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Then immediately read another.
Eventually she set her fork down.
Her playful smile faded into thoughtful curiosity.at world of New York society since birth.
"Can I ask you something?"
Marvin looked up. "Of course."
She rested her chin lightly on one hand. "This script..."
She tapped the cover. "Do you actually know this much about law?"
Her head tilted with genuine curiosity. "I mean..."
She laughed softly. "Half the stuff in here sounds like somebody who went to law school."
Marvin paused with his glass halfway to his lips. "What makes you think that?"
Paris lifted the script with both hands, already flipping back several pages. She spoke with growing excitement, her hands moving as much as her words—fingers splayed, wrists loose, punctuating every thought the way she always did when she got carried away.
"It's just... there's so much detail," she said. "Like, way too much to just make up." She found the page she'd been looking for and tapped it.. "The dry-cleaning receipt? That whole alibi thing? That's actually really clever."
She flipped ahead again showing a storyboard. "And then all the courtroom stuff."
Another page. "The objections, the judge, the professor trying to trip her up with all those evidence rules..."
She looked up at him, genuinely impressed. "It doesn't feel like fake movie law."
Her head tilted. "It feels... real."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Like you've actually studied this."
Marvin set his glass down and met her gaze. "I have."
Paris blinked. "...Seriously?"
He nodded. "I've spent a lot of time reading legal textbooks. Criminal procedure. Contract law. Constitutional theory."
He smiled slightly. "I find it fascinating."
"What?" She laughed softly. "Law?
"The structure behind it," Marvin explained. "How language shapes outcomes. How a single sentence in a contract can protect someone... or ruin them. How people who understand the rules have advantages over people who don't."
Paris rested her chin in her hand, completely captivated now. "That's... kind of amazing."
Then she laughed. "But also... very you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means normal people have hobbies." She counted on her fingers. "You write movies, books. You make music. You act. And apparently, for fun, you read law books."
"That's so... intense," She smiled, shaking her head. "Yet that's so Marvin."
He chuckled. "Fair enough."
"But why?" she asked. "I mean... why spend all that time learning it?"
Marvin leaned back slightly. "Because one day I'd like to earn a law degree."
Paris's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. "...You're kidding."
"No."
"I mean..." She stared at him. "You seriously want to be a lawyer?"
"Eventually." She laughed in disbelief.
"So you're planning to be a writer, actor, musician…"
She pointed at him with her fork. "...and then just casually become a lawyer too?"
"When the timing is right."
Paris let out a slow breath. "That's... honestly kind of insane."
"In a good way?"
She smiled. "In a very Marvin way."
He smiled back. "The idea for this script actually started after you visited me on the *Hide and Seek* set."
"It did?"
"You made me think."
"About what?"
"It's about assumptions." He gave the script a casual nod, as though the answer had been there all along. "People decide who you are before you ever open your mouth. Sometimes it's because of how you dress. Sometimes it's because of your family. Sometimes they underestimate you before you've even had a chance to prove them wrong."
His eyes met hers. "I thought it would be interesting to write about someone everyone dismisses... until she turns out to be the smartest person in the room."
Paris looked down at the manuscript in front of her.
A small smile slowly spread across her face. "So that's why she feels... real."
Marvin nodded. "I wanted her victories to feel earned."
Paris was quiet for several seconds.
Then she looked back up at him. "I really love her."
She rested a hand on the script. "And I love that she never changes who she is just to make everyone else comfortable."
Marvin smiled. "That's exactly what I hoped you'd say."
Paris stared at him, her food forgotten, her fork suspended in mid-air. "That's... wow. That's major, Marvin. Like, seriously major. You're gonna be a lawyer *and* a movie star? That's like, totally unheard of."
"Not as major as this script," he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, though his hand found her knee under the table, squeezing gently. "So..."
He nodded toward the manuscript. "Now tell me the truth."
"The real truth."
"No being nice because you like me."
"What works?"
"What doesn't?"
"If something feels wrong, tell me."
Paris didn't even hesitate. "Oh, trust me."
She grinned."I have notes."
Paris's entire face lit up. She set her fork down without another thought, hugged the script to her chest, and leaned across the table until they were only inches apart.
"I love it," she said, almost breathless. "Like... I seriously love it."
She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, really. Every scene. Every conversation. Every twist. It honestly feels like you wrote it for me."
Her brown eyes searched his. "It's like you climbed into my head and figured out everything I wish I could say whenever people decide who I am before I even open my mouth."
She looked back down at the pages, carefully flipping through them. "I love this."
Her manicured nail tapped a scene. "And this."
Another page. "Oh my God... especially this."
She smiled to herself. "The way Elle uses fashion..." She looked up again. "People always think clothes are just clothes."
She shrugged. "They're not. I know exactly what people think the second I walk into a room."
She gestured toward herself.. "They see blonde hair, designer clothes, pink... and they've already made up their minds."
She tapped the script again. "But Elle knows that."
"She understands what people expect. And instead of fighting it..."
Her smile grew. "...she uses it. That's so smart."
She laughed. "It's honestly kind of evil. In the best way."
Marvin smiled. "That's exactly what I wanted." He leaned back in his chair. "The joke was never supposed to be Elle. It was always everyone else. They underestimate her. They assume they know who she is. And every time they do..."
He nodded toward the script. "...they're wrong. The clothes aren't the punchline. They're another tool. They tell her story before she ever speaks."
Paris pointed at him excitedly. "Yes! Exactly!"
She laughed. "And she's not just trying to get her boyfriend back. At first she thinks she is, but then she realizes... she doesn't want him. She wants to prove he completely misjudged her. That's so much stronger. That's... that's *me*, Marvin. That's exactly how I feel every day when people look at me like I'm just some spoiled rich girl."
"She's not winning despite being herself. She's winning because she's herself. That's the difference." She shook her head. "I've read so many scripts where the pretty blonde has to stop being... well…"
She gestured at herself. "...this. She has to change so everyone finally respects her. But Elle doesn't. She stays Elle. She just gets smarter and stronger."
Her voice softened. "I really love that."
Marvin watched the excitement on her face with quiet satisfaction. "That was always the goal."
Paris stood up, unable to stay still any longer. She wandered toward the window overlooking the city, absently twirling a strand of blonde hair around one finger—hips swaying, restless energy radiating off her. "And Warner..."
She sighed. "I like that he's not some cartoon villain."
She turned back toward Marvin. "He's ambitious. He's convinced he's right. He honestly believes she's wasting her life."
She folded her arms. "That hurts more. It feels real."
She smiled ruefully. "I've met guys like that. They're nice right up until they decide you're only decoration."
Marvin nodded. "People rarely think they're the villain in their own story."
"Exactly." Paris smiled. "And Vivian..."
She pointed toward another page. "I love that she doesn't suddenly become Elle's best friend. They don't magically hug five minutes later. They earn it. You can actually watch her opinion change."
She laughed. "That's way more satisfying. It feels real."
Marvin smiled. "Respect is more interesting when it's earned. It lasts longer."
Paris nodded enthusiastically. "And the courtroom scene..."
She flipped through the pages until she found it. "Oh my God."
She looked up with sparkling eyes. "She doesn't solve everything because she's lucky. She notices things. She connects them. The perm. The dry-cleaning receipt. The timeline. It all fits."
She pressed the script lightly against her chest. "She earns that moment."
Paris spun around, her hair flying, her face alive with excitement. "And that's why it works. You never ask people to believe she's brilliant. You let her prove it."
Marvin watched her quietly. She understood.
Not just the plot.. Not just the jokes.. She understood what the story was really saying.
This wasn't simply a comedy about a blonde girl going to law school.. It was about refusing to let other people define your worth.
About proving that the qualities people dismissed—social intelligence, emotional awareness, understanding image, reading a room—could be strengths instead of weaknesses.
A slow smile touched his face. Then it disappeared.. He folded his napkin neatly beside his plate and looked at her.
His expression had changed. Paris noticed immediately.
Her smile faded. "What?" she asked.
Marvin held her gaze turning serious in a way that made Paris's stomach tighten. "Can you do it?"
She blinked.. "...Do what?"
"Play her." The room suddenly felt quieter.
The room suddenly felt quieter.
He nodded toward the script. "Can you really play Elle?"
His voice stayed calm, but there was no softness in the question. "I don't mean well enough. I don't mean people saying, 'Not just 'cute for a debut' or 'good enough for an heiress. I mean..."
He paused. "Can you make people believe her?"
Paris stared at him.
Marvin continued. "Can you convince an audience she's intelligent? Can you make them laugh with her instead of at her? Can you carry an entire film on your shoulders?"
He rested a hand on the script. "Because this isn't just another movie to me."
His eyes never left hers. "If everything goes the way I'm planning..."
He tapped the cover once. "This could become one of the first films released by my own studio. I don't want people walking out saying..."
He shrugged slightly. "'Paris Hilton wasn't bad.' I want them walking out saying..."
A faint smile crossed his face. "'Paris Hilton is an actress.' not 'Paris Hilton tried acting.'"
Silence.
Paris felt the blood drain from her face.
Paris looked down at the script. Only moments ago it had felt exciting.
Now it suddenly felt heavy. She slowly sat back down.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the manuscript, suddenly aware of the weight of it, the responsibility. She thought of her acting—her limited experience, her reliance on personality rather than technique, every acting class she'd skipped. Every audition she'd walked into because people already knew her last name, the way she'd gotten by in the past by being herself rather than becoming someone else. She thought of the modeling, the party appearances, the reality show whispers that followed her like a cloud.
The confidence she'd carried into the room only minutes earlier began to slip away.
"I..." She swallowed. "I think I can do it, baby."
Her voice was much quieter now. "I really do."
She looked up at him. "I want to." A nervous laugh escaped her. "I've never wanted anything this much."
"But?" The single word landed softly. Marvin pressed, his eyes seeing through her, seeing every doubt, every fear, every insecurity she'd hidden beneath layers of pink silk and blonde hair.
Paris looked away. "...But what if I can't?"
Her voice almost broke. "What if I'm not good enough?"
She shook her head. "What if I ruin it? What if I bomb it? What if I ruin your movie?"
She laughed once, but there wasn't any humor in it. "What if everybody watches it and says..."
Her eyes filled with uncertainty. "'See?'"
"'We told you.'"
"'She's just another rich blonde dumb party girl' playing dress-up.'"
She looked back at him, all of her confidence stripped away. "What if they laugh at you… ...for believing in me?"
Paris turned away from him and walked back to the window. The city stretched beneath her in glittering ribbons of light, but she barely saw it.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest. For the first time that night, she looked every bit of eighteen. Not the socialite. Not the Hilton heiress.
Just a girl who was scared. "...Maybe you shouldn't give it to me." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Paris..."
She shook her head before he could continue. "No, listen."
****
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