"Pfft... haha!" Seeing Martin wake up, Haya couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.
At first, it was a soft chuckle, but her laughter grew louder and louder, until it filled the room.
Martin looked at the beautiful princess laughing like a madwoman and raised an eyebrow. Supporting himself with his hands, he sat up and began getting dressed.
Haya's laughter ceased abruptly. She looked at Martin with a hint of reluctance in her voice.
Martin replied, "I've got a contract to sign today—can't be late. Why? You'll miss me?"
"Miss you? Impossible!" Haya glared at him, puffing her cheeks and trying to look fierce.
"You're adorable when you glare like that. Maybe try a little fiercer?" Martin teased, glancing back at her with an amused smirk.
Haya, flustered, pouted. "Can't you tell I'm trying to be angry?"
"Angry? Didn't look like it. With the way you were laughing earlier, like a lunatic, I'd say you're pretty happy—probably thrilled you finally slept with me!" Martin replied, his tone shameless as he continued getting dressed.
Haya's eyes widened, disbelief washing over her face. She wondered if she had misheard him. Isn't that my line?
Cursing inwardly, Haya huffed. "Happy? Yes, I'm happy. Happy that we're finally even!"
Martin paused, then turned to her with a look of mock astonishment.
"Even? No way. You still owe me twice!"
As he spoke, Martin held up two fingers, clearly enjoying her reaction.
Years of royal etiquette couldn't stop Haya from blurting out a curse.
"You slept with me, and now I owe you? What kind of messed-up logic is this?"
Martin spread his hands innocently. "Didn't you sleep with me instead?"
Haya felt her temper flare. She jumped off the bed, lunging at him with clawed hands. "You shameless bastard! I'll kill you!"
Martin sat up again, this time taking his time to dress.
Once he was fully clothed, he turned to the exhausted Haya lying on the bed, completely defeated. "Remember, now you owe me three times. Oh, and I'm taking the car—you wouldn't want me to be late."
Too drained to argue, Haya could only curse him silently in her heart: Shameless bastard, shameless bastard, shameless bastard...
At 11:00 a.m., Martin and David Scott arrived at the grand signing hall.
Seated alongside the Emirati King and Oil Minister Hasfu, they held pens in hand, pretending to sign the thick stack of documents on the table.
The actual contracts had been signed earlier; these were just for show in front of the media.
After the ceremonial signing, the parties exchanged documents and posed for photos.
The King draped an arm around Martin's shoulders, exuding warmth. "Martin, I wish you success in extracting oil as soon as possible."
Martin responded in kind, gripping the King's arm and smiling. "Thank you for your encouragement, Your Majesty. That's my greatest wish too."
He then shook hands with Hasfu.
Hasfu, wearing a sycophantic smile, said, "If your company encounters any difficulties, feel free to come to me. The UAE's oil department will be your strongest support."
Martin laughed heartily. "Thank you for your support, Minister Hasfu. I won't hesitate to reach out!"
With that, the handshake ended, and the ceremony was declared over.
As news of the signing spread, Martin's successful acquisition of the UAE's Saittan Shallow Sea Oil Field sent shockwaves across America.
Media outlets scrambled to cover the story, while countless technical service companies began taking note.
Even just securing parts supply contracts for an offshore drilling platform could sustain numerous small companies.
"Martin Meyers—a name previously associated with entertainment and social news—will now also dominate headlines in economics and politics. His seamless transition from the entertainment industry to energy is a resounding success. If the Saittan Shallow Sea Oil Field meets its production expectations, Martin will undoubtedly earn the title of 'oil tycoon.'"
This wasn't Martin's first feature in The Wall Street Journal, but it was the first time he was recognized as an industrial magnate rather than for his financial investments.
Across the world, there's always a higher status attached to industrialists compared to financiers. While financiers redistribute the "cake," industrialists make it bigger. The political and societal impact of the two roles is worlds apart.
"He did it! He did it! Dad, my son has succeeded! Damn it, he's a bona fide tycoon now!" exclaimed Grant Meyers, dialing his father Chuck Meyers the moment he heard the news.
On the other end of the line, Chuck Meyers responded calmly, "Martin did it, not you. Why are you so excited?"
Grant laughed boisterously. "Doesn't matter! I'm thrilled anyway!"
Chuck hung up the phone with a faint smile, then set it down and adjusted his glasses.
But as soon as he confirmed the call had ended, the elderly man leapt out of his chair, shouting and dancing in his study.
"Hahaha! He did it! My grandson did it! An industrial tycoon! Incredible! The Meyers family is on the rise!"
Hearing the commotion, his wife—the elder Mrs. Meyers—opened the door. "What on earth are you shouting about, old man?"
Chuck instantly resumed his dignified demeanor, sitting upright at his desk with a pipe in his mouth. "Shouting? Who's shouting? Oh, it must have been Grant on speakerphone just now. He was the one shouting."
He then waved her off impatiently. "Go on, go on, I have important calls to make."
As soon as the door closed, Chuck eagerly dialed his friends, his excitement barely contained:
"Hello, Carrick? This is Chuck. Guess what? My grandson Martin just secured the Saittan Oil Field in the UAE!"
"Hey Hart! Did you hear? My grandson Martin..."
Within minutes, everyone in Chuck Meyers' circle of old friends knew about the "grandson's grandson" who had pulled off a massive coup, transitioning from Hollywood star to industrial magnate.