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

Turn the page to read Pita My Heart, exclusively in the Backstage Romance Box Set…

1

ROSEMARY

There are few things on this earth I despise. War. Famine. Poverty. Using the same knife for peanut butter AND jelly. But I especially despise Ingram Connery Prescott the Third. Even his snobby, Ivy League name makes me want to gag.

But I’m chill. As long as I can keep all thoughts of him in a galaxy far, far away, my world will continue blissfully Ingram-free.

And I’ve done well to do just that over the years. Except today.

No. Not today.

Surely this must be an elaborate joke thrust upon me by some cosmic mishap—or an ill-natured fairy.

Because oh joy! Ingram stands before me now, wearing that arrogant grin. No doubt harboring unwarranted blame behind those steely eyes. Blame for this ridiculous pickle we’re in:

Locked inside Eugene’s Pita Bread factory.

Just me and Mr. Ivy League.

I could have asked him what he was doing here when I found him in Eugene’s office earlier. He was looking through piles of disorganized files and the sad accounting books. But I didn’t need to. There’s only one reason he’s here. The same as it’s always been with the evil company his father passed on to him. Dissolve, dismantle, and destroy. It should be on their letterhead. Or on their social media banner. Or tattooed on his black heart.

He’s fuming now. I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. Yosemite Sam style. He rolled up his shirtsleeves ten minutes ago revealing strong, tan forearms and a gold watch worth more than my car. He keeps checking the time.

Newsflash buddy. Obsessing over it won’t make the minute hand move any faster. Or get us out of this mess. I wonder where he has to be tonight. Maybe he has a hot date. And why does that thought make my insides all twisty?

“Are you sure you checked all the points of entry?” He says this like a calculating Army general. Points of entry. Ta!

I cock my head at him. “You mean the same ones you checked three times after I did? I don’t know. Maybe we should make another round.”

Sarcasm drips from my lips. I know it’s not helping. But it’s fun.

How did we even get in this fiasco? Oh yeah. Ingram had his greedy, corporate eyes all over Eugene’s inventory, poking around the factory to estimate how much money he’d make at Eugene’s loss. Naturally, I had to keep him in check. A barb in his side and reminder I would not lose this client without a fight. I was right on his heels, wearing him down with my spunk and persistence. But he kept at it right past quittin’ time just to spite me. And now we’re trapped. Completely forgotten by the factory workers. It’s totally his fault.

He checks his watch again. Really? I mean, I don’t have any spectacular plans unless you count the frozen dinner and episode five of Mr. Robot waiting for me at my apartment. But I’m not any more thrilled than he is about the situation.

“And that phone?” His eyes dart to the red phone on the wall. I blow out a breath because we went over this.

“Internal use only. It even says so on the sticker above the dial pad.”

“That’s just to discourage employees from calling their girlfriends. Try dialing nine first.”

“I did.” As well as zero and nine-one-one, and every other combination of numbers imaginable. And so did he, but saying so would be redundant.

He curses under his breath and drags his fingers through his annoyingly silky brown hair while pacing like a caged lion. It’s his version of putting his thinking cap on. I used to think it was hot when I was a teenager. But now...

Okay, it’s still hot. But I don’t let it affect me anymore. I’m no longer the little girl tagging along with her big brother and his dreamy friend. That girl is gone. And so is the illusion.

He stops pacing and glances up. I follow his line of sight. There’s some kind of vent on the wall—way up high, about a foot away from the ceiling. There’s an aluminum tube leading to it from one of the machines. Probably some sort of exhaust thingy. I can hear the gears turning in his head.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about it.” He darts around the warehouse looking for something. A ladder, maybe.

“It’s like fifty feet. Even if you do get up there, and somehow pry the vent off the wall with your Thor muscles, how do you expect to get down to the parking lot? Let down your hair?”

I can’t believe I’m following him around while he searches for—whatever he’s searching for. A lasso? Zip line? He’s not even looking at me.

“Somebody’s gotta come up with something. Unless you’d rather spend the night on a bed of pitas.”

Not with you, Yale Boy.

“Maybe I don’t want to clean your brains off the floor after you fall to your death.”

He stops and looks at me for the first time, furrowing his brows.

“You were never this snarky when we used to hang out.”

Hang out? I wouldn’t exactly call it that.

I cross my arms over my chest. Defiant. “I’m not the sweet little Rosemary you used to know.”

He slowly rakes his gaze from my face all the way down to my insensible shoes then back up again. A devilish grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No, you certainly are not.”

Did he just... swag me out? These heels do make my legs look awesome. If I’d known I’d be touring the factory today I would have worn flats. But now I’m kind of glad I can flaunt it in front of Ingram in a can’t touch this sort of way. Even if the balls of my feet are burning.

I turn and strut away, tossing him a quick look over my shoulder. Heat blooms in my cheeks and I hope my hair hides it well enough. “Fine.