Page 34 of Knotted

“Dad’s camo paint. Does it make me look sicker?”

I tilt my head, taking it in. “You’ve nailed that ‘I just crawled out of the grave’ aesthetic.”

“Cool.” He grins and hops into the front seat.

Ollie trails behind, already perfecting a raspy cough, while Little Snooki-Pie arrives cradled in Harrison’s arms, her big eyeswide and innocent. She looks at her father, all sweetness and light. “Do we get ice cream if we do a good job?”

“Only if you get Uncle Brian out in under an hour.” Harrison kisses her on the forehead, and I open the back door as Ollie and Snook slide in, hacking up a storm.

“No acting on the road,” Harrison reminds them, his voice stern but eyes full of mischief. “Save it for the restaurant.”

I shut the door and flash him a grin. “I’ll have them back in a few hours. Want anything from Salvatore’s?”

He shrugs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Sure. Surprise me.”

As we stepinto the restaurant, the maître d’s nose twitches like he just caught a whiff of something that doesn’t quite belong in his five-star establishment.

His gaze lands on the kids, sniffling and coughing like they’ve been cast in a flu medicine commercial. The guy looks like he’s debating whether to call security or a hazmat team.

“Can I help you?” His tone is as warm as a New York City winter.

“Reservation for Bishop,” I say, keeping my voice casual.

He frowns, checking his system. “I only have one reservation for Bishop, and it’s a VIP table for two. Unfortunately, we’re fully booked. We won’t be able to seat you tonight.”

I smile, catching sight of the half-empty restaurant behind him, and lean in. I tap his screen with a casual confidence. “Yes, you have a table for Bishop. Me. And it was for two, but now it’s for five. Privatedining.”

His horrified eyes flick back to the kids, who are doing their best impressions of a grand arrival at death’s doorstep, then back to me.

“And we’ll need kids’ menus,” I add with a smirk.

Bewildered, he stammers, “W-we don’t have kids’ menus.”

Why am I not surprised?

I mean, come on. It’s an Italian restaurant. Pasta, butter, cheese, and breadsticks—this place practicallyisa kids’ menu.

I give him a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He exhales sharply, nodding like a man about to walk the plank. “Right this way.”

CHAPTER 13

Jules

For the record, I’m so over people.

I trudged all the way here on the subway, sandwiched between a guy picking his nose and a woman with her earbuds in, belting out her own private concert, completely unaware of how loud her banshee screeching actually was.

By the time I reach the restaurant, the stench of sweat and cheap cologne clings to me like a bad decision. My skin feels sticky, my hair’s a disaster, and my clothes have somehow absorbed an extra layer of grime.

Taylor better be off picking wedding venues with her future husband, because I am never, ever taking another one of her shifts again. Unless, of course, I decide to quit theHerald—a thought that makes my stomach turn, considering it’s my first official writing gig, and I’ve only been at it for, oh, no time at all.

I slip on my apron and glance at the board. Next to my name are a few table numbers and the dreaded initials: V.I.P. I let out a long, deflated breath. With my luck, I’m in for a night of Very Important Pricks.

Peeking out the door, I spot two VIP tables. One is blissfully empty, but the other is surrounded by a group of rich, entitled jerks. I don’t need to guess—they made it obvious when Lisa walked by, miming obscene gestures like grabbing her ass and licking their lips.

The sight of them makes me want to run straight to the shower. I can already hear Taylor’s voice in my head, reminding me to be on time or risk getting stuck with the worst tables. Which is exactly what’s happened.

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