She leaped out of her chair with a shriek, grabbing the bag and clutching it to her chest. “Don’t you touch this!” she screamed.
“I didn’t, I’m so sorry, my apron just—”
SMACK.
The sound of the slap echoed through the massive dining room like a gunshot. The impact snapped my head to the side. A blinding flash of pain erupted across my cheekbone, and the sudden force threw my off-balance pregnant body backward. My heel caught on the edge of the thick carpet.
I went down hard.
My tray clattered against the adjacent table, sending all three champagne bottles crashing to the floor. The heavy glass shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, splashing freezing alcohol all over my uniform and the pristine floor.
I hit the ground on my side, my hands instinctively flying to cradle my stomach. Panic seized my throat. The baby. My elbow struck the floor, sending a jarring shockwave up my arm, and a sharp piece of broken glass sliced through my stocking and deep into the flesh of my knee. I gasped, the wind knocked out of me, tears of instant humiliation and physical shock springing to my eyes.
The entire club went dead silent. The soft classical music playing over the speakers seemed suddenly deafening.
I lay in the puddle of champagne and broken glass, trembling. Warm blood trickled down my shin. I looked up, terrified, expecting someone, anyone, to help me.
Instead, Marcus materialized beside the table, pale and sweating. He didn't look at me. He looked at Victoria, who was hyperventilating, holding her bag like it was a lifeline, her eyes wild.
“Ms. Sterling, I am so incredibly sorry,” Marcus stammered, bowing his head. “I have no idea what she was thinking. Are you hurt?”
“She tried to grab my bag!” Victoria shrieked, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me as I struggled to sit up among the shards. “She put her filthy hands on it! I want her arrested!”
“No, I swear I didn’t,” I choked out, a sob breaking my voice. I tried to push myself up, but my hands slipped in the spilled champagne. “My apron just brushed it. Please.”
“Shut up,” Marcus snarled at me, his voice low and vicious. He turned back to Victoria with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Security will handle her immediately, Ms. Sterling. She is fired. Effective right this second. Her final paycheck will be withheld to cover the cost of these bottles. I will personally see that she never works in this county again.”
Victoria’s friends began to laugh nervously, whispering to each other. Victoria stood tall, smoothing her dress, a cruel, triumphant smirk returning to her lips. She had destroyed me in seconds, and the world was letting her do it.
I looked down at my bleeding knee, the reality crushing my chest. I had lost my job. I was going to be evicted. I was entirely, completely alone. I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the security guards to grab my arms and drag me out into the alley.
But no one grabbed me.
Instead, the distinct, heavy sound of a wooden chair scraping against the floorboards cut through the silence. It came from the darkest corner of the dining room, a shadowy booth usually reserved for privacy.
I turned my head.
A large, broad-shouldered man stood up. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo or a tailored suit. He wore faded denim, heavy, scuffed combat boots, and a worn leather cut over a black flannel shirt. His gray hair was tied back, and a jagged scar ran down the side of his weathered jaw.