Page 27 of Love Unscripted
“Oh, no! I’ve got to go. My sister has an art showing tonight and I promised I’d be there. It’s twenty to eight—the show ends at nine.” He glanced at her apologetically. “I’ll pay on my way out.” He hesitated. “We haven’t resolved this, Camille, and we need to do that tonight. Would you… come with me to the show?”
She blinked. “To your sister’s show? Why?”
“We can continue talking in the car. It’s about twenty minutes away. Enough time to finish.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll bring you right back. This place closes at ten, so it’s fine.”
She glanced down at her clothes. “Am I dressed for an art showing?”
“Definitely. Trust me—you should see what those artsy-fartsy types wear. Anything goes. You actually look normal. Finish up your dessert and let’s go.”
She laughed. “I’ll have to let them box this up. I can’t eat that quickly.”
~*~*~*~
Aaron settled the bill, then guided Camille out to the parking lot.
He stopped beside a vintage white Mustang convertible.
Camille blinked, surprised. She’d expected something sleek and modern but the moment she saw it, she understood. The car suited him. It was cool, understated and confident. Just like Aaron Cortelli.
He opened the passenger door with an easy, unforced courtesy.
She smiled her thanks and slipped in. The gesture caught her off guard—familiar in a way that tugged at something deeper. Her father used to do that.
The thought softened her. For all the hurt he’d caused her… she still loved him.
Aaron rounded the car, slid in, and started the engine. It turned over with a low, satisfying growl.
As he pulled out,Holly Holyfilled the car.
“Is that Neil Diamond?” she asked, turning slightly toward him.
He nodded. “You know his music.”
“My father’s obsessed. I’m pretty sure he owns every album. Autographed, of course.”
A faint smile crossed his lips as he lowered the volume.
Then, just like that, his focus shifted.
“So,” he said, tone settling back into something more deliberate, “where we left off—going forward, I need you to return to your original approach to the role. I need the version of you who trusted me.”
She tilted her head, a hint of mischief slipping in. “And what version was that?”
He shot her a look that made it clear he wasn’t amused.
With a dramatic sigh, she turned toward the passing lights. Night breeze whipped through her hair.
“Okay, listen,” she said. “I agree with most of what you said tonight. I agree that I went off the rails for a bit. I was wrong to do that. The thing is, good directors don’t say, ‘Do it exactly like this.’ They help actors find truth. Otherwise you’re just… copying.”
She lifted a hand before he could interrupt.
“But—I also know there are moments when precision matters. There are deadlines. There is Time pressure. And good directors know how to communicate that respectfully.”
“So I’m both disrespectful and a bad director,” he said evenly.
