Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,9
in the 1970s. But that had been shuttered fifteen years ago, and the building had sat vacant until she bought it for a song. She’d known it was going to need work but had underestimated just how much. The leak in the lobby ceiling was only the latest in a series of problems—electrical fires causing her to have to rewire, pipes freezing—that had demanded influxes of cash that was supposed to be going to operating and payroll.
What was she going to do? She was already running as lean an operation as she could. She had only two full-time employees—Marjorie Nicolson, who did box office and admin, and Richard Lanister, who was her tech guru and jack-of-all-trades, overseeing set building and running the light board during shows. Everyone else was part-time—the concessions kid, for example, who wasn’t eighteen, which was a new little problem to deal with. The cast and crew she hired on contract for each show. The ushers worked for free in exchange for getting to see the show. Everything else she did herself, meaning not only was she the Moonflower Bay Theater Company’s artistic director, she was also its janitor.
So she needed to think of something, and she needed to think of it quick. Something more than wine in a can.
She was starting to get kind of panicky, so she pulled out her phone. There had been a football match today, and though she’d checked the final score, she hadn’t had time to do anything beyond that. Even though her beloved Crystal Palace had lost, watching the match highlights would soothe her.
Except…Ugh. She’d forgotten that as part of her attempt to cut her personal expenses because she’d started paying herself less, she’d dumped the app that was the only way to watch English Premier League football in Canada. It had gone in a moment of resolve, along with Netflix and even the Wi-Fi in her apartment—she had Wi-Fi at the theater and that was enough, she’d reasoned. “Ugh.” She said it out loud this time.
“Everything okay here?” Benjamin was back.
“Yep, I just forgot I’m out of data this month,” she lied. She didn’t like anyone knowing about her money troubles, but she especially didn’t want him knowing. Showing weakness in front of Benjamin Lawson was not in her playbook. “And since you’re a troglodyte with no Wi-Fi, I can’t check how the football match went earlier.”
“Who needs Wi-Fi at a bar?” he said. “You come to a bar to forget your troubles, not surf the internet.”
She rolled her eyes. She’d have to go back to the theater and pull up some of her UK sites to get a recap. Damn, she was going to miss watching matches this season. But when it came down to it, what was more important, football or the theater? No question. She slung her purse over her shoulder and hopped off her stool.
“Hang on, though, I think I get English Premier League soccer.” Benjamin picked up a remote and aimed it at one of the TVs mounted above the bar. “I get my NFL from this app that I think now has English Premier League, too.”
“Are you kidding me?” she practically shouted, not sure if she was happy he had the app or mad that he’d never mentioned it.
He shot her a look. “Calm yourself.” He futzed with the TV, and there it was. He pulled up the menu and handed her the remote. “Knock yourself out.”
“Hang on a sec,” she called after him. He’d been on his way down the bar but he came back, eyebrows raised impatiently. “If you don’t have Wi-Fi in this bar, how do you run the app?” His face froze. Ha. Busted. “You do have Wi-Fi!”
“Keep your voice down,” he whisper-yelled, looking around and leaning in like they were preparing to do a drug deal. “Yes, I have Wi-Fi—in the whole building. I need it for some of the streaming services and apps I need to show the sports people want.” He gestured at the TV above them. “Like your precious soccer.”
“And no one has put two and two together before?” She’d seen people ask him for the Wi-Fi password before and him answer that there wasn’t one.
“Look, I just want this to be a certain kind of place—a place where people can hang out and not be slaves to their phones.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that it really matters. They already are. I just figure I don’t have to help them along with Wi-Fi.”