The Best Movie Actor In Hollywood!

Chapter 712

In a quiet hotel corridor, three men crept toward a luxury suite. Among them were the white man in glasses and the shorter black man, who quickly pulled a mini-DV camera from his bag.

The cleaner looked at the room number and said, "This is it."

The white man in glasses demanded, "Morrison, open the door."

"If we can get an intimate shot of Matthew Horner and Emma Watson..." the black man whispered, "we'll be rich!"

"Are we... are we really doing this?" As they approached the door, the cleaner, Morrison, had second thoughts. "I'm definitely going to be fired for this."

The man in glasses tried to reassure him. "If we pull this off, we'll each get fifty thousand pounds. Why would you need this crappy job?"

"Is that a sure thing?" Morrison asked again.

The black man chimed in, "You saw that article in The Sun about Matthew Horner spending the night with Emma? We took a simple photo and got ten thousand pounds for it."

As he said this, he winked at the man in glasses.

The white man understood and added, "Are you really going to turn down fifty thousand pounds sitting right in front of you?"The two exchanged a look and didn't press him further, waiting for Morrison to make his own decision.

Morrison gritted his teeth and made up his mind. He usually got paid fifty to a hundred pounds for leaking small tips to The Sun, which was always generous when it came to valuable news.

"This is the key card I stole," Morrison said, pulling a black card from his pocket.

He stepped toward the suite's door and reminded them, "We agreed to split the money three ways! Don't even think about screwing me over!"

The man in glasses said, "Would we ever cheat you?"

Morrison swiped the card and opened the door. He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at a text message he'd just received, and said, "Matthew Horner and Emma Watson just finished dinner and are on their way back. Hurry up!"

The white man in glasses, Davis, gestured to the black man, and both of them quickly slipped into the room.

Morrison didn't go inside. He gently closed the door, walked to the end of the hall, rolled out a cleaning cart, took out some tools, and pretended to be tidying up.

Less than a minute later, the elevator arrived, and Matthew and Emma stepped out.

Feeling guilty, Morrison kept his head down, not daring to look at them.

"How much longer are you staying in London?" Emma asked as they walked. "I noticed you're interested in football. I could take you to a stadium sometime."

They had just finished dinner and had been chatting about the English Premier League.

Matthew shook his head. "I think I'll be here for another week. Director Nolan moved all the Paris scenes to London." He thought for a moment. "I also have to do some promotional work for 'Fast & Furious 4,' so I probably won't have time to see a match."

Emma replied without any sign of regret, "I still wanted to take you to the Manchester United vs. Tottenham Hotspur match this weekend. We can talk about it later when you have time."

As they passed the cleaner, Matthew shot him a curious glance before heading to his suite door, pulling out his key card, and preparing to open it.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked, noticing the fleeting expression on Matthew's face.

Matthew swiped the key card, lowering his voice. "I've been here for a while, but I've never seen a cleaner working in the hallways at night."

Emma didn't think much of it. "Maybe someone made a mess in the hall."

Before stepping inside, Matthew turned to look at the cleaner again. At that exact moment, the cleaner also looked up. Their eyes met briefly before the cleaner hastily lowered his head and turned away.

"Let's go!" Emma insisted, leaning in and almost nibbling his ear. "How long are you going to keep me waiting?"

Matthew didn't know why, but it felt as if the cleaner was guilty and avoiding his gaze.

But Emma was insistent, so he didn't dwell on it. He turned and pulled her inside, closing the door behind them.

Less than ten seconds after kissing Emma, Matthew suddenly pulled away.

Emma bit her lip, asking with a hint of annoyance, "What is it now?"

Matthew leaned forward, his lips close to Emma's ear as if he were about to bite it, but spoke quietly, "Something's not right."

From the moment he'd walked in, he'd felt like they were being filmed. It was a subconscious sensation born from years of living in front of a camera. Whenever a lens was pointed at him, he got this strange, indescribable feeling.

It wasn't just him; many actors developed it. You could call it an occupational hazard.

Many outstanding actors on set didn't even need to see the cameras; they could sense them subconsciously.

Of course, it was just a subconscious feeling, and Matthew couldn't be one hundred percent sure.

Matthew made it look like he was still kissing Emma, but in reality, he had heightened his vigilance. He suddenly remembered the cleaner in the hallway, looking so shifty...

This was the homeland of the paparazzi, the most rampant in the world. It seemed British paparazzi even dared to secretly photograph and bug people at the level of the royal family and cabinet ministers.

And it didn't have to be paparazzi; it could be someone dangerous.

Without a second thought, one of his hands found the micro-alarm in his pocket and pressed it.

"Don't move," Matthew whispered in Emma's ear. "Someone might have gotten into the suite."

As he spoke, he shielded Emma with his body before she had a chance to react.

In case there was a dangerous person inside, any sudden movement could make things worse.

Fortunately, despite her age, Emma had seen a lot and remained calm, wrapping her arms around Matthew's neck and continuing to look at him with an expression of deep affection.

This was a luxurious Hilton suite, composed of several rooms, including a study with an open doorway on the side facing the main entrance.

The two paparazzi from The Sun who had come in earlier were standing just inside the study door.

The white man's eyes gleamed behind his glasses—this time, he was really going to strike it rich.

The black man beside him was just as excited, muttering in his heart, 'Why haven't they started yet?'

They weren't worried about being found. The study was a very safe spot. Under normal circumstances, no one would come into the study, and even if they did, they could hide in the large, empty bookcase.

Before they entered, Morrison had given them plenty of details.

The two paparazzi looked at each other, and both saw stacks of cash reflected in the other's eyes. How much would The Sun pay them if they could film Matthew Horner and Emma together?

No! To hell with The Sun. When the time came, they would hold out and sell to the highest bidder.

Wedding or baby photos of Hollywood celebrities sold for millions of dollars.

And these were two of Hollywood's biggest stars today, Matthew and Emma...

Even the fifty thousand pounds promised to Morrison was nothing.

As veteran paparazzi for The Sun, they definitely knew the value of such a story.

Both men's hands were trembling with excitement at the prospect of not only money but also fame.

They would become superstars in the entertainment journalism industry!

With this in mind, they did their best to hold their cameras steady, their lenses aimed at the suite's entrance.

The two were still embracing, without any substantial movement.

Suddenly, they separated.

The moment Matthew broke away from Emma, he swiftly opened the door, pulled her out into the hallway with him, and then slammed it shut.

At that moment, Brown Williams and the other bodyguards arrived.

"Someone might be in my suite," Matthew said quickly.

"Check it," Brown Williams ordered the others.

He didn't go himself. Instead, he and another man stood guard next to Matthew. For a bodyguard, the employer's safety was paramount.

All of this happened in front of Morrison. Without even thinking, he pushed his cleaning cart and hurried away.

The paparazzi watched Matthew and Emma leave, still confused. Why had they suddenly gone outside? Were they planning to do it in the hallway? They say celebrities have their fetishes...

Before they could decide whether to follow, the door burst open with a bang, and four burly men in black suits stormed in.

They had seen these four before and knew they were Matthew's bodyguards. They immediately realized things had gone south.

"Run!" the black paparazzo said in a low voice, dashing toward the window.

The other, however, didn't move. This was the thirty-third floor. The room had only one door, and while there were plenty of windows, jumping from here...

The black man ran to the window and suddenly froze, not daring to jump.