Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

“Look at you,” I said with a broad smile. “You already have the fancy bartending skills.”

“I’ve had enough bartender talk for the day, thank you very much.” She finished preparing the Italian sodas with whipped cream and stainless steel straws. We sipped in silence, enjoying the refreshing drink. The way she hummed with delight, I imagined she considered the conversation closed. I wasn’t of the same opinion.

“Do you want to hear the bad news now?” I asked gently. It wasn’t bad news per se, but she didn’t know that and had a sneaky way of deflecting, so she’d not have to hear it.

“That whole nightclub rubbish wasn’t the bad news?”

“No, Emma. That was the good news.”

She huffed. “Well, I suppose you’ll tell me anyway so might as well get on with it.”

See… I should have told her the bad news first—so she’d take the other part a little better.

“Karaoke Unplugged announced on Twitter they were going out of business.”

She blinked and pouted her bottom lip, absorbing the information in her mind. I knew she loved the place. It was a haven for performers of all sorts, and nobody cared how famous you were. Everybody went there to have fun and sing with the live band, and while there, you were just one of the crowd. I didn’t want Emma to lose one of her favourite places, and I knew with a fresh energy, we could turn the financials around. A spark of awareness lit Emma’s face.

“Ahhh. That’s what he was talking about.”

“He? Which he?” Had she known about this? Who was he?

“Just some bartender Harriet knows. He was bragging all about his promotion as if that could impress her.” She snorted, amused at the thought. “Wait a minute. He said he hadn’t met the new owners. You bought a karaoke bar and promoted a guy you’ve never met to general manager? Are you going mad, Jaxson Knightly?”

I sighed and explained how the two previous owners, while suddenly thrust into a comfortable retirement from the generous price I offered, no longer desired to run the bar as they had for fifteen years. I asked them to choose a reliable employee to manage the club. They recommended a Roberto Martinez who’d worked his way up from busboy to bar-back to mixologist over the course of several years. He was reliable and trustworthy, and the previous owners said he got along well with all the staff. I was hoping Emma had time on the weekend to come with me to meet him, but it seemed she already did.

She listened as I explained everything, slurping the last drop of her sweet drink but didn’t ask any more questions. I wasn’t entirely certain she was invested in what I had to say at all. Her eyes glazed over as I touched on the financial aspects, and I’m pretty sure that’s where I lost her completely. She rinsed her glass, put it in the dishwasher, and shrugged with one shoulder—like it was too much effort to brush me off with a two-shoulder shrug.

“I don’t know, Jax. I’m just too busy these days.”

Too busy with her matchmaking schemes, she meant to say. That was another reason I wanted to talk to her. She needed to leave things be with Elton before she made a huge mess. We needed the studio to pick us up, and I didn’t want any distractions.

“Busy, Emma?” I said with a hint of admonishment. “Or busybody?”

She dropped her jaw, baring her teeth. “I am not a busybody.”

“Then spare Elton Wardlow the cupid act.”

She huffed and snatched my unfinished soda, dumping the ice in the sink with a definitive clink. When she turned back around, she crossed her arms and stared me down. She was thinking of something snarky to throw at me. I just knew it. But as they often did, the words escaped her. I wasn’t sure if it was because my smile disarmed her, if she was considering my advice, or if she was conjuring up ways to continue what she wanted without letting me on. Probably the latter.

The doorbell rang, startling Emma from her thoughts, and she pushed herself off the counter. I glanced at my smart watch. Too late for visitors (well, except me) nor could it be a delivery at this hour.

“Wait.” I caught her hand before she could leave the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”

“Really, Jaxson? I can answer my own front door. I’m not a child.”

“You’re also not a black belt in karate. It could be a crazy stalker. We’ll answer the door together.”

I knew I shouldn’t have acted so protective, hovering over her every move. But I promised her parents I’d watch out for her when she made the move to Los Angeles from London after her twenty-first birthday. Over the years, as she grew into a strong, independent woman, I still felt some responsibility for her wellbeing even if the stoic benevolence I’d adopted shifted into idle jealousy should it be a gentleman caller at her doorstep. I lost count of all the times I tried to convince Emma to move to a gated neighbourhood in the Palisades, but she loved living at the beach and fell in love with her house at first sight.

The bell rang again. Impatient blighter, wasn’t he? I strode a step faster in pace, still holding her hand. I wanted to be the one to open the door. Just in case.

“Coming!” Emma cried out as we approached the foyer. That’s when we heard the muffled complaint on the other side of the double doors.

“I’ll likely catch my death out here at this rate,” barked the voice. Emma and I stopped in our tracks and gave each other a knowing look. It was none other than her mother.

6

Gal Pals

Emma

My mother glowered at Jaxson and me with one hand on her hip and the other on the handle of a rolling valise. “Are you going to stand there with your