2 Broke Girls x 1 Rich Man [TV series 2 Broke Girls ff]

The conference room at the Four Seasons Hotel was completely 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 since the media was dying to get an interview session with Alex.)

For five years, Alex had been an unstoppable force in Hollywood, redefining cinema 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 to strategically fuel the hype for his upcoming romantic comedy, Lost in Translation, and, perhaps more importantly, to solidify his production house's influence in the industry after the split with Blackstar Studios.

Dressed in a tailored blue suit, Alex walked onto the stage, effortlessly exuding the quiet confidence that had made him one of the most respected filmmakers in Hollywood. He adjusted the microphone, scanned 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 redefined storytelling with its deep emotional core. Then you followed it up with Titanic, which, let's be honest, no one believed could be topped. And yet, you kept delivering. Argo, No Country for Old Men, and The Hurt Locker... each is a masterpiece in its own right. How do you balance artistic integrity with commercial success?"

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

Another journalist chimed in, "You didn't just stop at directing. You've written and produced Million Dollar Baby, Gladiator, 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 own approach. Some need the raw intensity of The Hurt Locker, while others need the sweeping historical drama of Gladiator."

Then came the topic of his novels.

The New York Times correspondent raised her hand. "According to your latest tweets, you planned to release two new novels next week?"

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

A collective murmur ran through the audience.

"—which explores the fragile nature of identity and self-destruction in contemporary America."

"And the second?" another journalist pressed.

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

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

The silence in the room was immediate.

It was a name no one had heard before.

"You're introducing a new horror franchise?"

"Yes," Alex confirmed. "It's something I've wanted to 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 inevitable shift toward his next film.

A journalist from IndieWire spoke up next.

"Mr. Wilson, after the intense war drama of The Hurt Locker, many expected you to follow up with something just as action-packed. Instead, you're directing a romantic comedy. Can 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. "Can you at least confirm the tone of the movie? Is this a classic rom-com? Or something different?"

Alex nodded. "It's different. It's not your usual grand-gesture, fairytale romance. Lost in Translation is about the quiet moments. The connections that sneak up on you. It's subtle, bittersweet, real."

People scribbled notes furiously.

"And the cast?"

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

A Hollywood Reporter journalist adjusted his glasses. "Are you planning to return to the action genre anytime soon?"

Alex smirked. "Actually, yes."

Murmurs of excitement.

He continued, "I'm working on an action trilogy. It's in early stages."

Rachel visibly tensed beside him. She had no idea what he was talking about. She never knew there was any project in 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 action trilogy?"

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

A journalist in the second row grinned mischievously. She was around 55 or something, yet looked hot in her black 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.

"Come on," the journalist pressed. "You're one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors, and yet, no scandals, no secret girlfriends?"

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

More laughter.

"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 voice in his head muttered. You spent an entire morning watching Max threaten her ex with a shovel and found it deeply entertaining.)

"Rumors say you've been spotted with someone recently—"

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."

More laughter.

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

Alex lifted a brow.

Silence.

Lips quirking, he answered,

"It depends on whether 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 Deadline stood. "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 you trying to give me a heart attack?!" she hissed.

He laughed. "Relax. It went fine."

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

Alex smirked. "Gotta keep them interested."

Rachel glared. "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 Caroline stood in front of Baker's Heaven Supply Co., the go-to place for commercial 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 combed hair and the energy of a used car dealer, chuckled. "Technically, it could. But we don't recommend 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 consisted of Max trying to convince Caroline to "just rent a bunch of microwaves instead"), they finally settled on two massive, state-of-the-art conventional ovens.

The grand total? $13,000.

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

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Breathe, Max."

"I can't. I'm too poor for this."

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

Caroline quickly jotted down the address of their rented kitchen.

"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."

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

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

Caroline grinned. "You love me."

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

...

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

The moment they stepped inside their newly rented kitchen space, Max immediately regretted everything.

"Caroline."

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

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

Caroline sighed. "Max—"

"I'm serious! Look at this place!" Max gestured wildly at the slightly creepy but functional space. The kitchen itself was big—tons of counter space, giant metal sinks, and rusty old shelves that looked like they had witnessed a crime or two.

The lighting was questionable at 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 place."

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

Caroline clapped her hands. "Okay, stop being dramatic and help me clean."

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

After a solid hour of scrubbing, sweeping, and accusing each other of being terrible at cleaning, the place actually started looking... semi-decent.

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

Caroline glanced at 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 second 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 laughing.

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 done, the place actually looked like a real bakery. No murder vibes. No dust bunnies plotting their revenge. Just a functional kitchen ready for business.

Max collapsed 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 becoming a bank robber."

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

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

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

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

And with that, they locked up the bakery and left...

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[8 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers]