The flight to Los Angeles took off at midnight, an hour's delay gnawing at Tony's nerves, the engines' hum a restless undercurrent. Elizabeth Foster sat beside him, her fitted sweater molding to her curves, her red hair a fiery cascade under the cabin's dim lights. Her perfume—floral with a spicy edge—teased his senses, and each accidental brush of her arm sent a quiet jolt through him. She's a problem I don't need but can't shake, he thought, smirking. Elizabeth gazed out the window, her blue eyes shimmering with anticipation and doubt, unaware of the heat her presence ignited. They landed at LAX at 5:30 a.m., the city draped in a hazy dawn glow.
They checked into a hotel, securing separate rooms to keep things professional. Tony hit the shower, hot water washing away the flight's fatigue, but his mind lingered on Elizabeth's silhouette—the way her skirt had clung to her thighs at the airport, every curve a taunt. Get it together, Stark. Big moves today.
By 7:30 a.m., they were at a cozy café, the aroma of fresh coffee grounding them. Elizabeth, now in a sleeveless cream blouse that hugged her figure and a pencil skirt accentuating the sway of her hips, nibbled a sandwich, her glossy lips a distraction that tugged at Tony's focus.
"So, Mr. Stark, why are we here?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity, a playful glint in her blue eyes.
Tony leaned back, his grin teasing. "Ms. Foster, why else would I whisk a stunning woman like you to LA? For a date, obviously." His gaze lingered, drinking in the flush that warmed her cheeks, her lips parting slightly.
Elizabeth huffed, her blush deepening, a mix of irritation and fluster. "Mr. Stark, no time for jokes. I've only got today and tomorrow before I'm back at my job." Her tone was sharp, but a shy smile betrayed her, her pulse racing. Inside, she felt a thrill—Tony's bold compliment was a first. A bookworm through school and college, her striking looks had intimidated boys, leaving her untouched, while job hunts brought only leering old men with indecent offers. The lotto office, with its older, friendly staff, had been a safe haven, but Tony's charm was a new force—dangerous, electric.
Tony chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, just messing with you. We're meeting a director later, but first, I've got a friend to see. Be ready by 11:00."
They finished breakfast, and Tony rented a Mazda MX-5 Miata, its convertible sleekness perfect for LA's vibe. As he drove to a law firm, emotion surged. He was about to see Harry Archer—more than a friend, family from his past life. At 43, two and a half decades older than Tony's 18 years, Harry had been his anchor after Emilia's death, a widower whose relentless lawsuit against a senator's son for his daughter's fatal car accident had earned Tony's respect. Hired as legal head in his past life, Harry had saved him billions in taxes. This time, I'm saving him first, Tony thought, his chest tight with resolve.
The law firm was a husk—dusty tables, empty chairs. Harry sat alone in a small office, his white hair and dark eyes aging him beyond his 43 years, hunched over files. Tony steadied his voice, masking the ache. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Harry Archer?"
Harry glanced up, his tone tired but warm. "Yes, come in."
"Anthony Stark," Tony said, taking a seat. "I'm starting an investment company and want you as head of my legal team. A million dollars for the first year, $50,000 advance."
Harry's eyes widened, searching Tony's face. Those blue eyes burned with conviction, pulling him in. The recession's crushing me. Debts are piling up, rent's two months late, and Alice's skipping meals, he thought, his daughter's sacrifices cutting deep. "Alright, Mr. Stark, I'm in," he said, his voice steady.
Tony pulled out his checkbook, writing a $100,000 check—double the promised advance. "You won't regret this, Archer. Best decision you'll ever make." He slid it across the desk, then continued, "First task: rent an office in LA for a film production company—three floors or more. Recruit talent from studios, five-year exclusive contracts. Register SilverScreen Odyssey as an LLC under ChronosVantage Investments, an S-corp."
He handed Harry a list: Conrad Balthor IV, Roderic A. Harwyn, Joren Klyne, Soren Winholt, Thalia Schonweave, Toren Squirell, Derric Morvane, Joren Lathari, Rufus Swarthen, Merric Gyllen, Toren Sherald, Alyra Lepsalyn. "Start with a legal and audit team, get a mobile phone with the funds, then target these names. They're tiered—Balthor and Klyne are long shots, but try."
Harry stared at the list, then the check. "Funds and salaries?"
"Initial funds in a week," Tony said. "The day after tomorrow, I'll send someone to help. Call me Tony."
"Alright, Tony. Call me Archer," Harry said, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Tony left, his heart lighter yet heavy with purpose. Harry's with me again. Time to build the impossible.
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Guys, can you say me whether you like it or not and how do you feel about it.