Page 36 of One Time in Paris
Davy shrugged, but Isla caught the hurt on her face. “He’s the director. If this was a normal film set, I’d outrank him, but our crew is so small that his importance tends to be overplayed. If Antony gives a green flag on anything, he rarely cares about what I think.”
That was such bullshit.
Molly’s presence—since Isla didn’t know her or her loyalties—kept her from saying that, though. But it was true. Davy had worked so hard not only to develop this idea but also to bring it to life.
For weeks, Isla had been getting daily emails from Davy, who’d gone home from Vegas via towns she hoped to film in, researching and taking the week to scout and take pictures. She’d fast-tracked filming permissions with mayors and sheriffs all over, not an easy feat. She’d worked so hard, and Isla admired her grit and determination.
Only to have Antony and Boyd come along and make a last-minute change without evenconsultingher?
As soon as she stepped out of the trailer with Davy, Isla reached over and gripped her hand. “The audacity of the men in our lives is out of control. I’m here for you; I just want you to know that. You’re theonlyreason I’m here.”
Davy squeezed her hand. “I know.”
Isla climbed into the waiting van as Davy took the passenger seat. Aiden was already in the back. “Good morning,” he said with a smile, then held out a cup toward her. “Got you this for the road.”
She frowned down at the paper cup, then sipped it. “Chai tea latte? How did you know?”
“You forget I’ve known you forever,” he replied with a smirk. “I remember you begging for chai every time you came to our house for tea when we were children. That and your godawful pronunciation ofcroissant.” He handed her a bag with one in it.
“You try navigating the linguistic gymnastics that are required when growing up in so many transatlantic locations. I never quite knew how to pronounce anything.” She opened the bag to the warm, buttery scent. “Thank you.”
The driver of the van started forward, and she held tighter to her cup to keep it from spilling.
“There’s a bakery down the street on a quaint little square called Paris Bakery. They can’t pronounce them either. Seemed apt.”
“Where’s my croissant and chai tea?” Davy asked with a chuckle from the front. “I’m Indian and English, you know. Ilovechai. Actually, it’s the only tea that doesn’t taste like dirty dishwater to me.”
With a deadpan expression, Aiden handed another bag and cup over to her. “As offended as I now am, on behalf of our national drink, I didn’t forget you, Davy.”
Davy grinned. “Keep this up, and you can be our official craft services for the set. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to put you to work if you hang around here long enough.”
“Oh! Speaking of which,” Isla said, then unfastened her index cards from the clipboard Boyd had given to her. “Boyd wanted you to sign this. Some release form since you’re going to be around the film crew.”
“Release form?” Aiden took it and scanned it with a frown. “For what? I leave for New York tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, ask Boyd. I think he was worried you might get in some of the shots, and he wants to have all the legal bits and bobs taken care of. I just sign where I’m told and don’t question it, unlike you business types.”
“It’s just a standard form,” Davy said with a shrug. “Boyd is meticulous about that sort of thing. Just fill in the highlighted parts and sign it.”
Unfastening the attached pen, Aiden did as Davy had directed, then handed it to her. “What’s on the agenda for the day?”
“We’re going to film a segment by the Eiffel Tower to introduce the town and get some footage of our stars discussing their honest thoughts about the tower. Then we’ll come back to the town square and film in the center of town. Any place of significance, Isla will introduce to the audience. The rest of the time, we’ll just be following them. At some point, we’ll cut for lunch, and after, we’ll move to the VIP reception for the wine festival. The goal is to get as much interaction as we can with the locals but also get to know Isla and Kyle ...and Tomas.”
Isla tore off a piece of the croissant and ate it. “Did you read the emails Davy sent? Most of this was in them.”
Aiden’s gaze faltered. “I get quite a few emails a day.”
A polite way of saying no.
Also a reminder of who he was.
He wasn’tjustAiden Camden, friend from childhood and man she’d ended up doing God-knows-what with in Vegas.
He was the CEO of a major corporation. And worthbillions.
The thought made her throat thicken, the realization suddenly overwhelming her. She’d been so bold, hadn’t she, going up to Aiden and just treating him like an everyday man. Even Callum was wealthy by his own right—from working at Aiden’s family business—but he’d never come close to the wealth or position that Aiden had.
And, as if that wasn’t enormous enough, his father was a member of the peerage. An earl.
