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

I suppose I could have come up with some other clever name for a dog, but ever since I was a child, I wanted a Cocker Spaniel named Lady. Call me sentimental, but Lady and the Tramp was the movie my mother always put on for me when I was sick. It offered a certain comfort and always reminded me of Vicks Vapor Rub and Mom’s perfume. When I was finally at a place in my life to care for a dog, my only desire was to have an English Cocker just like in the movie. Yes, how original. So what if a little pixie I hardly knew threw me some judgmental shade? I wasn’t put on this earth to vie for her approval. I ignored her snarky remark and called for my dog once again. She didn’t budge.

What had gotten into her? Was she cross with me for setting her in Stella’s office?

Beth threw me a smug grin, arching her brow and digging her brown eyes into my soul.

“Having trouble there, Mr. Darcy? It appears your dog is an excellent judge of character.”

There was truth in that. Lady never could stand Jorge. Apparently, she thought Beth was her new fur-baby mommy. What was it about her? Was it her frank unstudied air? Her propensity to speak her mind even if her opinions were unpopular? I had long considered her irreverent take-no-prisoners attitude was her most confounding appeal. Of course I couldn’t let on that I actually admired her spunk.

“And what would you know about that?” I accused. “Considering the company you keep?”

Her jaw dropped with incredulity, and I heard a clipped breath from the back of her throat.

“The company I keep?” She made that sound in the back of her throat again. “You got a problem with my friends?”

Okaaaay. She was getting a little gangsta there. I could roll with that.

“They aren’t exactly model citizens,” I spat. “Unless potheads and cradle robbers are what you’re going for.”

“Potheads and cradle robbers? What’s wrong with you? I suppose no one in your circle of friends drinks or smokes, Mr. Hollywood.” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing the length of my body. “Clearly, you’ve got it all together.”

“I never said I have it all together. But as you try to convince people of your impeccable judgement, in doing so, prove your assumptions come up rather short. Much like your stature.”

“That’s it,” she cried, sweeping Lady in her arms with one swift motion. “I’m keeping the dog.”

Her back was turned to me in an instant, briskly putting distance between us.

“Wait a minute.”

I followed her backstage and upstairs to where the dressing rooms were located, calling after her as she retreated from me. “You can’t just take someone’s dog!”

“She’s too good for you,” she exclaimed, briskly disappearing into the shadows of the empty hallway, her words echoing off the concrete walls. “Go get a chihuahua or some other animal with a size complex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stopped and turned.

“You tell me. Compensate much?”

“What are you talking about? Lady is a medium-sized dog. I don’t even drive a truck. I’m not compensating.”

“Then why is your ego so big?”

What the…

“If I have a big ego, which I don’t,” I replied with rancor, “it’s only because I’ve earned it. I’ve worked hard to get where I am in my career, unlike some people who continue to do menial jobs instead of taking their craft seriously.”

“Oh, yes. You’ve worked real hard riding on Daddy’s coattails.”

That was a low blow. It was particularly low because it was the same thought I had toward Stella’s niece. Riding on her aunt’s coattails. Is that what people saw in me? Generally, I didn’t care what people thought. I didn’t navigate my way around Tinseltown by being a softie. This business was a hell-hole of users and phonies. I decided long ago to keep my feelings close to my chest and trust no one just to survive. I learned to grow a thick hide when it came to other people’s opinions. If I read every review and gossip column about me, I’d never leave the house.

Then why did it bother me so much what Beth thought about me? It was infuriating. Riding on Dad’s coattails indeed! What did she know? Of course, if I’d just calmed myself down and tempered my haunches, I would have checked my anger before saying the most jerky thing I could come up with.

“And who are you?” I spat. “You’re a nobody waitress in a crappy, hole-in-the-wall grease trap. You’re good at pretending, I’ll give you that. But overacting and a holier-than-thou attitude won’t get you far in this business. That’s why you’ll never make it as an actor.”

Dirtbag level: eleven out of ten. Yeah, I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. When you throw a fist through a wall, your knuckles hurt like all get-out, but it’s oh so satisfying. I was so bent out of shape by this woman, punching through her walls felt good—for about five seconds.

Almost immediately, her face dropped into a set gloom, and the edges of her eyes were rimmed with the beginnings of tears. She worked hard to suppress them, but I could detect a ruddiness in her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was broken. I did that. Me. This guy. And the bloody cuts on my knuckles stung from the blow.

Super.

She didn’t speak for an indeterminable length of time. It could have been a few seconds. It could have been an hour. It felt like an eternity in Hades. I let the words hang there without an apology or an explanation. It was a character flaw. I never could back down from a fight. Even when I knew I was wrong.

At length, she straightened her posture, lifted her chin, and softly whispered, “I understand now why you named your dog Lady. It’s because you don’t know how to be