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t-shirt guys were setting up speakers and another had a couple cheap lights on stands.
    They were setting up for a concert.
    Blake was setting up for a concert in his fucking bar.
    He wanted to grab the nearest t-shirt guy by the shoulder and ask who the hell gave them all permission to do this, but Yanmei’s presence pointed to a single culprit. Was she out of her mind? Sure, he gave her a lot of authority as manager, but this was the sort of thing one really should ask for permission from one’s boss for.
    “Cal!”
    There she was, hollering his name. She jogged up to him, grinning, and did a little turn on the floor, spreading her arms to show off the stage fixtures.
    “What do you think?”
    Cal was flabbergasted.
    “What do I think? I think you organized a concert without my permission, let a bunch of people into my bar, and need your ass beat.”
    Yanmei’s expression crumpled. She stopped dead in her tracks.
    “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said. “Like, a good surprise.”
    “How is any of this good?”
    Now she was eyeing him like he was the crazy one.
    “Uh, a top-forty artist is playing a secret show in our bar for free . You can’t put a price on this kind of advertising. And we’re going to be packed tonight.”
    Those were all things that were factually correct, but what about his authority? What about asking him for permission?
    “I just can’t believe you didn’t let me know first,” Cal said, aghast.
    “You’re always telling me to take some initiative,” she countered. “With advertising and stuff.”
    “This isn’t advertising! This is letting a stranger turn our bar into a circus!”
    “He’s not a stranger to you. I figured any friend of yours was a friend of mine.”
    Cal took a step back from her and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not happening. Maybe if he clenched his eyes shut and clicked his heels three times, he’d wake up back in Kansas.
    Yanmei looked worried now.
    “You’re really not happy about this, are you?”
    “No, I’m not.”
    She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
    “I can cancel,” she offered. “At least probably. I’ve already put word out to a couple guys, but there’s probably still time—”
    She sounded choked, rushed, on the verge of panic. Cal could see it in her posture, the way she withdrew a little, folding her arms tightly over her chest.
    Suddenly, he felt like an asshole.
    She’d only been trying to help. Sure, it had gone exceptionally wrong, but she thought she was doing him a favor.
    He clenched his teeth, let out a frustrated growl. If she canceled now, she’d look like an idiot in front of professionals who respected her. That wasn’t fair. But if he didn’t force her to cancel, he’d have to stand in his own bar and listen to fucking Blake Bradley, Country Superstar take it over. He wasn’t sure he could handle that.
    Maybe he could just go home sick.
    Although that would undoubtedly get back to Blake, who’d take it as a victory, the smug prick.
    No.
    Cal would grin and bear it. Because that was what Cal did.
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said. Yanmei regarded him doubtfully, but he forced a smile.
    “You sure?”
    “Positive. I shouldn’t be shitty with you about taking that initiative.”
    “I’ll say.” She paused, squinted one eye at him, assessing him in silence. “One of these days, you and I are going to have a sit-down and you’re going to tell me what the deal is between you and him.”
    Cal couldn’t help but dart a glance over to Blake, who was obliviously tuning his banjo over by the stage.
    “The deal?” He tried to plead ignorance.
    “I’m smarter than I look. Come on, give me some credit. You threw Blake in my lap like a hot potato yesterday and now you stomp in here like you’d happily burn the bar down to get rid of him.”
    Cal released a heavy sigh, his chest deflating. Was it that obvious? He thought he’d handled things at least