Driving Miss Darcy Read online

  Driving Miss Darcy

  Backstage Romance

  Gigi Blume

  Published by Sodasac Press, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  DRIVING MISS DARCY

  First edition. December 5, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Gigi Blume.

  Written by Gigi Blume.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER TWO - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER THREE - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER FOUR - WYATT

  CHAPTER FIVE - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER SIX - WYATT

  CHAPTER SEVEN - WYATT

  CHAPTER EIGHT - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER NINE - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER TEN - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - WYATT

  CHAPTER TWELVE - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - WYATT

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - WYATT

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - WYATT

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY - WYATT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - GEORGIA

  CHAPTER ONE - GEORGIA

  As I stepped out of the cab and skipped into La Guardia Airport a smile spread over my features at the prospect of five and a half blissful hours of in-flight entertainment eating a microwaved meal on a tiny tray. My friends at Juilliard thought I was crazy.

  My dorm mate would say, “Georgia, you better bring a butt pillow.” and “Make sure you chew gum to pop your ears.”

  She didn’t care for planes.

  But I really did love the solitude of sitting in a bucket seat, virtually undisturbed at thirty-eight thousand feet in the sky. I loved the prospect of traveling somewhere—even somewhere familiar—with the distinction of having woken up in a place thousands of miles away. When I traveled, I was someone who did things.

  I could get into any kind of travel, really. If my movie star brother wasn’t so annoyingly protective, I’d be all over the world satisfying my wanderlust with jaunts across Europe on romantic trains, or hiking to the tippy top of Machu Picchu. But today’s trip was a trip home for Christmas. To a house my mother lovingly named Pemberley—because who doesn’t name houses? Granted, the house was the size of a shopping mall, so maybe that was her saucy sense of humor shining through.

  My flight from cold, sludgy New York City to bright, breezy Los Angeles (with a connection in Chicago) would get me home just in time to wrap my Amazon orders and put them under the tree but also to attend my brother Will’s wedding. He’d been with his girlfriend Beth almost a year.

  The idea of a Christmas Day wedding would seem ludicrous to most people. But the holidays held something special for my brother and his bride, so who was I to warn them about all the potential stress? After all, what was the most major holiday on the planet to a high-profile Hollywood wedding? Santa Claus who? Will Darcy and Beth Bennet were getting married.

  La Guardia was massive, but I wheeled my little carry-on bag through the terminal, spreading Yuletide cheer with each springy step as I made progress toward my gate. I envisioned magic Christmas dust sprinkling from my smiles and gleeful greetings as the TSA guards eyed me suspiciously. How dare I hum Sleigh Bells whilst passing though the security check? But I wasn’t about to let those Scrooges cool my imaginary peppermint hot chocolate. No sir. I may have studied Piano Concerto No 23 while school was in session, but Jingle Bell Rock was my jam.

  Speaking of music, I fell asleep with my music app open on my cell phone and forgot to charge the battery. But since I had plenty of time before boarding, I decided to use one of the charging stations at the gate. I didn’t account for the onslaught of holiday travelers, so all the charging ports were full. All except for one. Which was currently blocked by some guy’s dog. He was ridiculously cute—the dog, not the guy. Okay, the guy, too. But neither the dog nor the man were the problem. It was the crowd of giggling girls surrounding them that really blocked my access to the charging port. All of them were young, barely out of high school by the looks of them, and they all wore spandex leggings a little too clingy around their backsides. I noticed this because those backsides were pointing directly at me as the girls bent over, fawning over the dog—and the man.

  The dog, a jumpy little Jack Russell Terrier, was wagging his tail with unflagging abandon, joyfully licking their faces. The man, well he was enjoying the attention just as much. He probably only brought the dog along to get women’s numbers.

  “Excuse me.” I said cheerily, holding out my phone. I pointed to the charging station. The girls all ignored me. “Um...excuse me?” I repeated a little louder this time. One of them turned around, standing up to her full height and stared at me for a whole three seconds before turning back to flirt with the guy. She was tall and slender and beautiful like all her friends and that look she gave me might as well have said Back off, sister.

  “I just need to squeeze past you to charge my phone.” I wanted to add He’s all yours. I wasn’t interested in the guy or the dog. My battery was at two percent, surely somebody would have mercy on me. I looked around me hoping to find an open port. Nope. Fancy businessmen in suits too important to give up their spots occupied half of the charging ports. The other half were occupied by teenagers—also not likely to unplug for little ‘ol me. Not that height mattered. I wasn’t as tall as that mean girl and her friends, but I more than made up for it in moxie. I got into Juilliard on my own merit, not because I had a famous brother. I was a strong woman, thank you very much. Small but mighty.

  You got this, Georgia.

  And so I rolled my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and tapped the girl on the shoulder.

  She spun around so abruptly, the ripple effect of it disturbed her circle of friends and subsequently the adorable little dog. He barked—more of a Hooray, a new friend! sort of bark rather than a Warning, Intruder alert sort of bark. His owner looked up, deep dark eyes locking onto mine for one brief moment before the dog bounded off the charging port stool to greet me. The spandex brigade jumped back, Dog Man leaped up to reach for the leash, and cute little Jack Russell evaded him just quick enough to run circles around my feet—but not before his human hooked a finger on the leash’s loop. As common knowledge of physics would dictate, my legs were wrapped in the leash and I came crashing down with all the spectacular force of gravity. As I landed with a glorious thud, my phone sprung from my hand and flew through the air like a determined little salmon swimming up a waterfall, narrowly missing the clutches of a hungry bear. It happened in slow motion—the crazy dog, falling on my bottom, my phone in flight. And yet it was like one of those nightmares where you feel like you're moving through molasses. The phone crashed to the floor with a definitive splat.

  “Are you okay?” Dog Man said. He really did have beautiful eyes. I shook off that thought, remembering I was hurt and on the verge of tears, not ogling his handsomeness.

  “What?”

  “I’m so sorry about that.” His nimble fingers were making quick work of the leash, untangling it from my ankles. The dog wasn’t making it easy on him by all the tugging and bouncing. “Reeses, calm down.”

  So crazy dog had a cute name to match. Apparently calm down wasn’t in Reeses’ vocabulary. Presently, he was licking my hand.

  “A little forward there, Reeses. We’ve only just met.”

  Dog Man chuckled and swooped up Reeses, offering me his other hand to help me up.

  “I’ll manage,” I clipped, perhaps too forcefully. I probably shouldn�
��t have snapped at him. He was trying to help me up after all. But the fall to the hard floor hurt my pride as well as my poor tooshie. I turned my eyes to my phone, shattered in a sad pile of bits of plastic and glass on the floor.

  “Oh crud,” I heard Dog Man say. “That sucks.”

  “That sucks?” I managed to say. It was then I noticed the makings of a suppressed laugh on his lips. “That...sucks?”

  “I mean...I hope you have insurance.”

  I did, thanks to my brother, but that wasn’t the point.

  I forlornly scooped up the shrapnel surrounding my dead phone, mourning over it on my hands and knees. I promised Will I’d call him in Chicago between connecting flights and if I didn’t he’d worry himself sick—just what a man needs a few days before his wedding.

  “Here, let me help you.” Dog Man said, no longer laughing at my expense at least.

  “No thanks, dude.”

  “Listen, I—”

  “Just please...go away.” I was too embarrassed, and if I was being honest with myself, kinda attracted to Dog Man which only made my face red.

  So...Merry Christmas to me? The hap-happiest time of the year. Maybe.

  CHAPTER TWO - GEORGIA

  One would imagine airlines seated first-class passengers last—being closest to the front and all. But no. Having a premium seat subjects you to stares and a good measure of jealous looks from those who pass by on their way to the economy seats. Or in my case, a haughty glower Of disdain from dog man. When he caught sight of me in that oversized luxury seat with lots of leg room, his eye twitched—just a tiny bit. I could hear the sneers of his inner voice say, “Figures.” I’d seen that look before. Poor little rich girl.

  He shook his head and chuckled before adjusting the strap of the mesh dog carrier on his shoulder and then slugged onward. Back to the backity back back. Who was this guy to judge me anyway? He was probably one of those inconsiderate hobos who didn’t clean after their dog did its business. I could just picture him shaking his head all the way down the aisle.

  Whatever.

  It wasn’t my idea to purchase a first-class ticket. My brother bought it, all the while scolding me for waiting too long to book my flight. He’d said something about guaranteeing my seat since I already missed out on a direct flight, it being the holidays and all. But I wasn’t about to apologize for Christmas.

  I settled in with a small town romance on my Kindle while the plane taxied and took off. A few minutes after we hit cruising altitude I overheard a hushed confrontation between a flight attendant and a lady with a toddler.

  “I’m sorry, ma'am. You’ll have to take your seat,” the flight attendant said. Her hair was pinned in a tight french twist and her navy blue skirt looked like it was cutting off her circulation. An extremely wiggly child in pigtails squirmed in the passenger’s arms. She appeared to be training for cirque de soleil the way she was bending backwards.

  “It’s just she was climbing off my lap. I’ll go right back when the seatbelt sign is on.”

  “We can’t allow passengers to walk freely around the cabin. We have to get through with the beverage service.”

  The tired mom scanned the first-class area, gesturing to the empty seat. “I’ll be out of your way in here.”

  “This area is restricted. I have to ask you to return to your seat.”

  The poor woman hitched the squirrely little girl on her hip and disappeared down the aisle after the flight attendant drew the curtain. This was followed by silly squeaks and squeals so high pitched, a coloratura soprano would be jealous. A few people laughed but I figured there were others who didn’t appreciate the joyful noises of a toddler.

  When the flight attendant returned my way I called her to me. “That woman with the baby. Is she traveling alone?”

  She twisted her brows and gave me a confused expression. “Yes, I believe she is, Miss Darcy.”

  Miss Darcy. This lady knew who I was, or rather, who my brother was. His name was on my itinerary since he paid for the flight. A celebrity brother had its perks even though it was annoying.

  “I would like to switch seats with her.”

  Her confused expression turned to shock. Or she was appalled. I couldn’t figure out which. “I....uh...I’ll have to ask my supervisor.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” I gathered my things which consisted of a small purse and my Kindle. “I’ll just pop into the bathroom while you lead her up here. Then you can show me my new seat.”

  I didn’t wait for her response. I took my time in the first-class bathroom, flossing my teeth and re-applying my lip gloss. By the time I finished, the little girl and the mom were gleefully sharing the seat I vacated with lots of room to wiggle and roam in peace.

  I was feeling pretty darn good about my Christmas good deed, smiling to myself as the flight attendant lead me toward the rear—until I got there.

  “This is you. The middle seat.”

  Yikes. No wonder the tike couldn’t sit still. The seat was tiny and the older woman in the aisle seat hardly tucked in her legs to let me pass. There was approximately three inches between her and the seat in front of her. But the real shocker was the person who occupied the window seat. I first noticed the bag tucked under the seat and a little black nose peeking out from under the folds of mesh. Big, brown eyes regarded me, sorrowfully imploring to be let out—and maybe to jump on me. Again. Reeses and his human stared at me incredulously. The latter, a little more bemused than the other.

  “Bored with champagne and caviar?” His elbow was on my arm rest.

  “What?”

  “I saw you in the fancy section. Were you curious how the other half lives? Or did they kick you out?”

  I nudged my right elbow, knocking his off the arm rest. “Nope. I’m just hoping to get attacked by your dog again.”

  “Attacked?” He laughed. “Yeah, those doggie kisses are mighty lethal.”

  Charming.

  “How do you know I’m not allergic?”

  “If you’re allergic, you probably shouldn’t have tried to pet Reeses earlier.”

  “I wasn’t trying to pet your...Reeses. I was trying to get through your entourage of jail bait so I could plug in my phone.”

  At that point Dog Man‘s lip twitched. I thought at first he was trying to hold back a guilty grin but there was more to it than that. His features spread out to reveal a mouthful of teeth. I’m talking really nice teeth. But that’s beside the point. He was laughing at me. Laughing. At me. The nerve—especially after all the trouble he’d caused me. To crown the whole, his little dog considered the laughter an invitation to join the fun because he slipped out of his mesh bag and jumped on his human’s lap. No biggie. Just a dog on a plane.

  Here’s where I feel I should add a little disclaimer. I loved dogs. Adored them actually. I couldn’t have pets where I lived, but if I could, I’d have adopted a dog. For the time being, I had to settle for visits to California where I got to snuggle with my brother’s cocker spaniel to my heart’s content. So I had absolutely nothing against Reeses. But I was a rule follower and I was pretty sure dogs had to stay put in their carriers while in flight. Dog Man didn’t seem to care one bit.

  “Ya know. If you get caught, they'll issue you a travel ban. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Fine.” I angled my body away from him the best I could in that tiny seat and plugged my earbuds into the armrest. Weird place for the media controls, but whatever. I’d be laughing my head off once that fierce flight attendant put Dog Man in his place.

  But Reeses was swift. It was as though he could sense when someone was coming because he’d jump into his carrier (which was more like a duffle bag) and bury his head under the flap. Then, when the danger passed, he’d leap right back onto Dog Man’s lap with his cute little ears perked up.

  Unbelievable!

  All my efforts to find my happy place were in vain. The lady sitting to my left continued to push the call button. At first
I thought she wanted to complain about Reeses, but she only wanted a pillow. Then a blanket. Then when she was told there were no blankets, she wanted the “waitress” to drape napkins over her shoulders. Of course she was a gem compared to the guy. He seemed to consider himself entitled to my arm rest. His elbow pressed directly over the media controls, either changing my channel or increasing the volume to deafening levels. Each time I kindly asked him to move his elbow, he just said, “Oops.” and replaced it there again after a minute. Seriously. What kind of dummy designed those media controls?

  My only consolation was the short duration of the flight. Soon we’d be in Chicago where I’d catch my connecting flight to Los Angeles and the Dognamic Duo would go to whichever circus they belonged.

  But, oh! Fate was a trickster. Or at least the weather was.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking...”

  CHAPTER THREE - GEORGIA

  The ticketing agent at Fort Dodge Municipal Airport was garnering a little too much amusement at our expense. It was a nightmare scenario out of a Steve Martin movie. Chicago O’Hare runways all slick with black ice. No flights for a couple days out of Fort Dodge, Iowa. But oh, there’s a Motel 6 in town with a great continental breakfast. Happy Holidays.

  I attempted to reason with the lady one last time while the line behind me grew into a collective frown.

  “So you’re telling me you can’t find any flights to LAX? Or at least another airport where I can grab a connecting flight?”

  She lifted one brow and peered at me over her reading glasses. “Listen, I already said...this is a municipal airport.”

  “Yes, but surely they can arrange for some commercial planes to swing by and take all these people where they need to go. Or lots of small planes. It’s Christmas.”

  “I don’t know what Polar Vortex means to you folk in L.A. but here in Iowa it means All. Flights. Grounded.”