The man blocking his path was both menacing and arrogant, carrying himself with an air of entitlement, as if Matthew owed him something—despite the fact that they had never met.
"Hey, hick!" Mason stepped into Matthew's path. He'd already been asking a couple of American extras about this guy. "Stop right there!"
Although he had no idea who this man was or why he was being called a hick, Matthew didn't want any trouble. He had just finished filming and was about to get a substantial paycheck; there was no reason to jeopardize it.
The path was wide enough for a trailer to pass, let alone two people. Matthew moved to the side, intending to walk around the man blocking his way.
He hadn't expected the man to be so relentless. Mason took another step, cutting him off again.
"Hick," he snarled, standing just a few feet away and staring intently at Matthew. "Didn't you hear me? I told you to stop."
Matthew stopped, his brow furrowed in irritation. "What's your problem?" he asked.
"Don't you dare steal my role!" Mason practically spat the words out.
"Who stole your role?" Matthew realized this idiot was probably the actor Ridley Scott had replaced. "You acted like a jerk, and this is the result."
The main crew was still filming elsewhere, so there were few people on the path. Seeing the two men facing off, a few extras dressed as Roman soldiers stopped a short distance away, ready to watch the show.
Before Matthew could say anything, Mason loudly and proudly announced, "My name is Mason, and I'm from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art! Remember that, you American pig!"
He spoke loud enough for not only Matthew but also the nearby extras to hear the phrase "American pig."
This was the northern part of Los Angeles, and all the extras were American. Their faces soured at the insult, especially coming from an Englishman.
A muscle in Matthew's jaw twitched. He was seized by the urge to grab the finger pointed at him and snap it, but the thought of a confrontation on set costing him eight thousand dollars held him back.
But after a moment, Matthew just sneered. "Never heard of you. I guess scum like you only ever acts in shit."
Mason froze on the spot.
Taking advantage of the idiot's stunned silence, Matthew tried to step around him and walk away.
"You American pig! How dare you?!"
Mason suddenly roared and threw a punch at Matthew's face.
As the fist flew toward him, Matthew shot out a hand and clamped down on Mason's wrist.
"Let go!" Mason grunted, the hand gripping his wrist surprisingly strong.
Matthew had no intention of holding back any longer. His grip tightened like an iron vise, the veins on the back of his hand bulging with the sheer force of it.
"Agh!" A searing pain shot through his wrist, and Mason cried out involuntarily. He hastily swung his free hand, slapping it against Matthew's shoulder.
But with one arm trapped and pain lancing through him, he couldn't muster any real force. The blow landed on Matthew's shoulder with all the impact of a falling leaf.
So this Englishman thought he was a star? Matthew released his opponent's wrist and gave him a hard shove.
The shove was so forceful that Mason stumbled back two or three steps before catching his balance.
But the moment he regained his footing, he saw something flying toward his face.
It was Matthew's right fist, connecting squarely with his jaw.
Smack!
The sound of the impact was sharp and loud.
"Nice one!" Seeing the insufferably arrogant Englishman get decked, the American extras nearby cheered. "Kick his ass!"
Mason stood frozen for a second, the stinging pain in his face the only thing reminding him of what had just happened.
But before he could fully register it, Matthew struck him again, this time across the other side of his face.
"You..." Mason finally snapped out of it, touching his face in disbelief as another wave of pain washed over it. "You dare hit me!"
Matthew lowered his hands, realizing he might have been a little impulsive. He deliberately raised his voice so the onlookers could hear. "I was just defending myself."
"You American pig!" Mason shrieked, his voice cracking with fury. "I'll destroy you! You'll never work again!"
"Mason, stop that!" A figure hurried out from behind him. "What do you think you're doing?!"
The newcomer was a tall, thin man in a tailored suit. When Mason saw him, he looked like a child who'd lost a playground fight and had just seen his father arrive. His eyes reddened, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears.
"Gore," Mason cried, pointing a trembling finger at Matthew. "He hit me!"
The tall, thin man took a few steps forward and fixed Matthew with a sharp glare. "How dare you!"
Before Matthew could respond, the man continued, "Not only did you steal Mason's role, but you also viciously assaulted—"
"I was defending myself," Matthew cut in. "I didn't start this. That crybaby should have kept his hands to himself."
The tall, thin man named Gore turned his head to look at Mason, who, of course, wouldn't admit it. "I was just trying to talk to him," he whined, "and he attacked me!"
"I am Mason's manager, Gore," the tall, thin man introduced himself with a very proper, gentlemanly English air. "If I recall correctly, you are Matthew Horner, yes? This situat—"
"Mr. Gore," Matthew interrupted him again, bluntly this time. "My agent is on her way. You can deal with her."
Just then, behind Mason and Gore, Helen and the bearded man from before appeared, walking toward them.
"What's going on here?" Helen asked, her brow furrowed as she reached Matthew's side.
"Your client," Gore answered immediately.
Helen didn't even glance his way. "I wasn't asking you," she said coolly.
Matthew found himself smiling. This agent was making a much better impression than that cowardly fat man, Dennis Coulter.
"He cornered me," Matthew explained as concisely as possible. "He accused me of stealing his role, called me an American pig, and then threw a punch. I had no choice but to defend myself."
"No choice?" Gore gestured to the two bright red welts on Mason's face. "If he attacked first, why is he the one with the bruised face?"
Matthew replied simply, "It's not my fault he's so pathetic."
The bearded man happened to be right there, so an irate Gore turned on him. "My client was assaulted on your set! I'm filing a complaint with the Screen Actors Guild!"
The bearded man glanced from an unmarked Matthew to a disheveled-looking Mason and said nothing.
At that, Gore added, "Mason is a client of the William Morris Agency!"
The William Morris Agency was undoubtedly a titan in the industry, second only to CAA. As a rule, no small-time agent or actor would ever dare to cross them.
Of course, Gore knew exactly what kind of person his client was, but Mason had potential and a decent network of contacts. There was a good chance he could become a star.
And in a situation like this, as an agent, he had a duty to protect his client. It was the most fundamental code of professional ethics.
By dropping the name of a powerhouse like William Morris, Gore was confident he could crush them.
But when he finished, his gaze swept over the faces of the bearded man, Helen, and Matthew, only to find all three of them looking completely unfazed.
The bearded man was a longtime associate of Ridley Scott; a junior agent from a major agency meant nothing to him.
Matthew, for his part, had no idea how powerful the William Morris Agency was; he'd simply never heard of them.
As for Helen, she came from CAA to start her own agency. She wasn't about to be intimidated by a threat from some low-level agent.
Matthew frowned, turning his head to glance at the small audience of extras. He looked back at Helen. "This psycho called me an American pig. That's discrimination, isn't it?"
"I did not!" Mason immediately denied it.
Matthew paid him no mind. He stepped closer to Helen, gestured with his head toward the extras who had gathered, and whispered something to her. Helen gave a slight nod and walked over to them.
Seeing the extras approach with Helen, the color drained from Mason's face, leaving only the two red marks from Matthew's fists.
Helen gestured toward the men. "They were standing right here from the moment Mr. Mason confronted Matthew. They witnessed everything."
"That's right," one of the extras spoke up, pointing at Mason. "This Brit's got a foul mouth on him. He called us 'American pigs'!"
"No, I—" Mason tried to object.
But another extra cut him off. "And he threw the first punch."
Helen smiled at Gore, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable.
Another chimed in, "We can all confirm that."
At this, Mason was speechless, able only to glare venomously at Matthew.
Helen shot a quick glance at Matthew before turning back to Gore. "Mr. Gore, your client is suspected of assaulting my client and using abusive and discriminatory language. I will be filing a formal complaint with both the Screen Actors Guild and the British Actors' Guild."