Chapter 16 #2
“It’s in your contract. You agreed to provide up to a specified number of days for post-production services. That includes looping sessions to re-record dialogue if we need cleaner sound or… perhaps to heighten the drama of the cliffhanger. Retakes. Trailer material.”
He glanced up briefly, then continued.
“There’s also the likeness clause. I have the right to use your image in all promotional materials tied to the Season Six finale.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears.
“And under the promotion and publicity clause,” he went on, tone measured, almost instructional, “you’re required to participate in marketing efforts. Voiceovers for promos. Interviews. Photo shoots. That’s considered part of your overall compensation package.”
He turned a page.
“Press appearances as well. Talk shows. Promotional teasers. You’ll discuss the final scene—carefully, of course. Non-disclosure agreements will apply. We want to tease the audience without giving anything away.”
He leaned back slightly.
“If editorial decides we need additional suspense—another angle, a tighter reaction shot—you may be called in for pick-ups. And there’s likely a ‘making-of’ segment. You’ll talk about your character’s journey and the dramatic ending. Standard material.”
He handed over the contract and watched as her eyes darted over the words.
How had she missed this?
It was standard for television, yes—but had she skimmed? Had she rushed through the contract in her desperation to close this chapter? Had she been so eager to put it behind her that she simply… glazed over it?
She dragged a hand over her face.
This was turning into a nightmare.
What had she done?
The thing kept growing—expanding beyond her control. She was officially in over her head.
“Lord, help me,” she muttered under her breath.
She wanted to scream. To knock something off his pristine desk. To tell him exactly what she thought of his “standard material.”
But she would not give him that satisfaction.
She swallowed.
“I understand,” she said evenly. “Am I free to go?”
“Of course.” His smile was sleek, satisfied. “We’ll have your team coordinate the schedule.”
Simon looked like a contented cat who had just secured his prey.
She stood, turned, and walked out.
~*~*~*~
It wasn’t obvious to him at first that something was wrong. Not at all. But eventually, slowly, it dawned on him.
When he first saw Camille that evening, he was captivated.
She wore a light blue sleeveless blouse that showed off her toned, tanned arms and white slacks that made her legs look endlessly long.
Her hair was piled on top of her head in a way that drew attention to her eyes—those luminous eyes—and to her cheekbones, the elegant shape of her face. She looked heavenly.
When she reached him, she threw her arms around his neck as if she had been holding herself back all day. She didn’t seem inclined to let go.
She buried her face in his neck.
He laughed, trying gently to pry her loose. She resisted.
“Hey, I missed you too.”
She lifted her head and looked at him, and that was all it took. Heat moved through him in that familiar rush.
He bent and captured her plump lips with his own.
They kissed. And kept kissing. Slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. He felt his control thinning by the second, felt that dangerous edge approaching where thought would disappear entirely.
He broke away.
Looked at her.
And then, unable to help himself, kissed her again.
It took effort—real effort—to stop. He finally pulled back, turning his face away from that hazy, inviting expression because he knew if he looked at her one more second, he would forget every intention he had for the evening.
Without meeting her eyes, he reached for her hand.
“Let’s get out of here right now, Camille. We are in dangerous waters.”
She laughed and slipped from his grasp. “Let me grab my bag and shoes.”
A moment later she was back, leaning into him as she fastened the straps of her sandals.
“Is this alright?” she asked. “You said dinner and then the beach, so I chose something that could work for both places.”
“You look amazing,” he said huskily. “Now let’s go. Please.”
He had so much to tell her—about the set, about the chaos and small triumphs during her absence.
He talked as they drove, animated, happy to have her beside him again.
But eventually there came a lull, a natural shift, and he realized he wanted to hear about her.
What she had done. Who she had seen. How she had spent the days apart.
That was when he noticed it.
Her reticence.
“I’d much rather talk about our Barbados trip,” she said lightly, running her hand up his arm in distraction.
He smiled. “We’ll get to that in a moment. But I want to hear what you’ve been doing the last couple of days. Why won’t you tell me?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s a surprise. I’ll tell you soon. Promise.”
“Why not now?”
She scratched her cheek. “Aaron. Why are you being so difficult?”
“Honestly, Camille, I hate surprises. My family would tell you. I like to know what’s coming. I used to read the back of a book to find out the ending before I even started it. No lie.”
She laughed. “That’s really something, coming from a director of suspense films and all.”
He shrugged. “That’s me. So will you tell me?”
Her expression shifted. The playfulness faded.
“No,” she said quietly. “And it’s making me uncomfortable that you can’t respect that.”
That stopped him.
She had a point. He was immediately apologetic. Yet even after that, she didn’t seem entirely settled. There was something beneath her smile—tight, almost anxious.
“Listen,” he said more gently, “I was only half kidding about hating surprises. Honestly, it isn’t that serious. I’m sorry for being so silly.”
She relaxed—only fractionally.
He felt like a louse for pressing her, for dimming the mood. So he steered them back to safer ground.
“So,” he said, brightening his tone, “back to Barbados.”
Her interest sparked again, just slightly, and he seized it.
“I was thinking,” he continued, “about us packing our bags tomorrow and going down there for the weekend. Me, you, and Madison. We could leave Thursday morning and come back Monday evening. How does that sound to you?”
Her smile returned fully this time.
“That sounds glorious.”
~*~*~*~
“You’re taking Camille to Barbados?”
“Uh huh,” Aaron replied distractedly, moving back and forth across his bedroom, folding and packing shirts and swim trunks into an open suitcase.
He had already packed Madison’s little yellow case. He hadn’t told her about the trip yet. He could already picture her face when he picked her up from school and drove straight to the airport, where the private charter would be waiting on the tarmac. The look of wonder. The squeal.
“With Madison?”
“Yeah. I want my two special girls there with me.”
There was a silence on the other end of the line—long enough to make him stop folding. His mother didn’t go quiet unless something was coming.
“Aaron… isn’t this a little sudden? Not to mention risky. You have barely known Camille and yet you’re running off to Barbados, one of the most romantic destinations in the world, with her for the weekend—and with Madison too.”
He stilled completely. Slowly, he straightened and held out both hands, as though his mother were standing in front of him instead of miles away. “I thought you liked Camille.”
“I do. I think she’s a sweet girl. She has a great personality and she certainly seems to be into you…”
“But?”
“But you need to be careful, Aaron. I’m just asking you to think this through carefully. Number one, Camille is not your wife. You should not be going on romantic getaways with a woman you are not married to.”
“Nothing’s going to happen, Mom. We’ll have separate rooms in the villa and besides, Madison will be there. She will help us both stay focused.”
“You’re joking.” Her voice sharpened. “You don’t seriously think separate rooms are going to be enough to keep two warm-blooded young people apart.
And you want my granddaughter to play chaperone?
Which brings me to my second objection. I really don’t think you should be creating situations where Madison could get attached to Camille before you make a commitment to her.
You know how badly Madison wants a mother.
If things don’t work out between you and Camille, she’ll be crushed. ”
“Things will work out between us. There is no doubt about that,” he said automatically. But he was sitting now. The suitcase lay open and forgotten on the bed behind him.
He couldn’t argue with his mother. Not really.
Barbados. The villa. The sea breeze through open shutters. Late nights. Privacy. Temptation.
He had deliberately ignored the warning bells because he had been too excited—too thrilled at the thought of being away with her, playing house in his family’s villa. He had brushed aside the risk, overconfident that he could withstand whatever pressure came.
1 Corinthians 10:12 surfaced in his mind like a rebuke: “Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.”
He exhaled slowly.
It would be too much.
And he could not count on Camille to reinforce the boundary. It wasn’t that she ever threw herself at him or tried to seduce him. She didn’t. But she never resisted either. It was always him holding the line, drawing the boundary, stepping back first.
He suspected it had something to do with her upbringing. He didn’t get the sense her family had instilled certain convictions. Even though she was saved now, it felt as though she was still unlearning old patterns.
Still—he loved her. Deeply. And he was willing to guide her, lead her in righteousness. She seemed teachable. Soft-hearted. Eager.
“I understand what you’re saying, Mom. I’ll cancel the plans.”
“Good. You won’t regret it. God’s timing is perfect. I’m sure that Barbados trip will come—just not right now.”