….
With Fina Cohen managing his trajectory, Alex enrolled in an intensive scene-study workshop in West Hollywood.
He was a fast study.
By pairing formal dramatic technique with his real-world set experience, his adaptability grew quickly.
Even dedicated action stars needed versatility to build a lasting career—actors who expanded their range early on were the ones who survived shift changes in studio trends.
To build his industry profile, Fina also secured invitations to mid-and-high-tier networking events across town.
His first major event was a semi-public mixer held at producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s estate in Bel-Air.
The guest list was heavy: studio executives, high-concept commercial directors, and major box-office names.
Fina believed firmly in visual presentation.
She ensured Alex arrived looking the part, renting a classic dark green Aston Martin for the evening—an investment she planned to recoup from his future booking commissions.
“Prepare yourself to get brushed off,” Fina warned him before he left.
“You’re a new face in a room full of established players.
It’s just part of the process.”
Alex nodded smoothly.
“I know how the game works, Fina.
Don’t worry.”
By nightfall, the estate on the hillside was ablaze with light.
Valets moved endless lines of luxury sedans up the winding driveway while music and quiet conversation echoed across the stone terrace.
Inside the main hall, beneath massive crystal chandeliers, sat the power brokers of the industry.
Action stars, commercial directors surrounded by entourage, and studio heads from Paramount, Universal, and Warner Bros.
were all in attendance.
Alex smoothed the cuffs of his bespoke suit, adjusted his tie, and stepped through the French doors with an air of relaxed, unhurried confidence.
He picked up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and made his way toward a group standing near the edge of the terrace.
Joining the circle smoothly, he introduced himself with a quiet, refined cadence.
“Good evening.
Alex Shawn, with CAA.”
He casually mentioned his recent stunt beat on Steven Spielberg’s Hook and his pickup work on Terminator 2.
The reaction was immediate—and completely predictable.
The group offered polite, practiced smiles, but their eyes remained cold and analytical.
To them, he was just another ambitious newcomer dropping names to climb the ladder.
The conversation drifted right back to production budgets and studio slate rumors, their body language subtly closing off the circle.
Alex kept his smile steady and composed.
Having worked his way up from nothing in his past life, polite indifference didn’t phase him in the slightest.
It was simply business.
As Fina had pointed out, leverage and recognizable credits were the hard currency here, and he was still building his stack.
He raised his glass in a polite, silent toast and backed away smoothly, scanning the floor for another opening.
He tried two more groups over the next hour, maintaining his polished demeanor, but the results were the same.
Hollywood wasn’t short on handsome men in tailored suits, and without a major lead credit, he was just background noise to the industry heavyweights.
As he turned back toward the bar, a motion near the floor-to-ceiling glass doors caught his attention.
Standing in the shadow of a large potted palm, far removed from the center of the room, was a young woman.
She wore a simple black dress that looked entirely against her personal style, holding a virtually untouched cocktail. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Her posture was tense, her dark hair falling loosely around sharp, striking features.
Her dark eyes scanned the room with raw, undisguised irritation, a faint curve of contempt resting on her lips as she watched the studio executives mingle.
Alex recognized her face immediately—a young, fierce talent who would go on to break out as a major dramatic actress in the coming years.
As her gaze swept past the crowd, her sharp eyes locked directly onto Alex.
Seeing his polished, professional smile, her brow furrowed slightly with a mix of irony and sharp amusement.
Alex caught her look and understood completely.
Adjusting his breath, he kept his easy smile, stepped out of the main crowd, and walked over to the shadows by the glass doors.
“Good evening,” he said softly, his deep voice smooth and clear.
“Alex Shawn.”
The girl didn’t answer right away.
She looked him up and down with piercing scrutiny, her eyes lingering on his tailored suit and unruffled posture.
Then, a sharp, sarcastic smirk touched her lips.
“Are you still practicing that smile, or does it come permanently attached?” she asked, her voice low, raspy, and sharper than a razor blade.
“I watched you try three different circles out there.
How’s the ‘Vanity Fair Intro Class’ going?”
Alex’s smile widened slightly, completely unbothered by the jab.
“Practice makes perfect,” he admitted freely.
“It feels a bit like a high-end masquerade, and my invitation tag isn’t quite bright enough yet.”
He raised his champagne glass in her direction, his eyes glinting with dry humor.
“Still, free champagne and a front-row seat to high-society etiquette make it worth the drive up the hill.”
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed her eyes, her sharp sarcasm softening into an intrigued, curious look.
….
-Krazybro