Not in the Script by Amy Finnegan

Brett: Dinner for the principal cast at 8. El Loro Feliz. Tanque Verde Rd.
    â€œDang,” Emma says. “I really need to work on a paper.”
    Dinner means I’ll see her later on, but now is a better chance to ask about school. “McGregor told me you’re already a couple of years into college,” I say. “Shouldn’t you have just graduated from high school?”
    She nods. “I marched with my original class in May, but I actually finished about a year and a half ago. My last on-set tutor put me on an acceleration plan, so yeah, I’m almost a junior.”
    â€œBut how do you go to school with such a busy schedule?”
    â€œMy classes are all taught online. You’ll see me studying at work. Tons.”
    I graduated from high school early too, and have considered online courses, but it doesn’t seem like they’d be the same. “Will you eventually have to take campus classes?” I ask.
    â€œI need to choose a major before I’ll know. It’s taking me forever to decide because I want to learn about
everything
.”
    Emma motions to the entrance of
Paraiso del Rio
, just ahead.
    I pull up to the front gates, and a security guard peers through my open window. “Good evening, Miss Taylor,” he says. “Is this a guest we should expect on a regular basis?”
    Emma gives me a scrutinizing look, but she doesn’t get the opportunity to make a wisecrack. “Hi, I’m Jake Elliott, her best friend with benefits,” I tell the guard. “So, yeah, I’ll be here
a lot
.”
    He laughs and waves us on.
    I punch the gas pedal, and Emma smacks my arm. “Now I’ll definitely tell them to watch out for you. There’s a reason I moved here; it’s like Fort Knox.”
    She’s right. Even after we make it past the guard, we’re met by an additional gate leading into the next section of the community. I stop at the keypad and turn to her for instructions. Emma hesitates, then says, “Excuse me for a moment, but I’m gonna have to get a little up close and personal.”
    She releases her seat belt, plants one of her knees on my armrest, and leans all the way across me so she can enter the code. She isn’t exactly indecent, but I can’t help but notice the obvious. “Versace, huh?”
    It takes Emma a few tries to get the code right. When the gate finally opens, she comes back through the window and pauses when our faces are even. “I don’t recall giving you permission to look at my butt.”
    â€œUh … sorry?” I reply. “I’ll get my people to call your people the next time your butt is the only view I have.” She sits back down, and I drive forward. “And I only noticed the label because I did some work for them a while back.”
    Why do I feel like I have to
try
to impress her?
    â€œCool,” she says. “Did they give you freebies?”
    â€œOf course—I always work free clothes into a deal. And I really like their ties.”
    She seems intrigued. “How often do you wear a tie?”
    I shrug. “If I’m home on the weekends, I go to church with my mom.”
    Emma smiles. “My parents would freak if I wore Versace tochurch. We go to this tiny country chapel outside of Fayetteville. The fanciest thing I’m allowed to wear is a feathered hat.”
    I picture her as a true Southern belle, not in a movie but in her actual life, and I have to resist an impulse to touch her. I try to keep a straight face when I say, “Only my ties are Versace. My suits are by Armani.”
    â€œGosh!” Emma says, but it comes out like
gawsh
. Talking about her home has brought out a hint of a drawl, and it makes me laugh. “That’s a serious clash of the Titans.”
    The recreation area of her community has a tennis court, a couple of pools under canopies of palm trees—one with a waterfall—and a fitness center.