Surviving as a woman in Hollywood is no walk in the park.
The ones who make it to the forefront usually have guts and grit in spades. Take Nina Jacobson, president of Marvel Studios, or Katsura Kennedy, head of Rose Pictures—both are standouts, earning mad respect.
The same goes for Emi Pascal, chair of Columbia Pictures.
She took the reins amid controversy and, sure, she hasn't turned a profit yet, but the success of Charlie's Angels—a film all about female empowerment—proves she's got chops.
Problem is, now she's itching to reboot Bad Boys II with Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay, and that rubs Dunn Dunn the wrong way.
Dunn picked up the phone himself. "Emi, it's Dunn."
Last time, when he wanted to blacklist Rush Hour director Brett Ratner, Emi Pascal was quick to back him up.
But this time, she hesitated. "Dunn? Look, if you heard we're restarting Bad Boys II and want to talk about it, I'm sorry—I can't do much."
Dunn cut in, "Bad Boys is a solid project, and a sequel makes sense. But Emi, as a friend, I'd suggest switching up the team. Michael Bay's washed up, and Jerry Bruckheimer? Total flop. His marketing plan for Pearl Harbor is a textbook disaster."
Emi went quiet for a sec. "Dunn, I can't give you an answer on this. Bad Boys II is a big deal, and my bosses at Sony Pictures are keeping a tight leash. I've got no room to push back."
Dunn frowned. "Emi, I'm telling you straight—if you stick with Jerry Bruckheimer, Bad Boys II will tank! It'll ruin the whole franchise."
Emi sighed. "Dunn, I get that you've got beef with them, but that can't dictate Columbia's bottom line, right? Pearl Harbor bombed, sure, but war films aren't Michael Bay's wheelhouse. Bad Boys II is action, guns blazing—his comfort zone. We know he's got a track record with this stuff."
Dunn's tone sharpened. "Well, good luck with that!"
He'd rather take control himself than bank on someone else.
Dealing with Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay? Others might help, but Dunn was the main force.
Bruckheimer's producing Black Hawk Down, set to hit theaters in January—same slot as Resident Evil.
The original, directed by big-shot Ridley Scott, still flopped at the box office. This version's helmed by some no-name, Simon West—think it'll do any better?
Even if Sony and Columbia were dead-set on teaming up with Bruckheimer and Bay for Bad Boys II, Dunn had a backup plan.
When the time came, he'd make them regret it so hard they wouldn't even have a corner to cry in!
---
Sayuri Johansson was still a small-time actress, picking up bit parts here and there, always on the fringes.
Her family wasn't loaded either—she was hustling in Hollywood on her own dime.
She rented an apartment in downtown LA. Judging by the handful of beat-up sedans parked out front, her friends weren't exactly rolling in cash either.
Dunn knew this was a young crowd's hangout, so he ditched the suit. Still, his black Armani trench coat stuck out like a sore thumb.
Sofia Coppola tagged along, smirking. "Relax, let's go!"
Dunn waved off his bodyguards. "You guys stay down here—no big deal."
They took the elevator to the fifth floor, and as soon as the doors opened, blaring music hit them from the end of the hall.
Dunn blinked. "This doesn't bug the neighbors?"
Sofia cracked up. "Wow, you're such a rich guy—clueless about regular life, huh? It's an apartment, not your fancy mansion. Parties wrap up by 10 p.m.!"
Dunn clutched a small gift box, still uneasy. "No side entrance? We're just walking straight in?"
"What's the problem?"
"Too flashy. Feels off."
Sofia giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Big shot, Sayuri's friends are all small-time Hollywood actors. I bet half the guys here have a secret crush on her. You show up, they'll back off—no competition for you!"
"Competition? Cut it out!" Dunn shot her a look, adjusting his collar as he steeled himself to head in. Curiosity got the better of him, though, and he leaned in, whispering, "Sofia, be real with me—is she… you know, still a girl?"
"Are you seriously that bored? Girl, woman—what's it matter?"
"It matters a ton!"
"Whatever! Ask her yourself if you're so obsessed!"
Sofia huffed, then rang the doorbell.
A moment later, the door swung open, revealing two youthful, radiant faces—one unfamiliar, one way too familiar.
Sayuri's eyes sparkled, pure and stunning at first glance. But look closer, and there was a subtle, teasing charm flickering in those watery depths—a little flirty, a little captivating, the kind of vibe that only hit you if you really paid attention.
She stood there, graceful in a snowy white dress, already hinting at the "heartthrob" status she'd grow into.
Dunn almost held his breath. This was the closest he'd ever been to her.
Sayuri spotted Sofia, her eyes lighting up. "Sofia! I'm so glad you made it!"
Sofia gave her a light hug. "Happy 17th, sweetie—you look gorgeous!"
"Thanks!"
"Oh, and I brought a friend along."
"Huh?"
Before Sayuri could turn, her buddy next to her let out a piercing "Eek!"—so loud the whole floor probably heard it.
The commotion drew a crowd from inside the apartment.
"What's going on?"
"Did something happen?"
"Are the neighbors complaining?"
"The music's not even that loud…"
"Ahhh!!!"
A few girls dashed to the door and screeched in unison.
The guys freaked out, rushing over to check things out—one even grabbed a kitchen knife on the way.
Dunn couldn't help but laugh. He hadn't been gawked at like a zoo panda in forever—mostly because he rarely showed up to low-key gatherings like this.
There was another reason too: Natsuki's crowd was a different breed. She hung with elite, high-achieving types. Dunn had met her friends—sure, they got excited, but nothing like this chaos.
Sayuri's circle was clearly more grassroots, laid-back, and starstruck.
"Hey, everyone!"
Dunn flashed his signature grin, waving. "Uh, buddy, mind putting the weapon down?"
"Haha!"
The teens blocking the doorway burst into laughter, staring at Dunn with starry-eyed awe.
Most of them were actors too—bit players like Sayuri, scraping by on the edges.
To them, Dunn was a god on a pedestal.
After cracking a joke, he turned back to Sayuri. She was covering her mouth in shock, eyes misty and on the verge of tears.
Dunn smiled softly, handing her the gift box. "Miss Johansson, happy birthday!" Then he called out, "And happy Thanksgiving, everyone!"
"Haha!"
"Director Walker, I love you!"
"Kate, chill—he's here for Sayuri!"
"Sayuri, open it—what's inside?"
Dunn was at a loss.
Maybe he was too old for this, or these kids were just too wild. They didn't even invite him in—just clamored for Sayuri to rip open the gift right there.
Sayuri was only 17, caught up in the thrill and curiosity. She hadn't rubbed elbows with high society yet, so she didn't know guest etiquette—just went with the flow like her friends.
At everyone's urging, she tore into the box at the door, revealing a dazzling black-and-white mother-of-pearl necklace.
"Wow! So pretty—$2,000, easy!"
"Nah, more like $3,000!"
"It's stunning—I'd wake up laughing if I owned one!"
Sofia stood beside Dunn at the threshold, equally amused and exasperated. This crew was too green, too hyper—Sayuri's circle wasn't doing her career any favors.
Especially if she wanted to fit into Dunn's world.
"Alright, it's a Van Cleef & Arpels classic—price doesn't matter. Put it away; it's from Dunn," Sofia said, nudging Sayuri forward.
Sayuri snapped out of her daze, her flushed cheeks glowing with excitement. She was radiant, almost otherworldly. "Mr. Walker, thank you! This is the most precious birthday gift I've ever gotten!"