Page 39 of Knotted

The psycho waitresses elbow each other as they charge after them, chasing the man like he’s the last margarita in Mexico. They shove past me, one slamming into my shoulder with enough force that I nearly hit the floor.

I somehow keep my footing, but the champagne bottle isn’t so lucky. It slips from my grasp, practically falling in slow motion before smashing against the marble with a deafening crash. Which, like all things under enough pressure and at their breaking point, erupts like a geyser.

Golden, bubbly spray goes everywhere, splattering across the floor and drenching Roxana Voss’s pristine designer shoes in thousand-dollar brut.

Massimo rushes over, face pale, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “Ms. Voss, oh, my God, are you all right?”

But Roxana’s focus is locked on me, her eyes narrowing to serpent slits. “You,” she hisses, her voice cold enough to freeze. “You did this.”

“What?” The word slips out, barely a whisper, as every gaze in the room pins me down, the weight of their judgment crushing. I can feel the sting of tears burning at the edges of my eyes, but I fight to keep them at bay. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”

“You dropped the champagne,” Massimo says, his voice low,almost apologetic, like he wishes he didn’t have to say it. “I saw you.”

My heart twists painfully in my chest, the desperation clawing at my throat as I struggle to make him understand. “They bumped into me. It wasn’t my fault.”

Roxana steps forward, her expression icy, her lips a thin, unforgiving line. “My Manolos and purse cost four thousand dollars.”

“Purse?” My voice cracks, frustration and disbelief mingling into something raw and jagged. “I am not responsible for your bucket o’ puke, and your shoes were an...accident.”

Roxana leans in closer, her voice like a cold blade slicing through the air. “If you fire her now, I’ll settle for half.”

The words hang in the air. I see the turmoil in Massimo’s eyes, the way he avoids looking at me. The tension in the room builds, and I know what’s coming, but it doesn’t soften the blow when he finally speaks.

“You’re fired, Jules.”

I stand there, sucker punched and dizzy, as Massimo goes back to fawning over Roxana. “Ms. Voss, we’re truly sorry. Please order whatever you like. To go. And we’ll settle the difference from their paychecks,” he says, each word a nail in the coffin.

“My paycheck?” I choke out, my voice trembling with disbelief and hurt. “My paycheck barely covers the cost of this ridiculous champagne!”

Massimo doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge the unfairness. “Which is why I need to dock it from both yours and Taylor’s pay.”

My stomach lurches. “You can’t do that!” At this point, whatever fight I have crumbles to a plea.

Massimo’s hand lands on my arm, a weak, useless gesture against the tidal wave of humiliation crashing over me. The heat of everyone’s stares burns into my skin, intensifying the shame coursing through me.

I see phones rising, recording my downfall for all the world to see. Again.

I can’t breathe. The room spins, heat wrapping around me in suffocating waves. Massimo delivers the final blow. “Taylor can keep her job if you leave now. Quietly. Before I have to call the cops.”

CHAPTER 16

Brian

For an hour, I’ve been pacing the hall, grinding the carpet down to threads. Guilt claws at my insides, prickly and relentless, refusing to let up.

I never should have brought the kids tonight. The thought of little Snooki being sick because I was desperate to dodge a date with Roxie Voss crushes me with every step.

When Harrison finally emerges from Snooki’s bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him, my nerves stretch to the point of snapping. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. And she’s definitely learned her lesson about downing six cookies before dinner.”

Relief floods through me, and I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, dragging a hand through my hair. “Perfectly good cookies...wasted on Roxana’s purse.”

We head to the kitchen where we can talk without waking the kids. “Beer? Something stronger?” Harrison offers.

“After tonight? The strongest you’ve got. Maybe a notch just below jet fuel.”

He grabs two tumblers from the cabinet and a bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous amount into each glass.

---