New York, Plaza Hotel.
Elin put down the phone and looked at Eric with interest.
"My poor nieces, you hold them in your hands like toys. As their aunt, I'm deeply concerned."
Eric, standing by the panoramic window, smirked to himself, "Yes, sure, I believe you."
"What, you don't trust me?"
Eric thought, "How could I trust you when your actions and words don't align? What am I supposed to believe? If I tell you I believe, you'll probably ask which part I believe in—my head or something else."
"Oh, I believe you, Elin. I truly appreciate everything you do for me," he answered.
"Hmph! Doesn't sound like gratitude to me. By the way, who was that woman with her daughter we met in the restaurant in Fellindale? What's your connection with them?"
"None. I saw them once while I was in China, and that's it."
"That's it? I saw something unusual in that woman's eyes. She looked at you strangely."
Eric clenched his fists and replied, "Elin, you work in a bank, not a private detective agency. You're not Sherlock Holmes. Does every woman I talk to need to have some connection with me?"
Elin crossed her arms and said, "You, young man, have never told the truth. I'm not as naive as Mary, whom you lead around by the nose."
"Ha, I was only able to trick them with your help, dear auntie."
"And how are you going to thank me for it?"
"Haven't I already treated you to my 'milk'? The doctor said it's top-quality, good for beauty and health."
Elin licked her lips, recalling the taste of his milk—sweet with hints of orange and pineapple. According to studies, that flavor often comes from people who are healthy and eat plenty of fruit.
She beckoned him over with her finger, "Come here."
"No, I don't want to!"
"Come on, hurry up!"
"What do you want?"
"You're leaving tomorrow. What do you think I want?"
Eric sighed, "Ah, I guess I can't avoid this walk to the gallows."
He climbed onto the bed, embraced Elin, and began caressing her body.
"Don't rush. I'm not ready," Elin brushed his hands away. "Let's make it quick. I have to get up early tomorrow; I have a meeting at Hasbro."
"You want it quick? Then help me."
"What?"
"I still haven't heard enough. Go on, tell me how you got involved with Ashley and Mary."
Eric kissed her neck, "Why are you so interested in this now? I never noticed before."
"Because I've never met anyone as greedy and bad as you. Come on, tell me how you 'entered' their lives."
Elin raised her head slightly, mumbling incoherently, and her grip on Eric tightened.
Every detail of his story excited her more, until she reached the peak of pleasure, plunging into a state of pure bliss.
The next morning, after breakfast, they parted with a kiss.
"Sweetheart, you were amazing last night. I look forward to our next meeting."
Eric waved his hand, signaling her to stop talking and just go.
As he watched the departing Panamera, he also hailed a taxi.
As expected, last night Elin woke him up for a "second helping." He knew she wouldn't let him go easily; otherwise, she wouldn't have looked so pleased this morning.
"These women, they're all the same. It seems they won't rest until they've driven me to an early grave!"
He counted: Friday morning he'd spent hours with the Olsen sisters, that evening with Nicole, and Saturday again past midnight with Elin.
Rubbing his kidneys, Eric was genuinely worried that one day he'd simply collapse from exhaustion.
"How embarrassing would that be!"
Sighing, he thought, "What can I do? I'm just too good."
The women he attracted were not only beautiful but also successful.
Resisting their charms was nearly impossible. His pride and natural masculine passion did their part.
If they were like Lou Yufeng or Ru Hua, he would never have fallen for their tricks.
The car pulled up to a luxurious mansion. The owner of such a house in this elite neighborhood was clearly no ordinary man.
Crossing the lawn, Eric pressed the doorbell. Moments later, a young and beautiful maid opened the door.
"Who are you, sir?"
Eric tilted his head slightly to peek inside and saw Serge Hassenfeld in a robe.
Serge noticed him and immediately exclaimed, "Maria, move aside! You almost left my best friend at the door!"
The maid quickly let Eric in. They embraced, patting each other's backs.
Serge laughed, "Eric, long time no see! You look fantastic."
Eric ran a hand over his somewhat tired-looking face, "This is what you call fantastic?"
"Haha! I read about you often in the tabloids: Nicole Kidman, Gal Gadot, Reese Witherspoon, Evangeline Lilly. You seem to be having a great time with them. You look like you're enjoying life too much."
Eric shook his head slightly, "Serge, you really should read less of the tabloids. It's all made-up nonsense, not a word of truth."
"Really? You have no connection with those actresses?"
"Of course not! Just because MGM makes a movie, doesn't mean I have to be involved with the lead actress. What am I, Harvey Weinstein?"
"What about Harvey Weinstein?" Serge asked with curiosity.
Eric smirked, "Rumor has it he has a red couch in his office, used specifically for 'casting calls.' If an actress wants a role, she has to lie on that couch. Think about what happens next."
Serge looked at Eric with envy, "In your industry, things seem set up pretty well. As I recall, Weinstein is the boss of Miramax—not a huge company, but how I envy his lifestyle!"
Eric nodded, "Miramax might not be a giant, but Disney is behind it. With that kind of backing, Weinstein could afford to do a lot. But believe me, he couldn't sway everyone. The big stars were beyond his reach."
"I heard Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow also had to fend off his advances before they became famous, but only they know if he succeeded or not."
Serge looked shocked, "Really? Gwyneth Paltrow won an Oscar for her role in Shakespeare in Love, which Miramax released. I remember the photo where she hugged Weinstein; they looked so friendly, like there was no coercion at all."
"Ha! Would you really openly contradict your 'wealthy uncle'?"
Serg nodded in understanding:
"So that's how it is. Makes sense. With an Oscar behind you, sometimes you just have to swallow your pride, even if it means eating a fly with a smile."
"Exactly. Actors are tools for public and capital satisfaction. For good roles and awards, they'll do almost anything, from eating flies to even worse things."
Serg shrugged:
"Listening to you makes me question my image of Kate Winslet. Are all actors really like this?"
"Not all of them. There are no absolute truths in this world. But most, yes. I don't know Kate Winslet, so I can't judge her. Maybe she's an exception—pure and unspoiled. You can keep believing in her."
At that moment, the maid Maria brought in two glasses filled with a murky, bluish liquid.
Eric frowned:
"What's this? Doesn't look like alcohol."
Serg took a big gulp of his drink, eagerly flexing his arm:
"Of course, it's not alcohol. It's a functional drink, specially formulated by experts. Drink it every day—it'll do you good."
Eric sniffed the liquid, frowning even more:
"Smells awful. Are you sure it's beneficial?"
"Absolutely. Drink up. It'll help us with our future plans."
"What plans? Did you arrange something? Doing it here at your house isn't the best idea. What if your wife comes back?"
Serg scoffed:
"Don't mention her. This is my house, not hers. She has her own place. We only see each other when necessary. We live our lives separately, and it's better that way."
Eric was surprised. The last time they'd spoken, their relationship hadn't seemed this strained. Serg was clearly going through a rough time.
Patting him on the shoulder, Eric downed the drink in one gulp, the bitterness almost making him gag.
"God, what did you put in there?"
Serg laughed:
"Bitterness is good. Life itself is full of bitterness. It helps you remember the humiliations we face."
"Come on. I found a new hobby, more exciting than women."
They headed to the back of the house, where Eric noticed a boxing ring.
"What's this?"
"Here." Serg tossed him a pair of boxing gloves. "This is my new hobby. Ring fights are far more interesting than the bedroom!"
He put on his gloves and climbed into the ring first.
"Come on, Eric! Are you really afraid of a forty-year-old man? Look at your young muscles, let's have a bit of fun!"
Just then, a door near the ring opened, and several girls in bikinis entered the room.
They immediately surrounded Eric, helping him change into workout clothes, their enthusiasm allowing them a few sly touches here and there.
"Alright, let's do it, but I've never boxed before and don't know the rules."
Serg slapped his cheeks to psych himself up:
"Doesn't matter, I'm new to this too. Just remember—no hits to the face or below the belt, everything else is fair game."
With that, he was already bouncing side to side, hopping around:
"Come on, Eric, put all your strength into it! Only when you really start hitting will you let off steam!"
Serg came at him, his fists raining down like a storm.
Eric wasn't lying; he really didn't know how to box, so he mostly focused on dodging and guarding, though he couldn't avoid everything.
The bikini-clad girls cheered them on, fueling the adrenaline in the air.
The friendly sparring match wasn't limited to three minutes—it continued until both fighters were out of breath.
A few minutes later, even through his gloves, Eric could feel the burning ache all over his body. But those few minutes had drained Serg as well, and he visibly slowed down.
Eric seized the moment, landing blows all over: his back, chest, arms, abdomen, and even by accident on his backside.
Finally, Serg went down after a solid punch, lying on the ring floor, sweating heavily and panting.
"How long did that last?"
"Almost nine minutes, sir! You've improved your record again," Maria replied.
Serg laughed, took off his gloves, and motioned for Eric to join him. Eric lay down as well, his body glistening with sweat.
"So, how was it, young man? This sport is way more interesting than the bedroom, don't you think?"
"Yeah, it's actually a pretty thrilling experience. Even though the fight wasn't long, for those few minutes, I forgot about everything else and just focused on the fight. Really refreshing—great for blowing off some steam."
"Exactly! Boxing is a great way to let off steam. You know, during World War II, boxing was especially popular in Germany? The war caused immense tension, and people needed a way to release it."
Eric looked thoughtfully at his friend:
"Serg, are you alright? Are you under a lot of pressure?"
Serg didn't respond.
"Let me guess, is it because of your uncle, Alan?"
At the mention of Alan's name, he irritably waved his hand:
"Don't bring up that old man. He's always acting like a madman; there are plenty who'd wish him dead."
"Really? Are there that many people who dislike him at Hasbro? Why hasn't he been replaced, then?"
Serg sighed heavily, shaking his head:
"Alan's the largest shareholder in Hasbro. Of course, major shareholders can be replaced, but he runs the company well, and everyone's making money. Who's going to start a rebellion?"
"Even if there were a shareholder vote, who would take the reins? Who could guarantee that he'd be better than Alan and earn even more?"
"It's like you said about those actresses: even if it's a pile of dirt coated in chocolate, people will still eat it happily."
Eric considered this and slowly asked:
"If there were someone who could rival Alan in shares, would the other shareholders support them?"
Serg laughed loudly:
"Don't make me laugh. Where would you find someone like that? Among the individual shareholders, I have the biggest stake after Alan, but I'm nowhere near his level."
"There are hidden investors, maybe with more shares than Alan, but they're interested in profits. As long as he makes money, why would they replace him? And the minor shareholders don't count."
"If such a person showed up, I'd gladly support them. I'm tired of that old man!"
Eric wasn't sure how sincere Serg was, but his dissatisfaction was promising. It meant things weren't as smooth at Hasbro as they seemed.
He raised Serg up, encouraging him:
"Don't worry, such a person will appear."
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