Free Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) by Jennifer Blake

droll look. “For this you need a screen test?”
    “Oh, no, dear. I’m just here to see what’s going on!” She said on a chuckle, her face pink with pleasure. “But I see you’re all made up. What are you about to do?”
    “A test for a dream sequence, or so I was told. I suppose they want to know if words will come out when I open my mouth. I can’t imagine I’ll really need to act.”
    “And you’re far too level-headed to make this deal into something it’s not, unlike some I could name.” Granny nodded in the direction of a group of teens who sat giggling and chattering in breathless excitement, when they weren’t tapping their thumbs on their cell phones. “It’s all in good fun, not a major step to stardom.”
    “It might be good fun,” Zeni said, “if it weren’t so nerve-wracking.”
    “Now, never you mind.” Granny reached to pat her hands that were clamped on the shoulder bag she’d placed in her lap. “You’ll be just fine. All you have to do is be your own sweet self.”
    If Granny thought she was sweet, she must be the only one, Zeni thought in wry self-knowledge. Still, she smiled her appreciation for the thought.
    “Yes, and I can’t tell you how glad I am to see that nose ring of yours gone. I’ve worried time and again about it getting infected, you know. Besides that, it doesn’t look all that sanitary on someone working with food.”
    “Granny!” she exclaimed in laughing protest, though she wasn’t really surprised. The elderly lady had come to an age where she said exactly what she thought, and devil take the hindmost.
    “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but—the truth is the truth, dear.”
    No doubt it was, Zeni thought, and wondered if she’d ever be able to wear the ring again without remembering it.
    “Zenobia! Where’s our Zenobia?”
    That call, impatient and harried, reverberated under the building’s metal roof. It was a moment before Zeni realized they were actually paging her. The implied demand for instant obedience put her on the defensive. She wasn’t used to being addressed that way, had never been used to it even before she came to Chamelot. And in recent months, she’d been the boss, or the next thing to it, at the Watering Hole.
    “They’ve got your name all wrong, but I think it’s you that Derek and his people want, sweetie. Here, let me hold your shoulder bag while you’re busy.”
    “If you don’t mind,” Zeni answered. She rose to her feet with an unhurried flexing of thigh muscles then called out in clear tones. “I’m here.”
    The group that was busy under the brilliant lights and amid a tangle of cables, booms and cameras, parted as if at a royal command. Derek Peabody turned to locate her, searching the gathering of extras with an irritated scowl. Seeing her, he started forward with both hands outstretched.
    “Zeni, my Zenobia,” he said, dropping his voice to a deep, caressing note. “How stunning you look, perfectly gorgeous. But then, I knew you would. My eye for a face never fails. The camera will absolutely make love to you, having itself a digital orgasm.”
    She might not be familiar with L.A. or the movie business, but Zeni knew bull when she heard it. She lifted her chin, and her voice turned cool. “Thank you. I think. Now what am I supposed to do?”
    “What majesty, excellent! You’re already in character. Come now. Stand just over here, on this mark, and let me tell you what the test is all about.”
    As she was led away, Zeni glanced back at Granny Chauvin. The elderly lady was clapping her hands while her eyes danced. But she stopped almost immediately and began to search in her purse, digging out her cell phone. High-tech-granny, that was her. No telling who she was calling.
    “What we have here is a scene from the lead actor’s dream. He’s a football quarterback pulling down megabucks as a star in the NFL, one who makes a habit of dating sweet young things. But he’s secretly into one dominant,