The feren at the Four Seasons Hotel was pletely packed up. Journalists, photographers, and media representatives filled the space, some already setting up cameras, others flipping through notes, prepared to throw their hardest questions at the man of the hour—Alex Wilson. (Rachel didn't have much trouble arranging it sihe media was dying to get an interview session with Alex.)

  For five years, Alex had been an unstoppable for Hollywood, redefining ema with every project he touched. He had built a reputation for being intensely private, avoiding the limelight unless absolutely necessary. But today was different. Today, he was here tically fuel the hype for his uping romantiedy, Lost in Transtion, and, perhaps more importantly, to solidify his produ house's influen the industry after the split with Bckstar Studios.

  Dressed in a tailored blue suit, Alex walked onto the stage, effortlessly exuding the quiet fidehat had made him one of the most respected filmmakers in Hollywood. He adjusted the microphone, sed the room, and gave a small nod. The murmurs died down instantly.

  "Let's get started," he said, his deep voice cutting through the room with practiced ease.

  The first few questions were predictable.

  "Mr. Wilson, you debuted with Forrest Gump, a film that redefiorytelling with its deep emotional core. Then you followed it up with Titanic, which, let's be ho, no one believed could be topped. A, you kept delivering. Argo, No try for Old Men, and The Hurt Locker... each is a masterpie its ht. How do you baistitegrity with ercial success?"

  Alex leaned forward slightly. "I don't think about ercial success when I make films," he admitted. "If you chase the box office, you lose sight of the story. I focus on what o be told, and if the audience ects with it, that's just a bonus."

  Another journalist chimed in, "You didn't just stop at direg. You've written and produced Million Dolr Baby, Gdiator, and the animated hit The Wild Robot. What drives you to explore different genres?"

  Alex smirked slightly. "I get bored easily," he admitted, earning a chuckle from the audience. "But in all seriousness, I don't believe in limiting myself. Every story demands its oroach. Some he raw iy of The Hurt Locker, while others he sweeping historical drama of Gdiator."

  Then came the topic of his novels.

  The New York Times correspo raised her hand. "Acc to your test tweets, you po release two new novels week?"

  Alex nodded. "Yes. One is titled Ameri Beauty—"

  A collective murmur ran through the audience.

  "—which explores the fragile nature of identity and self-destru in porary America."

  "And the sed?" another journalist pressed.

  Alex's expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes.

  "The sed," he said, "is Silent Hill: The City of Ashes. The first book in the series."

  The silen the room was immediate.

  It was a name no one had heard before.

  "You're introdug a new horror franchise?"

  "Yes," Alex firmed. "It's something I've wao do for a long time. Silent Hill isn't just about horror, it's psychological. It's about what we bring into the darkness. This book will be the first step into something... bigger."

  The way he said it sent a ripple of curiosity through the crowd.

  Then came the iable shift toward his film.

  A journalist from IndieWire spoke up .

  "Mr. Wilson, after the intense war drama of The Hurt Locker, many expected you to follow up with something just as a-packed. Instead, you're direg a romantiedy. you talk about that?"

  Alex tilted his head.

  "I could," he said smoothly. "But where's the fun in that?"

  Groans. Laughter.

  Another reporter tried. " you at least firm the tone of the movie? Is this a cssi-? Or something different?"

  Alex nodded. "It's different. It's not your usual graure, fairytale romance. Lost in Transtion is about the quiet moments. The es that sneak up on you. It's subtle, bittersweet, real."

  People scribbled notes furiously.

  "And the cast?"

  Alex smirked. "Casting starts week. Stay tuned."

  A Hollywood Reporter journalist adjusted his gsses. "Are you pnning to return to the a genre anytime soon?"

  Alex smirked. "Actually, yes."

  Murmurs of excitement.

  He tinued, "I'm w on an a trilogy. It's in early stages."

  Rachel visibly tensed beside him. She had no idea what he was talking about. She never khere roje development at the present.

  The reporters were practically foaming at the mouth.

  "Title?"

  Alex answered, "Mission Impossible."

  "Plot?"

  A knowing smirk. "Surprise."

  "Cast?"

  "It's still in the early stages, so we'll talk about casting after I finalize the script."

  Rachel sighed.

  The Hollywood Reporter journalist scribbled furiously. "So, we're getting an Alex Wilson-directed a trilogy?"

  Alex grinned. "You'll find out soon enough."

  A journalist in the sed row grinned mischievously. She was around 55 or something, yet looked hot in her bck shirt and knee-high skirt. "Alright, Alex, you know we have to ask... are you dating anyone?"

  Alex sighed. "Here we go."

  The crowd chuckled.

  "e on," the journalist pressed. "You're one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors, a, no sdals, girlfriends?"

  Alex leaned into the mic. "Disappointing, isn't it?"

  Mhter.

  "But seriously," another reporter asked, "is there anyone in your life?"

  Alex shrugged, looking annoyingly unbothered. "Right now, my focus is on my work. I don't have time for romance."

  (Liar, a small voi his head muttered. You spent aire m watg Max threaten her ex with a shovel and found it deeply eaining.)

  "Rumors say you've been spotted with someoly—"

  Alex sighed dramatically. "The rumors say a lot of things. They also once said I was secretly married to a French model named Celeste."

  "Were you?"

  "No. But I bet she's doing great."

  Mhter.

  "Alright, alright," the journalist relented. "So, no dating for now?"

  Alex lifted a brow.

  Silence.

  Lips quirking, he answered,

  "It depends oher I meet someone worth pursuing."

  Rachel cut in, "Alright, let's keep the questions professional."

  TMZ Guy wiggled his eyebrows. "So, you're saying there's hope?"

  Alex smirked. "For me or for you?"

  The crowd lost it.

  Even Rachel couldn't help but smile.

  Rachel checked the time and sighed. "Alright, final question."

  A reporter from Deadliood. "Alex, your career is legendary. Are you perhaps gunning for another Oscar win this year?"

  "Who knows?" Alex said lightly. "If it happens, it happens. I don't tend to think too hard about these things."

  ...

  [After interview]

  As soon as Alex escaped the stage, Rachel grabbed him by the arm. "Are y to give me a heart attack?!" she hissed.

  He ughed. "Rex. It went fine."

  She groaned. "You just casually dropped the news about an a trilogy—WITHOUT WARNING."

  Alex smirked. "Gotta keep them ied."

  Rachel gred. "Do I look like I enjoy surprises?!"

  Alex patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll survive."

  Rachel sighed dramatically. "So, this was the reason for that raise?"

  "...maybe."

  She shook her head, knowing it was no use arguing with him, and dragged him away, mumbling something about difficult filmmakers.

  .....

  [Back to 2 Broke Girls]

  Max and Caroliood in front of Baker's Heaven Supply Co., the go-to pce for ercial baking equipment. Max stared at the industrial oven showroom like a kid who had just been told Santa wasn't real.

  "Caroline," she whispered. "That's a big-ass oven."

  Caroline, flipping through the catalog, barely looked up. "Max, they're all big-ass ovens."

  Max, arms crossed, gave an exaggerated sigh. "I just thought we'd get something... I don't know... less intimidating. Think of the bills."

  Caroline shot her a look. "We're baking a thousand cupcakes. You wanna do that with an EZ-Bake Oven?"

  Max pointed dramatically at one of the monstrosities in front of them. "This thing looks like it could cook a whole human."

  The salesman, a middle-aged guy with perfectly bed hair and the energy of a used car dealer, chuckled. "Teically, it could. But we don't reend it."

  Max side-eyed him. "...So it's been done?"

  Caroline elbowed her. "Ignore her. She has trust issues."

  The salesman smiled politely but subtly took a step back.

  After thirty minutes of debate (which mostly sisted of Max trying to vince Carolio "just rent a bunicrowaves instead"), they finally settled on two massive, state-of-the-art ventional ovens.

  The grand total? 13,000.

  Max physically clutched her chest as Caroline sighe payment. "Oh, my God. I just felt my soul leave my body."

  Caroline rolled her eyes. "Breathe, Max."

  "I 't. I'm too poor for this."

  The salesman, pletely unfazed, hahem the receipt. "Delivery will take about four days. Where do you want them sent?"

  Caroline quickly jotted down the address of their rented kit.

  "Alright," the salesman said smoothly. "Your ovens will arrive on Wednesday between 9 and 10 AM."

  Max let out a very dramatic sigh. "Great. That gives me exactly four days to process the fact that we're now broke."

  Carolited her shoulder. "Don't think of it as being broke. Think of it as... being temporarily cash-light. We'll still have a few thousa after the order and bills."

  Max gave her a deadpan look. "That is the most optimistisense I've ever heard."

  Caroline grinned. "You love me."

  Max groaned. "Ugh. Let's just go the murder bakery."

  ...

  [Rented Kit – A.K.A. The 'Murder Bakery']

  The moment they stepped iheir newly rented kit space, Max immediately regretted everything.

  "Caroline."

  Caroline, hands on her hips, surveyed the area. "Hmm?"

  Max slowly turo her. "...Did we just rent a haunted bakery?"

  Caroline sighed. "Max—"

  "I'm serious! Look at this pce!" Max gestured wildly at the slightly creepy but funal space. The kit itself was big—tons of ter space, giaal sinks, and rusty old shelves that looked like they had witnessed a crime or two.

  The lighting was questio best. One of the overhead bulbs flickered ominously.

  Max crossed her arms. "Tell me this isn't where people get murdered in horror movies."

  Caroline rolled her eyes. "Max, we got a deal on this pce."

  Max gave her a deeply unimpressed look. "Yeah, because it's probably cursed."

  Caroline cpped her hands. "Okay, stop being dramatid help me ."

  Max sighed, grabbing a broom. "If a ghost grabs me, I'm suing."

  After a solid hour of scrubbing, sweeping, and acg each other of being terrible at ing, the pce actually started looking... semi-det.

  Max wiped her forehead dramatically. "Whew. Alright. I think we did it."

  Caroline g the grimy top shelf Max had very clearly avoided. "Max."

  Max immediately threw her hands up. "No. Absolutely not."

  Caroline raised an eyebrow. "You're scared of a shelf?"

  "No. I'm scared of whatever's living on it."

  Caroline sighed and grabbed a stool. "Fine, I'll do it."

  Max narrowed her eyes. "If something jumps out at you, I'm leaving."

  Caroline rolled her eyes and climbed up. The sed she wiped the shelf, something dropped down.

  Max SCREAMED. "ARGGG!!!"

  Caroline screamed. "HEEEKKK!"

  The thing hit the floor with a THUD.

  Silence.

  Max clutched her chest. "WHAT. THE. HELL?!"

  Caroline looked down... and burst out ughing.

  It was just an old, dusty oven mitt.

  Max scowled. "I hate you."

  Caroline was wheezing. "Your face... Hahaha!"

  "I hate you so much."

  Caroline gasped for air. "You... You acted like it was a—like it was a whole-ass monster."

  Max huffed. "I hope a real ghost haunts you tonight."

  Caroline grinned. "Alright, alright. Let's finish this up."

  By the time they were dohe pce actually looked like a real bakery. No murder vibes. No dust bunnies plotting their revenge. Just a funal kit ready for business.

  Max colpsed onto a stool. "That. Was. Hell."

  Caroline sighed in relief. "But it's done."

  Max groaned. "I swear to God, if this doesn't work out, I'm being a bank robber."

  Caroline smirked. "Wouldn't that be more stressful than baking?"

  Max shrugged. "Eh. At least I'd have health insurance."

  Caroline ughed. "Okay. Let's head home and actually rest before our shift."

  Max stood up, stretg. "Yeah. Let's go before a real ghost shows up."

  And with that, they locked up the bakery a...

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