent wasn't as glamorous as people thought. Grace managed over thirty models, five or six of whom earned over 100,000 dollars a year, making her one of the top agents at Elite. Yet, her annual income was only around 100,000 dollars.

18,000 dollars was a significant amount for her.

Now, she was being asked to lend money, 500 dollars for dinner, a sum that few restaurants in Manhattan would charge unless expensive wines were involved.

Feeling frustrated, Grace stopped the car near a steakhouse and asked, "How about steak?"

Laura looked around and reluctantly agreed, "Okay, let's eat here together. You must be hungry too, right? Then we can take something back for Kathy and Victoria."

Grace thought it was a strange request from a mother but agreed to join her.

Dinner took over an hour, with Laura mostly talking about how to present herself to Westeros. When they left, it was 10:30 PM. She casually packed two steaks for her daughters.

After dropping Laura off, Grace headed home.

Her husband, who worked in the securities department at First Boston, was still up. She checked on their sleeping children, then returned to the living room. Taking a sip of coffee handed to her by her husband, she finally relaxed. Knowing she had challenging clients, her husband asked about her day. Grace didn't share much, joking a little before asking about his work, which he evaded.

Married for twelve years, their relationship was good, but middle age had brought its challenges.

As a woman in the modeling industry, Grace's career had reached a ceiling. Her recent efforts with the Gralaf family were driven by a last bit of hope. As for her husband, he was a vice president managing a small team, a title common in large investment firms, where hundreds of vice presidents held minimal power.

Due to career disappointments, her husband's promise to let her be a full-time housewife remained unfulfilled.

Grace knew that Credit Suisse, First Boston's parent company, was restructuring, and her husband, now in his 40s and still a junior manager, might be at risk of being laid off.

Thinking about these issues, Grace considered her recent job and the young man, only 26, who had already reached the pinnacle of wealth and power. She wondered if this might be a turning point in her career, even entertaining some improper thoughts.

It was said that he liked mature women.

She woke early the next morning, prepared breakfast for her family, organized her models' schedules, and even called her boss, John Casablancas. Laura called, too, discussing how to present herself to Westeros. Busy until 9 AM, Grace finally retrieved the business card and made the call.

She was then instructed to go to Greenwich, Connecticut.

Fortunately, she didn't have to drive; a helicopter had been arranged to pick her up along the Hudson River.

Around 9:30 AM, the helicopter landed at an estate in northern Greenwich. A young woman with a doll-like face greeted her, introducing herself as Zoe Parks, and led her into the estate's villa.

As a model agent, Grace instinctively thought that Zoe, with her tall stature and doll-like face, could easily make it in the fashion industry, where the demand for doll-faced models was high.

However, she quickly dismissed this thought. The maids around Westeros earned more than her, and some, like Claire Gain and Alice Ferguson, had promising career prospects. Any smart girl wouldn't leave such a job for the cutthroat fashion industry.

The fashion world might appear glamorous, but behind the scenes, it's a mess.

Zoe led Grace to a sitting room next to the main living area, offering her coffee. She explained, "The boss is busy right now, Ms. Spurter. Please wait here."

Grace accepted the coffee with a smile. "That's fine."

Zoe turned on the TV, handed her the remote, and mentioned she had other things to do before leaving the room.

Once Zoe left, Grace looked around.

The sitting room, despite being part of a guest area, was over 60 square meters, divided into a lounge and a small bar. Decorated in warm yellow tones, the room's artwork, decorative bookshelves, and the black bar area created a layered and harmonious atmosphere, clearly well-designed.

Grace had once dreamed of owning such a suburban villa, but those early hopes had long become unrealistic.

Then she remembered her thoughts from the previous night.

She quickly dismissed the idea as wishful thinking. Though she wasn't unattractive and had initially wanted to be a model, she had ended up as an agent.

Forcing herself to abandon unrealistic thoughts, Grace couldn't help but wonder what Westeros was doing.

Zoe had said he was busy. Last night, he had left with Jerry Hall, surrounded by admirers. At his level of wealth and power, he didn't need to work hard anymore. Perhaps he wasn't even awake yet.

But Simon had been up early.

He was in another study in the villa, discussing the formation of the Westeros family's security team with Celia Miller, who had arrived early.

Simon had considered this for a while but hadn't had the time or energy to address it until now.

"Many wealthy people like to hire former special forces as bodyguards, which isn't very professional. Professional soldiers are more like 'weapons,' especially top soldiers. They struggle to become effective 'shields,' even with retraining. However, in war zones, where aggressive soldiers are needed, it's different. In peaceful settings, a professional security team should be trained from scratch as 'shields

.' The Secret Service agents protecting the President and top officials are rarely from military backgrounds; most are recruited from society and trained," Celia explained.

She continued, "For our security team, I suggest recruiting from sports schools or college athletes, ensuring they have excellent physical attributes. If you're not in a hurry, we could sponsor and train them from when they first enter college, and they could start working immediately after graduation."

Simon nodded in agreement. "However, I urgently need to train a team of female guards for my wife and children, and for you all. This is very important."

There were already some female bodyguards, but Simon didn't trust them completely.

Celia, catching his mention of her, gave him a playful look before becoming serious. "In that case, we could recruit from other security companies."

Simon shook his head. "I need them to be trained from scratch, ensuring they are trustworthy, even if it means they might lack some professional skills initially."

The main security work for the Westeros family was still handled by male bodyguards, but Simon wanted an additional layer of trusted protection for the women and children. He considered and said, "Or we could select some female soldiers; they have a good foundation."

Celia quickly objected. "Boss, you should reconsider that."

Simon was puzzled. "Why?"

After a brief hesitation, Celia explained, "The rate of assault among female soldiers in the military is very high, much higher than the worst public perceptions. Therefore, most female soldiers wouldn't pass a basic psychological evaluation. Even those who do might bring more uncertainties."

Simon's eyes widened as he processed this information. He remembered many reports, realizing it was unwise to bring such individuals into his household.

While these women might be sympathetic, Simon couldn't take the risk of having PTSD sufferers in his home, thinking of the potential dangers akin to Robert De Niro's character in "Taxi Driver."

Seeing Simon's reaction, Celia clarified, "I worked in the Defense Department, but I never served in the military. Also, because of my husband's connections, no one dared to harass me there."

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