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

AN: C'mon. MORE POWERSTONES. 💎💎

Words: 2.6k

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The elevator ride to the top floor of Wilson Studios was silent, save for the quiet hum of classical music playing over the speakers. Alex rolled his shoulders in an attempt to work out the tension.

Bill Murray was out.

Which meant his entire vision for Lost in Translation was suddenly teetering on the edge of collapse.

Not ideal.

Not impossible, but definitely not ideal.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the large glass-walled hallway. At the end of the hall was the executive office of Wilson Studios. Rachel was already inside, standing by his desk with a tablet in hand. 

"You're late," she said without looking up.

Alex exhaled, stepping inside and tossing his car keys onto the desk. "Had to process the fact that my lead actor just imploded his own career before noon."

Rachel finally glanced up, her expression wry. "You want to talk about bad luck? I had to cancel three interviews and reschedule an entire PR campaign before my first coffee."

Alex smirked, despite everything. "Tragic."

Rachel didn't miss a beat. "Oh, deeply. Now, sit down. We need to fix this before the studio execs start hyperventilating."

Alex took his seat, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Who do we have?"

Rachel swiped through her tablet, bringing up a list of actors. "Okay, so obviously we need someone with range—someone who can carry the emotional weight of this film without overplaying it."

Alex leaned forward, scanning the names. "Give me viable options, Rachel. No risks, no untested talent. I need someone who can guarantee results."

Rachel's lips pursed as she scrolled. "Two names." She flicked them onto the large screen behind her, the faces of two legendary actors appearing in high definition.

Tom Hanks.Richard Jenkins.

Alex's eyes lingered on Tom's face first.

A two-time Academy Award winner. The man who had defined a generation of cinema. The same man Alex had worked with on his very first film, Forrest Gump. Their collaboration had been nothing short of legendary—Tom had walked away with an Oscar, and Alex? He had cemented himself as a director worth watching.

The other option—Richard Jenkins—was an equally compelling choice. A phenomenal character actor, subtle, nuanced, and deeply respected in the industry. He could definitely pull off the quiet melancholy the role required.

Alex exhaled, tapping a finger against the desk. "Jenkins is good. Damn good."

Rachel nodded. "He is. And he's available."

Alex hummed, considering. "But Hanks? He's more than good. He's iconic."

Rachel tilted her head. "You've worked with him before."

Alex nodded, drumming his fingers against the armrest of his chair. "And I know exactly how he works. I know how to push him, how to pull the performance I need out of him. We already have a dynamic."

Rachel crossed her arms. "Hanks is a big name, Alex. More press, more attention, bigger expectations."

Alex smirked. "When have I ever been afraid of expectations?"

Rachel huffed, shaking her head. "Fine. You going with Hanks, then?"

Alex leaned back, his decision made. "Call him."

Rachel tapped a few buttons on her tablet. "I'll set up a meeting. You think he'll say yes?"

Alex's smirk didn't falter. "He will."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Confidence?"

Alex chuckled. "Experience."

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "Alright, I'll make the call. But if this backfires, I'm not covering your ass."

Alex grinned. "Wouldn't expect anything less."

Rachel sighed, shaking her head as she exited the office.

Alex exhaled, staring at the city skyline through the massive glass windows of his office.

One problem down.

A million more to go.

...

Rachel worked fast.

Within an hour, she had arranged a private meeting at The Peninsula Beverly Hills, one of the most discreet and luxurious hotels in Los Angeles. It was a place where industry titans brokered billion-dollar deals over breakfast, where studio heads made decisions that shaped the future of Hollywood, and where the paparazzi never got past the lobby.

Perfect.

Alex arrived first.

Tom Hanks arrived fifteen minutes later, wearing his signature easygoing smile, a leather jacket over a dark polo shirt.

"Alex Wilson!" Tom greeted, clapping him on the back as they shook hands. "Damn, kid, you've been busy."

Alex smirked. "So have you."

Tom chuckled as they sat down in the private lounge, a waiter already approaching with a tray of coffee and pastries. "Nah, not really. Been laying low these past few months. Took some time off after the last one... figured I'd actually enjoy life for a bit instead of pretending to be in front of a camera."

Alex took a sip of his coffee, studying the man across from him. "Good timing, then. I was just about to drag you back in."

Tom raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh yeah? What's the project?"

Alex set his cup down. "It's called Lost in Translation. I guess you have already heard about it?"

"Yeah, saw your press conference," Tom hummed in thought. "Who's directing?"

Alex gave him a pointed look.

Tom grinned. "Well, that makes things easy."

Alex leaned back. "I need a lead. Someone who can carry an entire film with just their presence."

Tom's expression turned serious, his fingers tapping against his coffee cup. "And you think that's me?"

Alex smirked. "I know it is."

Tom exhaled, considering. Then he grinned. "Alright, I'm in."

Alex blinked. "That fast?"

Tom shrugged. "What can I say? I trust you, Alex. Forrest Gump was one of the best experiences of my career. I don't need to see the script to know this is gonna be worth it."

Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "No second thoughts? No 'let me sleep on it'?"

Tom chuckled. "Kid, I've been in this industry long enough to know when something's right. And this? This is right."

Alex grinned. "You won't regret it."

Tom smirked. "I never do."

They clinked their coffee cups together in an unspoken agreement.

Back at the office, Rachel sat in her office. Her eyes were on her tab, waiting for Alex's message. And just then...

Beep! A text from Alex.

[Tom Hanks is locked in. No negotiations needed. Full commitment. I'll leave the contract drafting to you as usual.]

"Holy shit. Wilson did it again." Rachel nearly jumped up from her chair in excitement. 

Lost in Translation was on the track again.

Rachel wasted no time. Within minutes of receiving Alex's text, she was on the phone with the legal team, drafting contracts, setting up press strategies, and notifying the studio executives that Tom Hanks was officially on board.

They were expecting a problem.

Instead, they got Tom Hanks.

By the time Alex strolled back into his office, Rachel was standing by the window, scrolling through the latest Hollywood headlines. She didn't even look up.

"You're an asshole," she said casually.

Alex smirked, setting his sunglasses on the desk. "I assume this is about how effortlessly I just saved our entire production?"

Rachel turned, crossing her arms. "No. It's about how you casually texted Tom Hanks is locked in like it wasn't one of the biggest casting wins of the year."

Alex chuckled, pouring himself a glass of water. "Would you rather I sent a dramatic voice memo?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Don't tempt me."

Alex sat down, stretching his arms behind his head. "So, what's the next step?"

Rachel tossed her tablet onto the desk. "Music."

...

[Fast forward to Alex's and Max's date day]

[Back to Max's apartment]

Max smirked at her reflection, standing completely naked in the cramped bathroom of their tiny apartment, pushing her boobs up with both hands.

"Alright, Moneybags," she said to her reflection, deepening her voice in a terrible imitation of Alex Wilson's smooth, infuriatingly sexy tone. "I love your cupcakes, Max. They're the best I've ever had."

She pursed her lips, making her own voice breathy and high-pitched, responding as herself.

"Oh, Alex, stop it! You're just saying that because you wanna give me a huge..." she paused, winking at herself, "...business opportunity."

Max dropped her hands, huffing. "Ugh. That sounded way better in my head."

She tried once more...

"Oh, Mr. Wilson," she purred to her reflection, mimicking a sultry, high-society voice. "You're so powerful. So rich. So incredibly generous with your business deals… Tell me, do all billionaires give their favorite little bakers such special treatment?"

She giggled, then immediately snorted at herself. God, she was an idiot.

"Oh, wow, Alex, another big order? You must really love my cupcakes." She smirked at her reflection, shifting her stance, trying out different versions of her innocently seductive look.

Then, deepening her voice, she mimicked Alex's smooth, unbothered tone:

"Max, your cupcakes are the best I've ever had."

She paused, looked at her boobs.

Frowned.

Then facepalmed.

"Jesus Christ, that sounded dirty."

She continued...

"Oh, Mr. Wilson," she purred in an exaggerated sultry tone, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes at herself in the mirror. "Your generosity is simply overwhelming. A hundred-thousand-dollar contract? For little old me?"

She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest like some 1950s housewife about to faint.

Then, in a deep, gravelly voice, she mimicked Alex, smirking at her own reflection. "Max, darling, your cupcakes have changed my life. In fact... I'm thinking of investing in you long-term."

She snorted, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Oh, Alex!" she cooed, shifting her voice back to a breathy, high-pitched tone. "I don't know what to say!"

She dropped her hands, twisting her lips. "Ugh, no, that sounded too submissive. He likes a challenge, right?"

Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders, rolling them back like she was slipping into a slinky dress and not standing butt-ass naked in a cheap-ass bathroom.

"Look, Moneybags," she started again, planting one hand on her hip, "I know I'm irresistible, and I totally get why you wanna invest in me, but let's be real... you just want an excuse to keep seeing me."

She deepened her voice, dropping her chin slightly, channeling Alex's signature smugness. "Guilty."

Max let out a low, throaty chuckle. "I knew it. You rich boys are all the same... falling for the dangerous allure of a self-made woman."

She winked at herself.

Then, in full-blown fantasy mode, she turned sideways, hiking one leg up onto the bathroom sink, gripping the edge like she was straddling Alex in the back of his stupidly expensive car. "Mmm, Mr. Wilson... I just don't know if I can mix business and pleasure."

"Then let's forget about business for a while," she murmured in her fake-Alex voice, leaning toward the mirror like she was about to kiss herself. "Just for tonight."

Her breath hitched.

Wait.

Shit.

She blinked, finally registering the heat curling in her stomach, the way her skin was prickling with awareness.

'Oh. Oh, no.'

Was she actually... turned on? From this?

She stared at herself in the mirror, mortified. "Goddamn it."

Snapping out of it, she shook her head violently, smacking both cheeks. "Nope. Absolutely not. Get it together, Black. You are not getting horny over some rich guy..."

...

Caroline had seen a lot of weird shit living with Max Black.

She had walked in on her drunk dancing on the kitchen counter at 2 AM. She had witnessed Max trying to convince a pigeon to leave their fire escape by offering it a piece of toast. She had even seen Max wear a hoodie as pants because, and she quote, "All my real pants are in the laundry, and I refuse to be oppressed by societal norms."

But this?

This was a whole new level.

Caroline stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, her brain short-circuiting as she processed the absolute insanity happening in front of her.

Max.

Completely naked.

Talking to herself.

Roleplaying an imaginary business negotiation with Alex Wilson.

While grabbing her own boobs.

And now, 'oh God,' she had her leg up on the sink like she was about to re-enact a soft-core porno starring herself and Alex.

Caroline's eye twitched.

She considered just backing away, pretending she never saw this.

But that option was immediately thrown out the window when Max, still in full seduction mode, purred into the mirror:

"Mmm, Mr. Wilson... I just don't know if I can mix business and pleasure."

Caroline felt her soul leave her body.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

Then, in a deep, gravelly voice that was somehow supposed to be Alex, Max replied to herself:

"Then let's forget about business for a while... just for tonight."

Caroline's face twisted into pure horror.

'No. No, I refuse to be here for this. I do not get paid enough... Wait, I don't get paid at all to live with this lunatic!'

And just when she thought she might actually be able to walk away from this disaster...

Max whispered, "Just for tonight," again, except this time?

She actually moaned it.

A. Full. Throaty. Moan.

That was the moment Caroline lost her patience.

"MAX."

Max screamed.

Not a cute, surprised yelp. No, this was a full-on, murder is happening, horror-movie-level scream.

She spun around so fast she almost slipped, one foot still propped on the sink, arms flailing like a panicked chicken.

Caroline, deadpan, crossed her arms. "Are you kidding me?"

Max, panting, finally registered who was standing there. "Caroline?! What the hell?!"

Caroline gestured aggressively toward the scene in front of her. "WHAT THE HELL?! I should be asking you that!"

Max scrambled to lower her leg, nearly falling over in the process. "What? What are you doing here?!"

Caroline's eye twitched even harder. "I live here! You left the door wide open!"

Max froze.

Then, slowly, painfully slowly, she turned to look at the door.

Sure enough.

Wide. Open.

No lock. No barrier.

Just completely open, giving Caroline a full, unobstructed view of Max's... method acting.

Max's entire body went stiff.

Her lips parted.

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then...

"FUCK."

She slammed the door so fast that Caroline barely had time to move out of the way.

The sound of Max banging her head against the bathroom wall followed almost immediately.

Caroline, still standing just outside the door, pinched the bridge of her nose so hard she might give herself an aneurysm.

"Max."

Silence.

"Max."

More silence.

Then, from behind the door, a muffled, deeply pained voice: "Please kill me."

Caroline snorted. "Oh, no, absolutely not. You do not get to die and leave me with this mental trauma."

Max groaned, still banging her forehead lightly against the wall. "You saw that?"

Caroline deadpanned. "Max. I witnessed it."

A pause.

Then Max, voice barely above a whisper: "…How much?"

Caroline exhaled through her nose, gripping the doorframe. "You grabbed your own tits. You moaned. You flirted with your own reflection in a terrible Alex impression. And then..." she clenched her jaw, reliving the pure agony of the moment, "...you whisper-moaned 'just for tonight.'"

Silence.

Pure, suffocating silence.

Then, from behind the door:

A deep, guttural, soul-crushing groan of despair.

Max slid down the wall.

"I'm never leaving this bathroom again," she declared, voice muffled against the floor.

Caroline, arms still crossed, smirked. "Oh no, you are leaving. Because guess what? You have a business dinner with Alex tonight."

Max let out an inhuman noise.

Caroline continued, mercilessly. "So you'd better get your shit together, because if you so much as look flustered around him, I swear to God, I will bring this up. Every. Single. Day."

Max groaned louder.

Caroline turned to leave, but not before throwing out one last dagger:

"Oh, and by the way? That Alex impression? Awful. Work on it."

And with that, she walked away.

Max, still sprawled on the bathroom floor, screamed into the void.

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