Normally, Anna might have insisted Derek do the scene without it or at least find the proper motivation without a tacky souvenir, but she would get it for him if it was within her power. The prop master was on a smoke break, and she wasn’t above pitching in when the situation called for it. Anna had called a fifteen-minute break for the search. It also gave Nicole a breather as she was the one most challenged by Derek’s process.

John had followed her, offering to help search the cluttered space.

“What about one of these?” John called.

Anna glanced behind her. “That’s a black candlestick, not a small nude man. I think he will notice the difference.”

“If he wants it so bad, he should find it.”

“I’m not letting him rummage in here. Pauline would kill me if he tore that robe.”

“All right, but I’m only doing it for her.”

“Good answer.”

Anna pulled down a box from the shelf, stumbling backward a bit. John caught her elbow, steadying her. She took a deep breath, trying not to think of the way his hand held her arm or the way he smelled like a citrusy forest, which made no sense. His whole everything was a distraction. She glanced at John as he took another heavy box from the top shelf beside her.

“How are the rewrites going?” Anna set the box on the massive desk that looked like it belonged in the stateroom of a sailing ship.

“Am I that obvious?”

“My best friend is a screenwriter. I know how you guys get.”

John sat on the desk, gripping the edge with his hands. “It’s going okay.”

“Do you agree with the notes?” She observed him as thoughtfulness passed over his features.

“I get why he... why they want certain changes made, but I still want it to be my movie.”

“If you want to maintain the purity of your vision, then self-publish your novel.”

John crossed his arms over his chest.

“Making movies is a collaborative process. No matter who calls themselves an auteur, no movie gets made unless everyone from the art department to the line producer pulls their weight. It’s the nature of the business.”

“I get it, but how do you know when it’s too much?”

“I haven’t read it, so I can’t claim to give you advice.” Anna stopped pretending to look through the box and pushed it aside. “If you have a story you want to tell, then tell it.”

“I need their money.”

“It’s a constant compromise.”

“You didn’t compromise on your film. You made The Castro on credit cards for six thousand dollars.”

Anna’s heartbeat raced. Where had he learned that? At the premiere he said he had never heard of it.

“You Googled me.” Anna gave a wry smile and glanced at the ceiling. “I guess it was inevitable.”