Chapter 8 #2
Aaron gave a small shrug. “Hey, it worked out. That’s what matters.”
“So we’re full steam ahead now?”
“Mostly.” He nodded. “We still have to reshoot most of week nine. But if we start thirty minutes earlier and trim lunch a bit, we can recover some time. We’ll probably land about a week behind.”
She exhaled. “Okay. That’s not so bad.”
They reached her car. Aaron stepped ahead and opened the door for her. As she paused beside it, he spoke—casual, but thoughtful, like he was finishing a conversation rather than starting a new one.
“You asked me the other day if I regretted casting you,” he said. “I realized I never asked the same in return.”
She looked at him.
“Do you feel good about saying yes to this?” he added. “I know it’s a different kind of project.”
“Yes,” she said easily. “I don’t regret it.” Her gaze softened. “This set, the crew, the cast… you. It’s all a breath of fresh air compared to Shadow Peak.”
Aaron’s brow lifted slightly. “That different?”
“Very.” She leaned lightly against the car door. “There was a lot of… tension. Politics. People competing with each other more than working together. Everyone was pleasant in interviews, but behind the scenes…” She shook her head. “It wasn’t a great environment.”
He nodded, taking that in without interrupting.
“Most of it never made it to the press,” she added. “But it wore on you.”
“Sounds exhausting,” he said.
“It was.”
A small pause settled between them—not uncomfortable, just reflective. Aaron glanced down briefly, then back up, choosing his words with care.
“Given all that,” he said, “it makes sense you stepped away when you did.”
She studied him for a moment, as if weighing how much he was really asking. “It wasn’t just one thing,” she said. “But my faith was the turning point. Once that shifted, everything else became… clearer.”
He nodded, accepting that without pushing it further. “That makes sense,” he said simply.
Madison shifted beside him, squeezing his hand. Aaron glanced down at her, then back to Camille, the moment naturally closing.
“Alright,” he said, stepping back from the door. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
Camille smiled, sliding into the driver’s seat. “See you tomorrow.”
She buckled her seatbelt, gave Madison a warm smile, and lifted her hand in a small wave. Madison waved back enthusiastically.
Aaron stepped away from the car as Camille pulled off, his gaze following for a moment longer than necessary.
~*~*~*~
On the half an hour drive from Aaron’s home to hers, Camille reflected on her latest time spent with him.
Church and lunch at his home had added to the layers of his personality.
He was a believer and a devoted father. At church, he was someone hungry for the Word, jotting notes, leaning forward as though afraid to miss a single sentence.
It moved her more than she cared to admit.
She wondered if he’d noticed how often she’d glanced at him. He hadn’t looked back—not once. She had been no distraction at all.
That was new.
Men usually noticed her. Desired her. She had grown accustomed to it, even numb to it. But Aaron never treated her like merchandise. He treated her like a person. Like an equal. Like a co-heir in Christ.
There was attraction—she felt it—but it was contained, governed by a self-control she admired deeply.
And it made her feel lacking.
She knew, intellectually, that she was forgiven. Redeemed. But sometimes the weight of her past pressed in regardless. The choices. The damage. The endless chasing of affirmation under the guise of love.
Her mind drifted to Simon. She could still remember the day they met.
She had been young—barely twenty—but already carried the kind of maturity that came from being treated like an adult for most of her life.
She had been discovered by a talent scout at four years old and cast in what became a long-running sitcom.
Films came along over the years, but television had always been her foundation.
She met Simon during the auditions for Shadow Peak. He had been one of the men seated at the casting call, and she noticed him immediately. Though she was sure they’d been introduced, she couldn’t remember his name afterward. Only his face.
He was simply something to behold. Blond, devastatingly handsome, with the kind of symmetry that looked almost unreal. But it wasn’t polished in a stiff way. There was something relaxed about him too—sun-touched skin, tousled surfer hair, effortless charisma.
After the audition, she was outside speaking with her mother when he approached.
“You were great,” he told her. “Very talented. You’re at the top of my list.”
“And who are you again?” she’d asked saucily, trying to disguise the fact that she was intensely attracted to this man who looked at least ten years older than she was.
“The producer,” he replied with a quiet smile.
She laughed self-consciously. “Oh. You’re the guy with the big bucks.”
His smile widened slightly. “You will be our star.”
He kept his word. She was cast as Queen Aradia in the fantasy series. But strangely, after that, she never saw him again.
When she asked around, she learned Simon was an executive producer by credit. His role was securing funding and identifying talent, not managing the day-to-day operations of the show. She’d been mildly disappointed at the time, though she eventually forgot about him.
Then, three years later, Simon suddenly reappeared on set. He sent word that he wanted to speak with her privately, and she agreed to meet him in her trailer.
The moment he walked in, she was overwhelmed all over again. He looked flawless. Tousled hair. Perfectly trimmed beard. Brilliant blue eyes.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “Have a seat.”
He nodded and sat.
“Congratulations,” he said. She had just won an Emmy for the show. “I’m sorry I couldn’t attend, but I had a personal matter to deal with at home.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. I understand.” She smiled. “Where’s home, by the way?”
“Norway.”
“Ahh.” She laughed softly. “I was trying to place the accent the first time we met. It’s very faint. I actually thought you were British.”
“I was educated in Great Britain.”
“I see.”
“I came to give you this,” he said, handing her a wrapped box. “A token of my appreciation for everything you’ve done to make the show such a success.”
“Thank you!” she said, stunned as she accepted it. “I didn’t think you even followed the show anymore.”
His smile deepened, deliberate and unreadable. “I’m an investor. It’s in my interest to keep an eye on it.” His gaze held hers. “And on you.”
The way he said the last words made her nerves tingle.
“Should I open it now?”
“Please.”
When she unwrapped it, she stared in shock. It was a gold bangle unlike anything she’d ever owned.
“It’s real,” she said in awe.
He laughed softly. “Of course.” He took it gently from her hands and pointed to the engraving beneath the band. “Eighteen-carat gold. Real diamonds. Real amethysts. The moment I saw it, I thought of you.”
“This is… I don’t even know what to say.” She shook her head. “It’s so unexpected. You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to.” His tone was easy, confident. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to dinner tonight. A proper celebration. No agents. No PR people. Just a toast between colleagues.”
She hesitated. Then, against her better judgment, she nodded. “Sure. I’d like that.”
His satisfaction showed plainly in his smile.
The restaurant was one of those hidden places with no sign out front—just frosted glass, candlelight, linen-covered tables, and quiet music humming beneath low conversation. Camille felt underdressed despite the sequin blouse and heels she’d agonized over before leaving home.
Simon, meanwhile, looked perfectly at ease.
Of course he did.
He belonged in places like this. Every movement about him suggested pedigree and old money.
“I knew you’d get the part,” he said after the waiter left. “At the audition, you were the only one who didn’t just read the lines. You were Aradia.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything that matters.”
His gaze lingered long enough to make her glance down at her plate. He wasn’t overtly flirtatious. He didn’t need to be. His attention alone felt intimate.
He sipped his wine. “I’ve decided to take a more active role in the show. Watching from a distance has become… limiting.”
She tried to sound casual. “So we’ll be seeing more of you on set?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I think it’s time.”
Her pulse quickened.
“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” he said.
“I’m not nervous,” she lied.
“Good.” A small smile played at his lips. “I’ll always protect your interests, Camille. I’ll always look out for you.”
“Why?” she asked frankly. She wasn’t na?ve. She’d been in the industry long enough to know people rarely did anything without wanting something in return.
“Because you’re special,” he said quietly. “There’s something about you that’s extraordinary. I can’t explain it properly. The French call it je ne sais quoi. A quality that can’t really be defined. You have it. Very few people do.” His eyes held hers steadily. “I want to be part of your world.”
And Simon acted like he meant every word.
At first he appeared on set twice a week. Then nearly every day. He never interfered openly. He simply stood near the monitors, composed and observant, watching her scenes unfold. Directors deferred to him now, and when he spoke, people listened.
Camille told herself it was harmless. He admired her work. That was all. But gradually she found herself craving his approval in ways that unsettled her. When he smiled after a take, she felt lighter. When he didn’t, something inside her dimmed.