From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Jean-Louis hurried forward, appearing in the path of the two figures, cutting in at just the right moment, "Good morning, Mr. Wood. May I inquire if your rest last night was satisfactory?"

Polite yet not obsequious, enthusiastic yet not exaggerated, everything was just right.

It must be said that the Four Seasons Hotel's ability to stand tall on Avenue George V for so many years is indeed thanks to genuine skill.

Anson returned the smile, "Very good, so much so that I almost overslept and missed this morning's work. I hope I'm not late."

Jean-Louis chuckled softly, "Of course not. Your car is already waiting at the door. Believe me, it will ensure you arrive on time."

"Phew, then I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps I can catch a little more sleep in the car," Anson deliberately let out an exaggerated yawn, and the atmosphere completely relaxed.

But what truly mattered was the maturity and wisdom conveyed in his every gesture, everything was just right, making it hard to believe that he wouldn't be nineteen until next month.

Especially compared to the rudeness and arrogance of the oil tycoon from just now, the personal charm displayed by Anson could easily win people's hearts.

The night before last, when Anson arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel, there were some unexpected issues with the room arrangement.

"Fashion" magazine had booked a French suite for Anson, one hundred and forty square meters, two bedrooms and a living room, typical French luxurious decor.

However, the previous guest had created a mess in the room before checking out. Although the hotel immediately replaced the carpets, sheets, and sofa covers, the room still reeked of a pungent, unpleasant odor.

Reluctantly, Anson had to switch to a smaller deluxe suite, eighty square meters plus a balcony. Most importantly, it only had one bedroom, meaning the other guest would have to use the sofa bed in the living room, which was clearly not the original plan.

Jean-Louis had prepared to arrange another room for Anson's companion—although this might completely disrupt the upcoming Paris Fashion Week booking schedule, they really had no choice.

However, unexpectedly, Anson carefully inquired about the situation and readily agreed to move to the deluxe suite, even expressing a keen interest in the sofa bed, instantly livening up the atmosphere.

Moreover, that wasn't all—

Over the next short day and a half, Jean-Louis closely monitored Anson, and the feedback he received was still pleasing, even surprisingly delightful.

Now, it was no exception.

With just a brief encounter, Jean-Louis completely forgot about the recent troubles. He personally escorted Anson and Edgar out of the hotel lobby—

During the short conversation, the car arranged by the Four Seasons Hotel for Anson was ready and waiting, allowing Anson to get in and drive away.

The other doorman standing guard at the entrance could immediately feel the difference in attitude from Jean-Louis before and after, which made him unable to suppress his curiosity, "Who is he?"

This sentence was in French.

In France, especially in Paris, people possess an ingrained sense of pride. Even if others speak English, they naturally speak French.

Some might say, surely not in a hotel, especially a five-star hotel?

But that is not the case.

Even at the Four Seasons Hotel, the first reaction of all staff is still French. Regardless of the guest, they naturally assume the guest speaks French, and start the conversation in French, unless the guest emphasizes that they do not understand French, then they reluctantly switch languages.

However, the doorman noticed that Jean-Louis's entire conversation with Anson was in English; and the lobby manager's expression showed no arrogance at all.

This was abnormal.

Even without being obsequious, it was already close enough in the eyes of the French.

To the point that the doorman was confused, genuinely confused:

Who is that? Is he a Prince of Monaco?

Perhaps, in America, Anson had already begun to emerge, making a name for himself; but in Europe, Anson was still a completely unfamiliar face. The latest season of "Friends" was not broadcast simultaneously in Europe, and "The Princess Diaries" had mediocre overseas box office performance. Those noises, those storms, that excitement did not spread across the ocean with the assistance of the internet.

Standing on the streets of Paris, Anson was no different from millions of ordinary people.

In fact, this was also the most important reason for Edgar to come to Paris, perhaps this opportunity could be Anson's chance to take his first step on the European continent.

Jean-Louis was not surprised either, "Don't look at the surface, look at the substance."

"Attitude, that's the key."

"Whether it's an unexpected event, or facing ordinary people like us who serve them, a person's attitude can reveal their stance on accepting things and facing crises, which is the key factor determining a person's future path."

The doorman, with a confused look, had a large, bolded sentence written on his face:

I don't understand.

Jean-Louis smiled wryly, explaining further.

"To judge a person, you shouldn't look at what they are capable of doing, but what they choose to do."

"'Fashion' magazine booked his entire stay, if he pressured us in the name of the magazine, it would be very difficult for us, yet we would have no choice but to offend other guests to solve his problem. He could have done that, but he didn't."

"His performance, his demeanor, and most importantly, his attitude towards problems."

"He will definitely not be an unknown nobody. Perhaps he is not yet a name now, but I believe it won't be long before we look forward to him visiting again."

His words were full of meaning.

Although the lobby manager consciously educated the doorman, the doorman was clearly too young, only half-understanding and half-doubting those words, going around and around for a long time without understanding who Anson was.

Jean-Louis glanced at the doorman again, shook his head silently, and didn't say anything more, but watched Anson's car leave, he believed that the time that figure continued to remain nameless should not last too long.

The car sped away, but it didn't take long to arrive at its destination, for Anson, who was used to the congested traffic of New York and Los Angeles, the speed was really too fast—

The bustling area of ​​downtown Paris is even smaller than Manhattan.

Creak.

Pushing open the door in front of him, what came into view was a tall and wide factory space, filled with various mannequins, the walls and floor were freely and casually splashed with different paints, and fabric was visible everywhere.

An impression rushed to his face, this is Paris.

Although the space was similar, the temperament was different, it was indeed Paris, a casualness, a decadence, a flamboyance, a recklessness, a rough artistic temperament, unique.

"You're late," a voice came from ahead.