….
“So, you actually used the ‘Peaky Blinders’ to bluff a room full of corner guys?”
Meg Ryan covered her mouth, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and lingering anxiety.
“Jesus, Alex…
you are either brilliant or completely insane.”
The two of them walked hand in hand along the sunlit pavement of Rodeo Drive, blending in like any ordinary couple in Beverly Hills.
The gleaming, pristine storefronts of Gucci and Cartier were a world away from the grimy industrial back alleys of the East side.
What had started as a chance encounter in a dive bar was rapidly shifting.
Meg was spending more of her free time at the North Hollywood apartment, her initial curiosity softening into genuine affection and concern.
Alex let out a faint, dry laugh, his sharp British cadence coming through smoothly.
“Well, my dear Mary, you have to read the room.
Expecting those straightforward gentlemen to hold a detailed understanding of transatlantic organized crime was perhaps asking a bit much.”
He paused to step aside gracefully, letting a woman pushing a stroller pass on the narrow sidewalk before continuing in his calm, measured tone: “So, yes…
I provided them with a slightly modified assessment of the situation.”
Though he brushed it off casually, Meg picked up on the underlying danger he was deliberately playing down.
She squeezed his hand tightly.
“What if they figure it out?
If they realize you bluffed them, they’re going to be furious.”
Alex stopped walking and turned to face her, his deep blue eyes completely steady.
He patted the back of her hand gently, his tone carrying a quiet, reassuring certainty.
“Don’t stress over it, Mary.
Men like that don’t spend their weeks chasing ghosts across town.”
He offered a subtle smile that carried a calming authority.
“Besides, I hear there’s a place just around the block that serves proper scones.
Shall we?”
Meg looked at him, feeling the edge of her anxiety fade under his calm composure.
She smiled, wrapped her arm through his, and let him lead the way toward the tea shop.
Neither of them noticed a dark sedan idling near the curb fifty yards back, or the long telephoto lens poking quietly out of the passenger window.
Euan Ferguson was a freelance paparazzi working the Beverly Hills beat.
Euan didn’t recognize the tall, blonde guy in the dark suit, but he certainly knew Meg Ryan—America’s Sweetheart, fresh off a streak of box-office hits.
He snapped a dozen crisp frames of them smiling, holding hands, and laughing outside the café—shots framed so cleanly they looked like stills from a romantic comedy.
Jealous as he was of the unknown guy on her arm, Euan knew business was business.
Instead of filing a standard tip to the local tabloids, he dialed a senior desk editor at a major entertainment weekly.
“Anderson?
It’s Euan.
I just caught Meg Ryan on Rodeo Drive with a new guy…
and I’ve got the roll to prove it.”
Later that evening, after saying goodbye to Meg, Alex made his way toward the Hollywood district for a late meeting.
Carme Turk had passed along his agent’s business card a few days prior, but Alex hadn’t cold-called her immediately.
He knew the dynamic in this town: unrepresented actors who chased agents aggressively usually ended up with terrible commission terms or signed with bottom-tier boutiques that couldn’t book studio auditions.
Lately, several independent talent scouts had reached out after seeing his stunt beats on Hook and Terminator 2, but most were either overly arrogant or lacked real studio access.
Alex held out, waiting for an entry point into a major agency.
While top-tier agency heads like Michael Ovitz were far beyond a newcomer’s reach, Carme’s rep—Fina Cohen over at Creative Artists Agency—was a different story. You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
To his surprise, Fina had reached out to him directly after Carme showed her the dailies from District 13.
As night fell, Hollywood Boulevard lit up with flickering neon signs, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Alex pushed open the door to Starlight Corner, a quiet, old-school coffee shop off the main strip.
A small brass bell chimed overhead.
The dim interior smelled of dark roast and wood polish, with faded movie posters lining the booths.
He spotted her sitting in a corner booth near the window.
Fina Cohen was roughly twenty-eight, wearing a sharp, dark gray suit skirt over a crisp white blouse.
Her short brown hair was neatly styled, and her sharp, focused eyes were fixed on a stack of talent files beside a half-empty cup of black coffee.
She carried herself with the brisk, efficient confidence of a rising CAA junior agent.
“Mr.
Shawn?” Fina looked up as he approached, her eyes locking onto him with precise focus.
She stood up and extended a firm hand.
“Fina Cohen.
Glad you’re on time.”
“Punctuality is basic courtesy, Ms.
Cohen,” Alex replied, taking her hand with a polite, measured grip before taking a seat across from her.
“Call me Fina,” she said, settling back into the booth and getting straight down to business.
“Carme Turk showed me the rough footage from District 13.
I also looked into your background calls on Hook and second-unit work on T2.”
She pulled a clean talent representation form out of her leather folder and slid it across the table toward him.
“You have the physical range, camera presence, and screen discipline this town is looking for right now.
On behalf of CAA, I’d like to officially represent you.”
….
-Krazybro