Page 95 of Love Unscripted
~*~*~*~
TheShadow Peakfilming was over. Done. Forever.
Camille slammed the car door, leaned her head back against the seat, and exhaled slowly, deliberately—savoring the moment. It was over. She had made her sacrifice. She owed Simon nothing any longer. She could live her life now in freedom. This episode was behind her.
She reached forward and started the ignition.
A knock sounded against her window. She looked up to see one of the key grips standing there.
“Camille, Simon wants to have a word before you go.”
She froze. Annoyance flared hot and immediate. She stared at him through the glass, genuinely debating whether she should ignore him and drive away. She wanted to do that so badly.
But she didn’t want any loose ends with Simon. She wanted to be certain—absolutely certain—that everything was squared once and for all. Andrew had assured her there were no reshoots, no problems, nothing pending.
Still. One never quite knew with Simon the Snake.
She thanked the man, reached over with a sigh, and turned off the ignition. Grabbing her bag, she stepped out and headed toward the production office.
Simon’s office was cool and dim compared to the bright California afternoon outside. The blinds were half-drawn, slicing the room into neat bands of light and shadow. A faint scent of expensive cologne and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. His desk was immaculate. Laptop centered. Folders stacked neatly at a corner of his desk. Not a single thing out of place.
Simon sat behind the desk, typing on his laptop.
When she entered, he looked up, his expression smoothing into something pleasant.
“Hi. Have a seat,” he said.
She remained standing a second longer than necessary before lowering herself into the chair opposite him. She glanced at her watch. It was 2:45 p.m. Dinner with Aaron was at 5:30. She had an hour’s drive home, and she had planned a luxurious bath—time to unwind, to breathe, to prepare herself properly. Now the window was shrinking.
Simon followed her motion.
“I won’t keep you long,” he said lightly. “I just wanted a few words. First, thank you for agreeing to this. It really does help us recover what we lost when you left the show.” He folded his hands on the desk. “I’m glad you finally saw reason.”
The nerve.
As though she had had a choice after his threats.
She kept her face neutral and waited.
“I also wanted to go over next steps,” he continued smoothly, “and just advise you not to stray too far from home base for the next few weeks.”
She blinked. “Wait—what next steps? What are you talking about? I thought I was done here.”
A small smile curved his mouth. He gave a brief shake of his head, almost indulgent.
“Not quite. We’ll need you for post-production and promotional commitments. Standard wrap process. We want to make sure the scene impacts the way it should—and that the audience is fully invested when we roll into next season.”
Her stomach tightened. “This wasn’t part of what I signed up for. I didn’t agree to any of that.” Her voice rose despite herself.
“Yes, you did,” he replied calmly.
He reached for a folder on his desk as if he had anticipated this exact moment. He flipped it open and turned it toward himself, scanning.
“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.”
