Chapter 171: That Prescott Family

Chapter 171: Chapter 171: That Prescott Family

Director Miller, such a renowned filmmaker, being willing to host a dinner is already a great honor. That’s precisely why no role has been granted yet, only a dinner invitation, and Warren isn’t daring to slack off for a second.

Renee Morgan kept a neutral expression, reached out for a handshake, her lips curling into a smile: "Director Miller, I’ve heard so much about you."

"Oh, not at all, Miss Morgan—your fame surpasses mine these days," Director Miller said half-jokingly.

Renee took it as a polite remark, just pondering her response, when the other two men in the private room rushed over, each sticking out their hand, eager and almost scrambling.

If Director Miller’s attitude was warm but proper, these two were clearly overdoing it.

There were only three men in the room; the rest were immaculately made-up actresses.

Was she right in guessing these two were from the production and investment side?

Renee looked at the guys with strained, toothy grins and trembling hands: "..."

Seeing the odd look on Renee’s face, Director Miller quickly introduced them: one was a major entrepreneur, the other a well-known producer—her guess matched up.

After Renee shook hands and got acquainted, the other actresses, still seated, just nodded to her, which counted as a greeting.

Actresses competing for attention was the norm; Renee responded with a modest, courteous smile.

After sitting down, Renee seemed to sense something and glanced in a particular direction.

The girl seated beside President Warren was surprised, realizing she’d been staring at Renee too long, and turned her gaze aside with a pout.

"Nicole, what’s wrong?" President Warren saw her sour face, asking cautiously.

Nicole Prescott leaned back in her chair, glanced at the utensils in front of her, and said lightly, "Aren’t we supposed to be eating? Why haven’t the dishes arrived yet?"

"Right, right, serve the food, hurry up." President Warren didn’t know who’d upset Miss Prescott, but soothing her was always the safest bet.

The door swung open and servers poured in, laying out a spread of exquisite dishes. President Warren’s first move was to serve Nicole Prescott.

Nicole’s expression was cold: "Don’t bother—my tastes have changed."

The other actresses weren’t familiar with one another, and seeing this, they exchanged looks, their eyes ambiguous.

While everyone was guessing at Nicole’s relationship with President Warren, the producer picked up the communal chopsticks, helped Nicole to another dish, and said cautiously: "Miss Prescott, you might want to try this one—it’s the restaurant’s signature."

Nicole nodded coolly, sipping her red wine without touching her chopsticks or saying a word.

Director Miller chuckled and spoke: "Why are you all serving Miss Prescott only meat? Young ladies don’t like meat much."

"Oh, she doesn’t like meat? She’s so slim, how could she not like it... In that case, let’s have some salad." President Warren hurriedly had a salad brought in, mopping sweat from his brow.

The three big shots’ concern finally eased Nicole’s sour mood.

The other actresses started to guess at her identity.

Maridia is full of wealthy families, with countless elites. President Warren is a mogul worth billions, and the only person he’d cater to like this is surely someone from the Prescott Family, the frequent subject of finance news.

They’re here to compete for roles; what’s Miss Prescott here for?

The table was piled high with fancy food, but the actresses mostly just sipped water, barely touching their chopsticks.

The mood warmed up as the actresses raised their glasses to toast the three men. No one dared offend Nicole Prescott, so they toasted her as well.

The spirits were strong, and the three men genteelly urged them to drink less,

Nicole just nodded with her cold, blank expression.

In the end, only Renee Morgan hadn’t yet stood up to toast.

After all, they were fighting for a role—it called for the right attitude. Renee lifted her glass of baijiu to toast the three, circled the room, then met Nicole’s eyes: "And this drink is for you, Miss Prescott..."

Nicole’s lips curved with what looked like a smile, yet it was more a sneer, haughty and dismissive, her eyes flicking aside, not responding at all.

"Miss Ford, Miss Young..." Renee Morgan raised her glass to all the actresses she knew by name, then knocked it back in one go.

Nicole’s arrogant smile froze, her face visibly colder.

She pressed her palm against the table with a ’smack,’ and looked at Renee with a faint smile: "Director Miller’s new project is an art-house film—it might not really suit Miss Morgan."

Everyone was stunned; no one expected Nicole to be so blunt.

The actresses recovered—and couldn’t hide their delight.

Renee Morgan was their strongest rival. If she was out, anyone could snag the role.

More than a few glanced at Renee’s face with schadenfreude.

Renee had just set her glass down, heard the remark, and glanced over, her bright eyes smiling wryly, unconcerned: "Is that so?"

Nicole took her calm for an act, ignored President Warren’s signals, crossed her arms, and deepened her smile: "I heard Miss Morgan handles a stick pretty well on variety shows. This private room is spacious enough—you could show off your skills. Let Director Miller and the others see your talent, maybe next time we shoot a kung fu film, we’ll consider you."

That was way too much. President Warren’s mild smile vanished and he admonished quietly: "Nicole..."

The producer and Director Miller looked troubled, not daring to say a word.

Everyone could see it now: Nicole’s hostility toward Renee Morgan. Even if no one knew what Renee did to offend Miss Prescott, it was clear her days in showbiz were numbered.

With the Prescott Family’s power, just a word from them could make any entertainment company steer clear of her.

"So who..." Renee waited till Nicole was done, then looked at her seriously, narrowing her almond eyes and murmuring: "Miss Prescott, right?"

Nicole: "..."

Everyone: "..."

"Miss Prescott seems quite interested in me—knows I don’t suit art films, knows my kung fu is mostly for show." Renee let out a light, sardonic laugh.

"What did you say?" Nicole’s expression was one of amusement, her eyes instantly sharp.

President Warren’s ample frame trembled slightly.

Director Miller and the producer switched gears—instead of holding their heads, they let their arms drop, glanced at each other for a second, then looked at Renee, with something like respect in their eyes...

"Isn’t that right?" Renee seemed not to notice Nicole’s rage, her smile nonchalant, her tone unhurried: "Honestly, I’ve always been self-aware enough. Since Miss Prescott understands me so well, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s a fan. There’s another possibility..."

"Ha, what sort of self-awareness..." Nicole laughed in disbelief; the word ’fan’ honestly made her nauseous.

But before she could finish, Renee’s lazy voice sounded again: "There are people who just love to keep an eye on me, never really knowing me but always eager to pass judgment and deny me. No matter what I do, how I do it, I’ll always be guilty in their eyes."