That evening, Zeni and Laila discussed her new movie for a long time and also brought up the topic of "death methods" that she had been pondering recently as a reference for her. They talked late into the night, and Laila ended up sleeping in for a rare lazy morning.
Perhaps she was destined not to sleep in, as she was awakened by Claire shortly after dozing off.
"So early, is something urgent?" She glanced at the clock on the bedside table – it was only 7:30 am. If there wasn't something important, Claire wouldn't have woken her up knowing she had only slept for a few hours.
"Phone call. Demi called and said it's something very important." Claire handed her the phone.
Laila took the phone and thanked her before putting it to her ear. "This is Laila."
"Boss, something big has happened!" Demi's urgent voice came through.
"What big thing has happened?" Laila, feeling a bit low on blood pressure and cranky from being woken up, had a bit of morning grumpiness, just like many "low blood pressure kings."
Still, she managed to control herself. She hadn't slept enough, and if Demi dared to disturb her sleep with something trivial, the poor little blonde secretary would have to endure her wrath.
Demi didn't catch the stiffness and displeasure in her boss's tone. She was already panicking: "Boss, there's an exclusive report about you in today's New York Post!"
"The New York Post?" Laila frowned, having a bad feeling. It was a tabloid known for grabbing attention with gossip, and it was owned by Rupert Murdoch, who was also her grandfather's rival. If there was any newspaper daring enough to report something about her, it would probably be that one.
"What kind of report is it?" She carefully thought about recent events, and it seemed like there was nothing significant to be reported. With her status, the paparazzi wouldn't dare to make up stories about her and publish them in the newspaper. So what kind of news could be so urgent that Daisy had to call her early in the morning?
"It's about... about..." Demi's heart was sinking, and she suddenly felt she shouldn't have called so early. Was it such a big deal to expose that her boss had a boyfriend?
Laila's patience was running thin: "About what?"
Demi was taken aback and hurriedly said, "About your boyfriend."
"What?" Laila furrowed her brows, feeling like she might still be half-asleep and hearing something absurd.
"Your boyfriend... the thing between you and that guy from yesterday, and there are photos."
"What?" Laila furrowed her brows even more. She felt like maybe she hadn't fully woken up yet, or else why would she be hearing something so ridiculous?
"Your boyfriend... thing," Demi's voice grew quieter due to her unease.
Even with that, Laila understood clearly: "My boyfriend? Where did I get a boyfriend from?" Had the New York Post finally decided to put their creative storytelling skills to use on her?
"It's about... about... your situation with that guy from yesterday, and there are pictures."
Daisy's voice was getting smaller, almost a whisper: "Even if this is the case, the New York Post should have used their creative storytelling skills on her."
With her irritation growing, Laila finally hung up the phone and immediately opened her computer to search for her name. As expected, she found that her fans had gathered in various places, discussing the topic.
She clicked on a popular post titled "Genius Director's Love Life Exposed on the Streets, Public Display of Affection." Inside, there was a photo of a man and a woman walking hand in hand down the street. It was obvious that the woman was her, but the man...
"Damn it! Zeni, that guy, I should have kicked him out long ago!"
The photo displayed was taken yesterday when she was with Zeni shopping for clothes. He hurriedly pulled her into the car to get information about her new movie.
In reality, holding hands between familiar individuals was nothing unusual, and it was clear from the photo that it wasn't a lover's hand-holding, just a tugging motion. How could such a minor and insignificant action be blown up so much? For the sake of making money, had the New York Post abandoned all sense of ethics?
Thinking about it, Laila couldn't help but laugh. She must have been half-asleep and expected the New York Post to have some ethics.
She scrolled down the post and saw numerous comments. Surprisingly, many people were expressing support for her having a boyfriend. Even those who didn't support the idea believed that the man in the photo, Zeni, wasn't suitable for her. Although he looked handsome, he didn't seem to belong to the entertainment industry.
Many people believed that as a director, having a male celebrity as a boyfriend would be the perfect match. Singing in harmony, going together, that would be a perfect match.
As she continued to read, there was a long list of suitable male actors who could be her boyfriend. Looking at this, Laila's head started to hurt. Almost every A-list Hollywood actor was listed, even including the currently high-profile Leonardo DiCaprio. Even Roy had ended up on that list.
Although his current fame might not be high enough, he did have a handsome face. Moreover, he was a contracted artist under Laila and had appeared in several films she directed. Unless something unexpected happened, he would be one of the company's promoted newcomers. Wasn't there a saying, "A boat may drift with the current, but a person's fate is in their own hands"? They were working together all the time; who knew when sparks of romance might ignite?
As she read on, the post gradually shifted focus onto discussing who would be the perfect match for her. Laila decisively closed the page.
"Has Zeni woken up yet?" she asked Claire, who had been standing behind her all this time.
"Not yet. It seems he slept very late yesterday." Claire answered with a strange expression.
Laila finally caught on to the peculiarity and couldn't help but exclaim, "You don't think he's my boyfriend too, do you?"
"Of course not!" Claire raised her eyebrows. "How could that scoundrel be your boyfriend?"
Well, Laila was speechless. So even Claire was thinking along the same lines – not that she cared about having a boyfriend, but about who that "boyfriend" was.
The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became. She felt like she was suffering an undeserved disaster. Wasn't it clear that good deeds never paid off? She had only offered him shelter as someone who had just gone through a breakup, and now she was stuck dealing with this irritating outcome.
She grabbed a jacket and draped it over herself, then went directly to Zeni's room.
"Zeni, get out here!" she called.
"Ugh..." came a dreamy response from inside. It was clear that the person inside was still sleeping soundly.
Laila reached out and pounded on the door, knocking frantically as if this would somehow help release some of the frustration building up inside her. "Zeni, get out here!"
"Coming, coming." Zeni, looking disheveled, opened the door with a sleepy expression. He leaned against the wall, his hand unconsciously rubbing his stomach that peeked out from under his shirt. "You missed me so much this morning?"
Laila's response was to kick him back into the room. "Hurry up and get out of here. I'm not keeping you."
Zeni blinked his tired eyes. "Is this some kind of morning joke ceremony?"
"Joke my foot! Do you know we were photographed by the paparazzi yesterday?"
"Photographed? So what? I'm not so ugly that I can't be seen." Zeni yawned and paid no attention to her words. He flopped back onto the bed, hugging a soft pillow. It seemed he was about to drift off to sleep again.