“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would you think that?”
That was an easy one. He couldn’t feature her wanting to spend a whole day with him, much less have any reason for ordering him around. No matter, he knew how to put a stop to this line of talk.
“And if you aren’t, if you don’t get to be an extra, I get the same privilege you’re claiming?”
Her lashes flickered before she answered. “I guess. But you get to tell me what to do all the time anyway.”
“It won’t be the same thing at all.” He gave her his sexiest grin. Zeni was a smart cookie. She wouldn’t walk into the kind of open-ended personal danger he was half-threatening.
Or would she?
She studied him for long moments while the autumn sunlight bouncing from the street outside filtered through her hair, giving it the appearance of spun filaments of grape candy. It touched her eyes and shone on the burgundy red gloss on her lips. Unbidden thoughts of hot chocolate sundaes drenched in cherry syrup swirled in his head.
Her lashes came down, concealing her thoughts. When she answered, he felt the force of it like a sucker punch.
“If that’s the way you want it.”
She didn’t intend to lose the bet; that much was clear. But if she did, then yes, he did indeed want a whole day of telling her what to do. He wanted to say so, but the possibilities of his inevitable win stunned him into mute stupidity.
“Well?” she demanded.
He cleared his throat, gave a jerky nod. “You’re on.”
“Yeah?”
He met her gaze, absorbing the surprise there while a fierce brand of exhilaration rose inside him. “Yeah,” he answered. “Oh, yeah.”
Chapter 2
The gathering place for the cattle call was in the largest exhibit building at the old fairgrounds, the site of the annual agricultural fair that had fallen to the wayside in recent years. Much of the area had been allotted to the movie company for the duration, though a portion was reserved for the medieval fair.
When Zeni walked into the cavernous building, people were milling around, visiting, waiting for things to get started. Their voices bounced from the polished floor to the high ceiling and back again; some were high-pitched with excitement, while others were laden with half-humorous curiosity. Though a few might have visions of movie stardom, most were on hand simply to see what was going on. No one seemed to have any idea of how these try-outs were supposed to work, when they would get started, or how long they would last.
The day was warm, even if it was October. Although the big double doors of the old building stood open, the ever-increasing crowd compounded the heat. Zeni fanned herself with the event brochure that she’d picked up just inside the door and looked around, smiling and nodding at Watering Hole customers she recognized here and there. There were quite a few, actually; it was a constant amazement, the number of people she met at the coffee shop, all of whom seemed to remember her.
She still wasn’t used to being memorable in a physical sense, although she’d gone to great lengths over the past couple of years to stand out, even getting a large tattoo across her back. It was infinitely better than being a bore, remembered only for a freaky ability with numbers and Trivial Pursuit.
“Hi, girlfriend! That slave-driver of a boss let you off for a change?”
That greeting came from Mandy Benedict, wife of Tunica Parish’s sheriff. A quick hug came with it; Mandy was still in the honeymoon phase after just over a year of marriage, so she loved everybody.
Zeni returned the hug with gusto. She adored Mandy and her husband. That she’d had a role in bringing the two of them together was a source of quirky pride.
“So, are you trying out as an extra?” she asked.
“Why not?” Mandy asked with laughter sparkling in the sea blue of her eyes and a shake of her head that made gold-brown curls dance around an expressive face. “What else do I have to do? Not that it’s a make-or-break deal in my life, but I figure I can walk across the street as well as anybody.”
“Exactly, and better than most.” Zeni paused. “You have any idea what the movie is supposed to be about?”
“An oddball thing full of Southern angst, weird dream sequences and football as far as I can tell.”
“You’re kidding. I heard it was a comedy.”
“Well, sort of. It’s billed as Superman meets She, if you can believe it. The basic idea is a football hero desperately in love with a sophisticated woman, but who can’t get her to even look his way. After he performs some heroic deed and gains her respect, he realizes the woman is too coldhearted for him. He prefers his fantasy world where every woman he meets is hot for him and asks for it outright.”
“Sounds like a fantasy, all right. So then what happens?”
“That’s anybody’s guess, apparently, which seems to be the deal with making movies. By the time everyone from the director to the lead actor adds their input, the original writer can’t recognize his own script.”
“And the actor/director here has total control?”
“Exactly. It will work out however Derek Peabody decides, when the time comes.”
“I don’t suppose we care, as long as we get to walk across the street with everybody else,” Zeni said with a laugh.
“Our moment of glory, immortalized on film. It’s about the most any of us can hope for, right?”
“More than likely,” Zeni agreed, though she knew Sheriff Lancelot Benedict’s wife was being overly modest. Mandy might be a new mom to four-month-old Caleb, but she was a town powerhouse. A sponsor for the annual Relay for Life, on the boards of both the annual pilgrimage of homes and the library, initiator of a future river park for kids, and founder of a safe house for women and children escaping domestic abuse, she was always up to something. Give her another year or two, and she’d either be mayor—not an impossibility as Chamelot had a female mayor already—or there would be a statue of her erected in front of the courthouse.
“Where’s Lance this morning?” Zeni asked, scanning the crowd. He was sure to be around somewhere for this kind of event.
“The poor dear is directing traffic out at the highway. You wouldn’t believe the people in town today, every single one of them circling, circling to find the best parking place for this event because they don’t want to walk a single step more than necessary.”
“I know he loves that,” Zeni said with a grin. She hadn’t seen him because she’d walked from the Watering Hole. One reason she’d settled in Chamelot was because her old rattletrap of a car had given up the ghost at the city limits.
“Yeah, not his favorite part of the job. And he already had smoke coming out of his ears after a run-in with the man of the hour earlier.”
Zeni swung back toward Mandy. “Derek Peabody, you mean?”
“None other. He seems to think he can take over the town, park his limo anywhere he pleases. Unfortunately, he appropriated Judge Martin’s parking space on the courthouse square, along with three or four others. You can imagine how that went over.”
“The judge wasn’t happy?”
“He told Peabody to move his limo or it would be towed. I’m not sure how that was answered, but the next thing you know, the judge was threatening to bloody the guy’s cosmetically enhanced nose for him with one hand while dialing Lance’s office with the other.”
“Wow.”
“Things simmered down once Lance arrived and it became clear the full judicial power of the district court could be brought to bear. Derek Peabody and his chauffeur decided they didn’t need to take up a whole row of spaces after all.”
“What did Lance think of him? Did he say?”
“Not in so many words,” Mandy answered with a definite quirk to her mouth. “But he was wearing his grim look, which tells me he expects nothing good during these next few weeks. My guess is, he thinks Derek Peabody is a pain in the rear.”
That last word was almost drowned out by a sudden rise in conv
ersational volume around them. It started near the door and came toward them in a wave. The crowd shifted, people craning their necks or standing on tiptoe to see.
“Looks as if things are about to get underway,” Zeni said.
They were indeed. Chamelot’s lady mayor and the actor/director were moving slowly through the crowd. As they reached center stage, the mayor raised her arms in an appeal for quiet. When the noise died away, she began her little speech. She was delighted to see everyone coming out to support this movie venture, the first in what she hoped would be many more. It was her great honor to introduce the man who was going to bring fame and fortune to Chamelot, one who would showcase their traditions while making clear the special nature of the town. They would be offering hospitality for several weeks to the people working on the film, and she hoped everyone would join with her in making their stay a pleasant one. She gave them the star of Puma Films, Derek Peabody.
The crowd broke into enthusiastic applause. The actor/director quelled it with upraised hands. He was pleased by his reception in Chamelot and looked forward to filming his latest and greatest find, the dramatic comedy Brief Candles, based loosely on the famous soliloquy from Macbeth, among its good people. Waving forward a statuesque blonde in a dark pantsuit and four-inch stilettos, he introduced her as his personal assistant and co-producer, Bettina, whom he was sure everyone would come to know and love in the days ahead. Other cast members and production staff were also introduced and dismissed. With these preliminaries out of the way, he proceeded to organize those standing around as if his every second was precious beyond words.
Maybe it was, as time was money in the film industry. Or so Zeni had heard.
The crowd was separated into groups of men, women and children, and all of them lined up in separate rows. Derek Peabody then walked along the lines with his personal assistant on his heels. As one person and then another was selected, the assistant paused to take down names and contact information in her expensive looking portfolio with a clipboard.
Among those singled out were Granny Chauvin, looking her usual wise-old-owl self in a nice pastel suit and pretty blouse; young Lizzie Masters and her mom; and Carla Benedict, Trey’s cousin Beau’s new wife, who gave her a mock queenly wave from further down the line of women. A trio of older men were chosen, one of whom was former Sheriff Tate, the man Lance had defeated in the last election; he’d been tapped for what sounded like a checker game in front of the feed and hardware store. Up and down the actor/director went, picking people from no more than a whim, or so it appeared, though Bettina, trailing behind him, murmured to him now and then.
On their third pass along the rows, the duo stopped in front of Mandy. The assistant, towering over her boss by a good two inches in her heels, stooped to whisper in his ear. He nodded. The female assistant stepped close to take down Mandy’s phone number while saying something about a dance scene.
When the pair turned their attention to her, Zeni thought for sure she was about to be selected. She could have smiled, maybe been at least a little ingratiating, but she refused. It wasn’t in her nature, for one thing, but she also didn’t care enough about a part to openly try for it. The acceleration of her heartbeat was at the prospect of winning her bet with Trey.
Looking past the pair, she met Mandy’s eyes for a minute, seeing the gleeful anticipation in them as the sheriff’s wife gave her a wink. It was all Zeni could do not to answer it.
The female assistant leaned in for a brief consultation. Derek Peabody frowned. The two of them moved on.
Zeni’s disappointment at being passed over was stronger than she’d anticipated. She’d thought she was immune, but for a moment she was that weird girl—the one who was never chosen for the softball team, asked to birthday parties or invited to school dances. With resolution, she pushed those old hurts aside and focused on the present. It was going to be pure hell, facing Trey with the news. He would be merciless about it, she was sure. There was no telling what he would find for her to do as payoff for their bet.
He could be clever about that kind of thing, at least whenever it involved one of his male cousins. She had managed to avoid being on the losing side of a dispute with him to this point, but that was in the past.
For a brief few seconds, she thought back to the terms of their bet. What had she said, exactly? That he would have to do whatever she told him for a solid day? She’d planned things for him such as washing dishes behind the coffee shop counter or cleaning out the big garbage cans in the back, but she didn’t believe that’s what he’d had in mind when he agreed to her terms.
A shiver ran over her, leaving goose bumps in its wake, as she considered the possibilities. She could be in a lot of trouble. And it wasn’t that she’d be reluctant to comply with whatever he demanded. No, not at all. The problem was that she might be all too willing.
She’d been at great pains to keep her distance from Trey. He was bad news for someone like her. For all his bad boy reputation and biker lifestyle on the weekends, he was a Benedict, which made him Chamelot aristocracy. He wouldn’t want someone like her. He’d want the whole sweet Southern Belle package, a woman who could sing in the church choir on Sunday, plan a dinner party on Wednesday, step out in style on Saturday evening, and be pleasantly submissive in his bed every other night of the week.
That wasn’t her, and Zeni knew it. No way, no how.
Oh, she didn’t doubt he’d take her to bed if she acted at all interested. But she’d watched her mom go that route, watched her get her heart broken too many times. More than that, she’d gone to bed for one-nighters with a couple of guys. She’d thought that would be enough at the time, but it wasn’t. She needed something more. And if she couldn’t have it, she wanted nothing at all. Even from Trey. Especially from Trey.
“What happened?” Mandy asked in a quiet undertone as she stepped closer. “I thought for sure you were about to be chosen.”
“You’ve got me.” Zeni lifted one shoulder in a would-be careless shrug that didn’t quite make it. “I guess they just didn’t like the way I looked.”
Trey knew being chosen as an extra wasn’t in the cards for Zeni almost as soon as she did. Not that he was on hand. Though he could have discovered it himself by hanging out at the old exhibition hall, he wanted nothing to do with that scene. Rather, half a dozen people who had been there made a fast exit ahead of the crowd and came by the coffee shop to give him the lowdown.
Relief poured over him at the news. She’d be avoiding the movie crowd now, which was a good thing. More than that, he hadn’t much cared for the look in Zeni’s eyes as she’d put her challenge to him. He’d shifted a bucket load of his responsibilities onto her slender shoulders in the past few months, and figured he was about to be paid back for it.
It was possible she had something a bit more personal in mind, but he doubted it. She’d been wary around him from her first day at work, displaying a hands-off attitude that she reinforced with prickly put-downs. They’d been fairly mild at first, but were getting more snarky every week.
He got a kick out of teasing her until she gave him the sharp edge of her tongue. She made it almost irresistible with her hot reactions, but he knew better than to go too far. Some women had “I’m available” smiles and glances; others had expressions that said “Go away and leave me alone.” With Zeni, he got the message. And since he didn’t want to lose her, liked having her around, plus wasn’t sure how he’d run his different business interests without her, he paid attention.
He was in the back storeroom, at the table that they used for breaks, when she came through the rear door. He didn’t intend to provide a free show for customers, even if he couldn’t wait to crow about her losing the bet she’d proposed. It wasn’t his style, and certainly wasn’t Zeni’s.
“Just a second,” he said, looking up from the legal pad where he’d been scribbling. “I almost have my list of jobs ready for you.”
“I’ll just bet you do.” Zeni hung her shoulder
bag on a hook beside the back entrance and took down one of her aprons that hung there, one made of denim to match the skirt she always wore, but dressed up with a huge green velvet flower, ribbons, silver chains and Mardi Gras beads.
“Don’t worry. There’s nothing on it you wouldn’t ask from me.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Good. You won’t mind starting with a massage then, will you?”
“A massage.” The look she gave him should have killed him stone-cold-dead, and might have if he hadn’t been ready for it.
“Full body. With or without clothes,” he said, keeping his face straight with an effort. “I’m not bashful.”
He’d never seen her turn quite that red before. Amazing. Her lips darkened to the color of black raspberries, and her eyes grew as hot and meltingly dark as lava cakes. The golden tan skin of her face looked warm to the touch, and he could see the throb of her pulse in her neck.
The need to put his mouth to that gentle pulsing gave him a starving feeling inside, and the urge to turn her into dessert then and there was so strong he felt his eyes water.
“Well, I am!” she snapped, and headed past him, jerking the door into the coffee shop open so hard and fast it flew out of her hand and slammed into the wall.
“Or you could start by polishing my boots!” he called after her. “I ran through a big puddle on my last ride, and they’re muddy!”
Zeni didn’t answer, which was probably best. She could say things that cut to the bone when she wanted, and he’d come close to being sliced and diced there for a second. Probably the only thing that kept him from it was that she knew she’d walked into this deal with her eyes open.
He’d figured she’d be disappointed after being passed over by the actor guy when even Granny Chauvin had been picked for a street scene. His intention was to distract her, make her irritated enough she’d forget about it, even if her anger was directed at him.
Big mistake. Now he had to fix it.
Trey glanced down at his list that actually had things on it such as going out to dinner with him, making him a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, and helping him take photos of the antiques in his granddad’s old place so they could be appraised for insurance. As mad as she was just now, he might have to hide the knives until she cooled down. With a quick shake of his head, he uncoiled from his chair and moved after her.
Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) Page 2
