His Blushing Bride_The Cocktail Girls

  His Blushing Bride

  The Cocktail Girls Series

  Emilia Beaumont

  Contents

  His Blushing Bride

  Blushing Bride Cocktail

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Get Drunk On Love

  Also by Emilia Beaumont

  About the Author

  Royal Master Teaser

  Copyright © 2018 by Emilia Beaumont

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  If you have received a copy or downloaded an illegal version of this book, please consider purchasing a legitimate copy so that I may continue to write stories for you. Thank you.

  Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Blushing Bride Cocktail

  Ingredients

  100ml perfectly chilled Champagne

  25ml Peach Schnapps

  25ml Grenadine Syrup

  Method

  Pour the syrup, which will give the cocktail its distinctive pink hue, and the schnapps into a champagne flute. Next, find a handsome gentleman who will treat you right, to pop your cork. Allow the bubbles go to your head for as long as desired. No need to rush. Let him take his time to worship you. But don’t forget to come back to top the rest of the glass up with champagne!

  1

  Ethan

  “Hello, Mother. Checking in on me already?” I said, stopping in the hallway to begrudgingly answer my phone.

  I was heading through the Millennium Hotel after my sales meeting to catch up with a college buddy.

  “Can’t a mother call her son when she wants? Besides, I just wanted to see if the meeting went okay, you know the hotel is one of our oldest clients and the place is great for promoting visibility,” my mother continued without even the simplest greeting.

  “I’m well aware of that, and the meeting went fine. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Oh, but I always worry. You have a long way to go if you think you’re ready to fill your father’s shoes.”

  Here it comes, I thought, getting ready for a lecture. Such remarks, as well as tension, were ever present since the death of my father six months ago. The constant insinuation that I wasn’t ready to run the business, that I didn’t take it seriously, always underlined every conversation we had lately. In other words, she and the rest of the family simply didn’t think I was good enough.

  Perhaps I did not take the role as seriously as I should have, but who wanted a salesman constantly badgering them every moment of every day? I’d already proven myself. I was well qualified for taking over the reins without the need to start from the ground up again. I’d been helping to manage all aspects of the business for years since graduating from Stanford, one of the best Business and Management schools in the state.

  “Was there anything else, ‘cause I have to go, Mother. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Indeed, that is actually something I need to talk to you about,” she said with a curious tone that prevented me from hanging up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for the big reunion next week. We agreed that you would be settled by then. I presume you do not have a secret fiancée that you haven’t told us about? You act like signing over the company is still a foregone conclusion, a simple formality, but you aren’t going to meet the stipulations are you, despite all your assurances?”

  “Wait, are you serious?” I said, my voice quickly rising. “You’re always talking about that, but I thought you were joking. Are you telling me now that it’s an actual requirement? That’s ridiculous.”

  I was pacing the side hallway away from the entrance of the hotel, as my irritation and confusion grew, I almost crashed into someone who was heading down the opposite direction. The woman also looked distracted and somewhat flustered, and merely uttered a fleeting apology. She quickly veered around me as she sped toward her destination. The glimpse I caught of her halted me in my tracks for the longest moment. Her dark lashes, the elegant shape of her lips, her strawberry blond hair all made their mark on me as she passed by. I watched as she went through a staff door and vanished from sight.

  “Are you even listening to me?” my mother said, barking down the phone. “Ethan, tell me you have read the contracts?”

  “So you’re telling I have to get married before I can take over the business?”

  “Mmm, not quite,” my mother replied. My shoulders dropped with sudden relief. “You only need to be engaged and have a date booked for the wedding to meet the stipulations laid down by your father… and his father before him. Don’t forget your cousin is already married and quite willing—”

  “Mom, stop.” This veiled threat was enough for today, I needed to process the information. I needed a drink. “Look I’m sure this can be worked out. But I have to go now,” I said, hanging up. Gee thanks Pops for screwing up my life, yet again!

  I shook off my annoyance and turned back to go inside. The “Little Black Dress” gentleman’s club was a glorious refuge for the elite. Though nowadays it was not so exclusive, you only needed the funds for the membership and the right attire. Old dark wood paneled the walls between ornate carved columns, and deep red carpeting welcomed your feet as you entered. Ancient leather wingback seats tucked away in one corner, beckoned. Perfect for secretive meetings.

  It was often a great place for rubbing elbows with powerful people and nurturing business opportunities. But for me it was really just a drinking hole, a place to relax, when friends were in town. Nick was already waiting when I got to the club and promptly ordered the drinks when he saw me arrive.

  “Hey, man,” I said as I greeted him with a hearty handshake and a firm slap on the shoulder before slumping into the waiting chair. I sank into the luxurious comfort, letting out a troubled sigh.

  “What’s up bud? You look a little rattled.”

  “As you might imagine, it’s my mother.” I rolled my eyes and lent forward in the chair.

  “Figures,” he replied with a knowing nod.

  Neither of my parents had ever seen eye to eye with Nick or any of the antics we’d gotten up to in our younger years. He was always coming up with hare-brained schemes, and roping me into joining. Getting me into trouble. But he was my closest friend and confidant.

  “Well get this, apparently there’s some crazy stipulation in the contract about my marital status if I want to take over the family business.”

  “Seriously? Do you have to be married or something?” laughed Nick.

  “Yeah, well no, I just have to be engaged. I can’t believe my dad did this to me.”

  I could already see Nick’s devious brain ticking over as he leaned forward as well.

  “He obviously had his reasons, but this isn’t something you should be overly worried about. Getting engaged doesn’t sound too tricky,” he started with a slight shrug, as if the whole thing was something to be crossed off a to-do list. Like choosing out a would-be wife was as ea
sy as picking up a carton of milk.

  “What? How do you figure that out?” I exclaimed. For the second time in ten minutes I was playing catch up with a conversation in which my personal life was the main topic.

  “Think about it, you can get engaged without having to go through with it right? All you need is a willing participant. Easy. Look around. Look where you are. This is Las Vegas, after all!”

  “But all by next week? I’m screwed, how the hell is that going to happen?”

  2

  Peach

  I rushed from the staff area throwing open the old heavy door into the club. I was still trying to adjust the hem of my dress in my haste, and it seemed reluctant to cooperate. I really needed to get a new wardrobe, but the old, borrowed black skater dress with a scoop-neck would have to do for now until I could afford to buy my own LBD.

  The door behind me clattered shut as if in disapproval of my hasty treatment of it. The noise echoed across the relatively quiet lounge drawing far too much attention in my direction.

  I was perhaps ten minutes late, but the last thing I needed was to announce my arrival. I hadn’t seen Mr. Donatello yet, the rather strict and overbearing bar manager. I could not afford to get into any trouble, I needed this job so badly, and he had quite the opinion on punctuality. He was like a power hungry school principal with nothing else to occupy his time but to travel the halls—or in my case the bars—waiting to pounce on unsuspecting tardy cocktail waitresses.

  Rounding the corner to the bar itself, believing I was in the clear, I was confronted with him. Speak of the devil and he’ll appear, I thought with a groan.

  He was about to leave through the main doors on his usual prowling inspection of all the hotel’s bars. The Millennium hotel was quite a massive complex with several drinking establishments but of course, it would be my luck that he would start here in the “Little Black Dress”, the most exclusive and elegant of them all.

  Maximo Donatello saw me and stopped, turned to me tapping his watch. I cursed, if only I’d been five or fifteen minutes late he may have never even seen me or realized my absence. But my noisy entrance and flustered manner was a dead giveaway.

  “Sorry, Mr. Donatello,” I said, quietly pausing in front of him, “it won’t happen again.”

  “Let’s see that it doesn’t, Peach. Because this will most certainly be appearing on your appraisal next week. You’re still only a temp remember!”

  “I understand, Mr. Donatello.”

  I edged my way past him towards the bar. He thankfully seemed content with my capitulation and left without any further remark on the matter. At the bar I was met by my favorite colleague April, she was watching Maximo leave and rolled her eyes as I approached.

  “You’ll get your hide tanned if you’re not careful,” she said mockingly.

  “I know right? That guy is an asshole.”

  “Where have you been anyhow?” she asked.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but actually I was downstairs. Did you see the ballroom?” I asked with a giddy whisper.

  “Yeah, I guess, there was a massive wedding yesterday, they’re still trying to clear the place up.”

  “It looked amazing, I couldn’t resist taking a peek.”

  “Wow, you really are obsessed aren’t you? Anything wedding related and you lose your tiny little mind. You’re in the wrong job, kiddo.

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “I hope you weren’t stealing anything.”

  “Oh, I’m not that bad. I’m not a klepto. I just got a little distracted is all.”

  The cough from behind the bar broke up our conversation as Mike, tonight’s bartender, slid over two drinks.

  “Scotch for table three,” he said to April.

  “Thanks, Mike,” said April, before turning to me. “Actually, would you mind? I haven’t had my break yet and I’m dead on my feet. Table four will probably be ready for another round as well, but watch yourself they are getting a little rowdy.”

  “No worries, babe,” I replied, picking up a tray and collecting the drinks. It was the least I could do. April had been the one to lend me the work-dress I’d needed as well as get my foot in the door. She was an out of work actress like me, so we stuck together and looked out for each other.

  Across the room I could already see the brewing agitation at table four. There were five guys around the small table and their voices were easily the most prominent in the place. The club was generally far more laid back, much like the two men on the table nearby that I was heading for, but it wasn’t like the hotel was going to turn away paying guests.

  I arrived with the drinks at table three to hear a conversation that certainly piqued my interest. I carefully deposited the necessary napkins and tumblers with practiced grace and precision while eavesdropping, hoping I could blend into the background and the wouldn’t notice me.

  “But all by next week? I’m screwed, how the hell is that going to happen?” said the first customer, who had his back to me but had oddly familiar dark hair. I had the strange sense of déjà-vu as my gaze tumbled over him. Had we met before?

  “Give yourself a little credit. It’ll be easy. I’m sure there’s plenty of women who’d jump at the chance. You know what girls are like, they love all that wedding stuff,” remarked his drinking partner.

  “I know I totally do,” I found myself blurting out. So much for being discreet. The word “wedding” had caught me like a fishing hook and hurled me out of the waters of professional decorum onto the shore of personal involvement.

  “See?” exclaimed his drinking partner before I could excuse or dismiss myself, “here’s a willing participant already. Are you busy next week? My man Ethan is in a bit of a bind. And you look perfect for the role. Fancy being a bride for a day?”

  “Quit it, Nick. I can’t just go around asking any random woman, no offense,” Ethan said, interrupting his friend and turned to apologize to me, however he paused when our eyes met.

  We had met before.

  It was the man from outside. I’d only glanced at him earlier, but his unmistakable eyes provided immediate recognition, and also stole one beat of my heart.

  “Please don’t pay any attention to my soon to be ex-friend here, I apologize for his remarks,” he said with sincerity.

  “Not to worry, though it does sound like something that I would be very interested in,” I replied with an accommodating smile. “Weddings are kinda my thing.”

  “Your thing?” he asked as he studied me thoughtfully for a moment longer and appeared to be about to say something when there was a call from table four behind me.

  “Hey cutie! How about a little service here?”

  “Sorry, duty calls.” I grimaced and turned to deal with the other customers. “What can I get for you gentlemen?” I asked politely through clenched teeth.

  “How about champagne, you guys want champagne?” the man, and obvious ringleader, asked around the table. “We’re celebrating you see, clinched a big deal today, worth millions!” he added, apparently for my benefit. Maybe if I played my cards right, a nice tip would be headed my way, so I pinned a smile to my face and waited for his order.

  It was clear they’d been celebrating, there was already the hint of a slur in his voice and his friends were mostly talking and drinking, paying little attention.

  “Guys how about it, champagne?” he asked louder which drew most eyes around the table to him with varying looks of distracted confusion.

  The drinker close by to my left however seemed suddenly more interested in the hem of my black dress that would not stay down, no matter how many times I’d tried to iron it or smooth it.

  “Yep, millions. Imagine what we could do with that kind of money. How about it, honey? Want a taste of the action? We’ll make it worth your while,” he insinuated, fluffing the hem of my dress a little so that it fluttered higher with the breeze he was creating.

  “Sir, stop. And please keep your hands to yourself,” I exclaimed patting t
he dress back down and shifting to my right. “This is not that kind of place.”

  Unfortunately my protests did little to dissuade his attentions, and he became far more intent on seeing up my skirt before I could move out of reach. He tipped his seat and leaned out with both hands, and threw up my skirt again.

  “Oh! You kinky-bitch! What do we have here? What’s this?” he asked. He then grabbed at my leg and with the other hand wrapped a finger under the secret garter I wore. It was just a silly little thing I did, something that made me feel special, like all those brides that got the chance to wear the special garment. But now, wearing it was coming back to haunt me.

  “Get off!” I demanded, trying to escape his clutches.

  As I retreated, his seat slammed back to the ground, the garter did not escape his grip but instead pinged off with a ripping snap. He landed back in his seat laughing. Anger overcame my embarrassment and I was about to find a drink to throw at him, if not a chair, when the stranger from table three, Ethan appeared between us.

  “Alright guys, that’s enough. How about you apologize to the nice lady. I think you’re forgetting how easily they revoke membership around here. Let’s have a little respect shall we?” he said, his quiet sincere manner now surprisingly confident and commanding.

  Oh great, now I’m the damsel in distress.

  “Sir, please go back to your table. I’ve got this, I don’t need saving,” I directed at Ethan, “and as for you guys, you have crossed the line, you’re cut off. You’re not going to be served anymore tonight. I suggest you leave before there are greater ramifications.”

  There was a few murmurs, then an agreement around the table that it was their time to move on. And with suggestions of strippers and gambling that awaited them elsewhere they stumbled their way out.