Page 16 of Love Unscripted
Aaron nodded. “Everything all right?”
“No,” Ray said. “We need a word.”
Ray motioned toward a stone column at the edge of the set. Aaron followed, the weight in his chest growing heavier with every step.
“The studio called me last night,” Ray said quietly. “Then again this morning.”
Aaron exhaled. “I know we’re running behind—”
“They’re not askingwhy,” Ray cut in. “They’re askingwho.”
Aaron stiffened.
“They’re looking at the dailies. They’re seeing inconsistent takes. They’re asking whether this is a performance issue or a directing issue.”
Aaron felt his chest flood with outrage.
“It’s not a directing issue,” Aaron said firmly. “Camille is changing things every take. And I would like to remind you, Ray, whose choice she was.”
Ray nodded. “I know.”
A pause settled between them.
Ray rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m not here to blame you. Frankly, most directors would’ve lost their patience days ago. But patience doesn’t fix budgets. We’re burning through contingency, and the studio’s nervous.”
Aaron glanced across the set.
Camille stood near the steps of the dais, alone now. Still. Watchful. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her as though she was bracing herself for something.
“What do you want me to do?” Aaron asked quietly.
Ray’s tone shifted. “You need to be very clear with her that this will not be tolerated.”
He met Aaron’s eyes.
“If the studio starts thinking she can’t stay on script, they’ll start asking about alternatives.”
Aaron’s stomach tightened.
Recasting was unthinkable. Artistically. Personally.
“I’ll handle it,” Aaron said finally.
~*~*~*~
Aaron stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting his face like a wave—sharp, welcome, and momentarily numbing the frustration simmering beneath his skin.
Tiffany fell into step beside him, smartphone already in hand, ready to triage whatever chaos he assigned next.
If there was one constant on this set—one thing he didn’t second-guess—it was her.
When Aaron first stepped into directing, he’d churned through a handful of assistants who either lacked experience or didn’t understand the rhythm he worked by. Then Tiffany appeared—battle-tested, perceptive, sharp. She’d just walked away from a prominent director with a volcanic temper, and Aaron had offered her an escape hatch. They’d worked together ever since.
She could shepherd a crew, wrangle a schedule, enforce safety protocols, calm tempers, and keep a massive production running like a well-oiled machine. She was his timekeeper, problem-solver, strategist, and buffer.
“Any changes you want to the agenda after lunch?” she asked, thumb poised above her screen. She knew him—and she knew how quickly a set could shift.
Aaron exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah. Get in touch with the lighting team. I want the atmosphere to reflectEsther’s emotional arc more sharply—especially the scenes we’re reshooting.”
