The Little Barmaid Read online

  The Little Barmaid

  Taylor Holloway

  Copyright © 2020 by Taylor Holloway

  All rights reserved.

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

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Ariel

  2. Ariel

  3. Derek

  4. Ariel

  5. Derek

  6. Ariel

  7. Ariel

  8. Derek

  9. Ariel

  10. Derek

  11. Ariel

  12. Derek

  13. Derek

  14. Ariel

  15. Derek

  16. Ariel

  17. Derek

  18. Derek

  19. Ariel

  20. Derek

  21. Derek

  22. Derek

  23. Ariel

  24. Ariel

  25. Ariel

  26. Derek

  27. Derek

  28. Ariel

  29. Derek

  30. Derek

  31. Ariel

  32. Derek

  33. Ariel

  34. Derek

  35. Ariel

  36. Ariel

  37. Derek

  38. Ariel

  39. Derek

  40. Derek

  41. Derek

  42. Derek

  43. Derek

  44. Ariel

  45. Derek

  46. Derek

  47. Derek

  48. Ariel

  49. Ariel

  50. Derek

  51. Ariel

  Epilogue

  Let Down Your Hair

  Admit You Want Me

  How to get your FREE extended epilogues!

  Also by Taylor Holloway

  Derek Prince is a quadruple threat.

  He can sing, dance, act, and charm the panties off me without breaking a sweat.

  I always wanted to meet my teenage celebrity crush.

  And now I’m in his new movie, shaking my sequined-covered butt right in front of him.

  Instead of serving cocktails in a karaoke joint, this broke little barmaid is finally moving up in the world.

  I’ve been cast as a chorus girl in Derek’s new movie, and I even thinks he likes me, but there’s a massive catch.

  His jealous costar wants him for herself.

  In exchange for a shot at my dream, I promised her I’d stay away from him.

  But Derek’s relentless pursuit of me is creating all sorts of new dreams.

  Steamy, forbidden ones.

  After always wanting to be part of his world, he wants to be a part of mine.

  I want to say yes, but the stakes are sky high.

  My dream, this movie, and his career could be on the line.

  Not to mention my heart...

  ‘The Little Barmaid’ is a sweet and sexy romcom featuring a cocky movie star hero and a stubborn, sassy heroine on a crazy road to happily ever after. It stands alone with no cheating, cliffhangers, or nonsense.

  1

  Ariel

  The first time I saw my uncle Sebastian’s LA karaoke bar, I knew it was my destiny. One day I would sing on that twinkling, beaded curtain-backed stage to rapturous applause. I’d been all of seven years old, so I hadn’t necessarily thought I’d work there as a cocktail waitress for nearly minimum wage or live above it in a tiny studio apartment, but I’d been totally entranced by it. I still was.

  The space was special. Although the club’s heyday was probably around 1977, long before it was a karaoke dive, the shine hadn’t quite rubbed off yet. Even in the third decade of the twenty-first century, Sebastian’s resonated with the music and excitement of the golden age of rock records. From the signed electric guitars on the walls, to the photos of the rock gods and A-list actors of the day, to the more bizarre memorabilia (Sebastian had a signed pair of Jack Nicholson’s shoes and Prince’s lipstick case), it was easy to believe that the whole building had absorbed something special. It was magic.

  “Excuse me,” a random woman said, coming up to me as I was delivering a round of drinks. “The ladies’ room toilets are all stopped up.”

  The bathrooms, however, were only magical in the sense that they were cursed. They were just plain old nasty and got nastier every day. No matter how much I cleaned them or how many times we had a plumber out to repair them, they remained inexplicably disgusting.

  “I’ll, um, I’ll go check on it,” I muttered apologetically. I had to plunge the damn things at least twice a night when we were busy. “I’m so sorry. There’s another bathroom next to the office down the hall.”

  She smiled at me, looking relieved. “Great, thanks!”

  Oh, and the roof leaked when it rained, and a family of squirrels was marking its sixtieth generation in the attic that now belonged to them. But all of that was beside the point. Sebastian’s was magical.

  Although Sebastian’s was no longer the number one place where up-and-comers by the dozen came with all their dreams of being discovered, or where A-list actors came to meet with producers in relative privacy, it was still an LA institution. Thanks to a recent stint on a reality TV show, Sebastian’s was even experiencing a small, second renaissance. The only downside of the bar being busy again was that it meant I had less free time to sing on stage and more tables to bus.

  It was on one of those busy, crazy nights when it seemed like everyone was absurdly thirsty, that my day finally arrived.

  “Hey Ariel,” my uncle said as I was picking up a round of drinks at the bar, “I heard from one of my old studio contacts that a few VIP’s are stopping by tonight.”

  I blinked at him in disbelief. “What?”

  I must have heard him wrong.

  “They’re casting for a movie musical. You should go put your name in the old karaoke machine to sing in front of them.”

  My mouth dropped open. I probably looked like a big mouth bass. “Really?”

  Sebastian grinned at me and winked. With his slicked back black hair and goatee, my uncle always resembled a very friendly and charming devil. His penchant for wearing a red velvet smoking jacket at all times only augmented this appearance. “I told you it would happen eventually.”

  He had, but I’d been waiting for almost a year for something, anything, related to a career break; I hadn’t expected it to be tonight.

  “Who’s coming?” I stuttered, suddenly running through all the songs I knew well and could use as an impromptu audition. I knew a lot of songs…

  “I’m not sure exactly,” Sebastian answered, fiddling with his single, gold hoop earring and regarding me seriously. “Roscoe didn’t say. But I do know that they’ll be here at nine.”

  Roscoe, whoever he was, might’ve given me a bit more lead time. I glanced down at my watch. It was eight fifty-five.

  Crap. I swallowed. Definitely not enough time to do my hair and makeup.

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I squeaked, running my hands down my shirt nervously. I didn’t detect any obvious stains or tears.

  Sebastian shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, I just found out. Don’t worry. You look fine.”

  I hadn’t even straightened my hair tonight. It was piled atop my head in a big, ginger mop and tied with a blue ribbon. My clothes were dark, boring, and meant for work, not performing. My nails were typically bitten-down and hideous.

  “I look like a poodle with under-eye circles,” I groused.

  “You look beautiful,” he promised me comfortingly. “Don’t be scared. You
’ve got this.”

  I definitely didn’t have this. My nerves were suddenly off the charts. In ten seconds flat I’d gone from annoyed about the need to plunge the ladies’ room toilet to terrified of blowing my one chance to sing in front of someone influential.

  “What should I sing?” I asked, hoping that whoever had tipped off Sebastian had given him some details that would help me. My voice was uneven, and it felt like there was a softball lodged in my throat.

  “It’s a live action movie musical,” Sebastian said, “so maybe break out your Frozen song?”

  I nodded. Good idea. ‘Let it Go’ was always a showstopper. Not too many people could nail that high E flat like it was nothing. But high notes were my thing. I’d been practicing this particular song for long enough that I could spit out high E flats like they were middle C’s. I could even belt out high C’s if I needed to.

  He reached out to pat my hand, which was trembling slightly. “They’re here,” he said, nodding toward the entrance. I didn’t dare look behind myself. It would only make me more nervous to look at them right now. “Quick, go get up there. I’ll watch your tables,” Sebastian said, shooing me off.

  I rushed off behind the stage, rearranging the paying customers’ songs so I could go next. They’d forgive me when I was a giant star.

  I couldn’t believe this was finally happening. Over the past four years I’d been attending UCLA and working at the bar part-time. Since obtaining my BFA, I’d just been spinning my wheels, attending audition after audition and going nowhere. I wanted to sing, dance, and act for a living, but there are an awful lot of other talented people who want the same thing. And it turns out that performing arts degrees are not the most marketable when it comes to finding a ‘real job’ to tide me over. But now, finally, I had a real opportunity.

  My heart was thumping urgently in my chest, pounding on my ribs like a xylophone. I peeked out from behind the curtain. And then I nearly fainted. Derek Prince, the star of all my teenage fantasies, was sitting in the audience and looking bored.

  Screw the Hollywood big wigs. I was going to sing for Derek Prince. He was so talented that he made Neil Patrick Harris and Hugh Jackman look like they belonged in the chorus line, and so sexy that he replaced Chris Hemsworth as my Hollywood crush. As part of the Prince family, literally the reigning dynasty of Hollywood fame and fortune, Derek Prince had it all going for him. He was one O away from EGOTs. And I’d been crushing on him for nearly six years.

  I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and counted backward to settle my nerves as the old karaoke machine spun up the right recording. The guy in front of me was busy belting out the last few bars of the Garth Brooks’ classic, ‘Friends in Low Places.’ He was a tenor. It didn’t really work. I tried not focus on the sour notes.

  Ten.

  I could do this. I’d performed harder material in front of harder audiences. In high school I had to play King Lear in an all-girls production. There had been a fake beard and robe involved. It was a good role, but obviously there is nothing easier for a seventeen-year-old girl than dressing up as a seventy-year old man in front of all her friends.

  Nine.

  No matter what, at least I wasn’t plunging a toilet right now. Usually it overflowed too. This is what I wanted to do with my life, not manual labor. Definitely not routine toilet maintenance. Ever since I was a child, I’d dreamed of performing.

  Eight.

  And I was pretty good at it. I’d been dancing since age six, taking singing lessons since age ten, and reading music since twelve. I could tap dance, I could go up on pointe and pirouette like a boss, and I could even do the splits while singing.

  Seven.

  The applause was what made it all worth it. Even if it was just the eight or nine regulars clapping for me on a slow Tuesday night, applause was a drug for me. Ever since my first ballet rehearsal in kindergarten, I’d been living for the applause.

  Six.

  My parents wanted me to go to law or medical school. In my father’s family, those were the two acceptable career paths. But I was living out here, pretending to be studying for the LSAT, because it was my dream. I wasn’t going to give up my dream just because my parents thought it was silly, frivolous, and unlikely to support me.

  Five.

  Besides, I really needed this to pan out for me soon. I was barely scraping by on my tips. Working at the karaoke bar was great, but it was barely feeding me.

  Four.

  If I didn’t get this job, I might have to move back to Sacramento soon. I’d find myself enrolled in Stanford Law whether I liked it or not. My parents would win by sheer economics, because I wouldn’t be able to afford idealism anymore. I had to make this work.

  Three.

  And the right people were out there right now. Hopefully. Maybe one of them would see me and think, sure, let’s give this girl a try. That’s all I wanted, a try. A chance. If I just got a chance, I knew I could prove myself.

  Two.

  And Derek Prince was out there. He had the grace of Gene Kelly, the low baritone of Bing Crosby, and the granite hard jawline of Robert Pattinson. My knees felt weak. Would he like my voice? Would he even look up?

  One.

  I could do this. I was going to do this. I stepped out on stage as the first few notes filled the air. I smiled at the audience. Derek Prince was gone. I swallowed my disappointment. The show must go on.

  2

  Ariel

  I nailed the song. The crowd gave me a standing ovation and it scratched that deep itch for validation that was always gnawing at me. I soaked in the praise and then I went to clean the bathroom. Unfortunately, the show must go on in more ways than one. Sebastian’s had a big bachelorette party coming in soon and those ladies always consumed a lot of liquids. The bathrooms needed to be functioning, and that was my job.

  Derek Prince didn’t hear me sing. I really shouldn’t be disappointed; it wasn’t like he cared about who I was, but it still made me feel vaguely frustrated. I’d daydreamed about the man since I first saw one of his Broadway shows when I was fifteen, but there was nothing to be done. I’d performed well. And now, I was cleaning a bathroom well. I was a woman of many talents and it would eventually pan out.

  I hoped.

  When I emerged, triumphant and with plunger in hand, Ursula Jones was waiting in the hallway. I recognized her instantly.

  Crap.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” I stuttered at the movie star. “The bathrooms are fixed now.”

  “Actually,” she told me, “I was wondering if I could have a word with you. You’re Ariel Cross, aren’t you?”

  I nodded my head, hoping I wasn’t in trouble. I thought through the last fifteen or twenty minutes. I didn’t think I’d done anything to deserve a complaint. “Yes.”

  An A-list movie star knew my name? I could barely believe it.

  “Do you have a second?” She was staring at me interestedly.

  I blinked at her, hoping that I wasn’t hallucinating. Was this how big breaks got had for struggling ingenues like me? I didn’t really know. This felt unusual though. “Sure.”

  “In private?” she asked, looking around like she was concerned about being overheard.

  I nodded uncertainly. “Oh, um, we can go to my uncle’s office to talk. It’s quieter back there.” I led her back two doors down.

  What was happening?

  I committed myself to just going with it.

  Ursula waltzed into my uncle’s office and set up shop behind his big, metal desk. I sat down in front of it in the very uncomfortable wooden chair, totally confused. She had me at a huge disadvantage, and not only because she took the position of power in this conversation. She knew what was going on. I definitely didn’t. I crossed my legs nervously.

  “You have a very beautiful singing voice,” Ursula told me, perhaps interpreting my utterly confused expression, “and I want it for my next film.”

  She was staring at me evenly. I stared back, nonp
lussed.

  She wanted what?

  How?

  Ursula didn’t blink much. She had played an urbane, glamorous, remorseless vampire in the only film I’d ever seen her in. She’d since bleached her dark hair a platinum blonde. She still kind of looked like a vampire to me though. She was very beautiful, stunning even, with an oval face, large eyes, and a pointy little nose. Yet her high forehead and widow’s peak, coupled with her wide mouth and highly arched brows, suggested something vaguely threatening, especially with the look she was leveling at me now. Her eyes were a piercing dark blue.

  “You want… what exactly?” I stammered. How would she get my voice? Did that mean she wanted to cast me in something? Or was she going to rip out my throat? I reminded myself she wasn’t really a vampire.

  “I’m about to start filming a musical,” she explained, smiling at me in a way that felt fake. “I’ll be opposite Derek Prince, who I’m sure you know can sing the birds down from the trees. He’s the king of Musical Theater. But I have a gigantic problem. I’m not satisfied with my voice, and it’s just not right for the role. But my agent was very clever when she negotiated this deal for me. She made sure that I would be able to do 100% of my vocals in the studio. I’ve got an idea that I want to discuss with you.”