I cock an eyebrow. “Make me.”
“You think you are God. I amdeepower here. You are nothing?—”
“You’re in the presence of a hockey legend,” Erik says from behind me.
I peer over my shoulder and nod at my best friend.
He comes to stand next to me. “This man is the former center and team captain for the New York Blazers, three-time Stanley Cup winner, Olympic gold and silver medalist, Triple Gold Club member, and badass businessman Kazimir Lindström.”
“Je m’en fous éperdument.” Étienne stomps a foot against the floor.
I only understand two words of French, but I’m guessing, Little Napoleon doesn’t give a flying fuck about my accomplishments.
“I witnessed it all,” I say. “And I’m telling you, the guy you labeled as good quality client is the culprit.”
“I saw it all unfold as well,” Erik says.
“I didn’t know what was happening at that table, but it didn’t look kosher,” a male patron says.
A few people nod.
Étienne lifts his arms over his head and claps. “Every people stop talking.”
You could cut the tension in the restaurant with a butter knife.
Why would a manager defend a predator at the expense of one of his employees? He isn’t interested in hearing the truth.
My gaze travels to Harley.
The devastation I read in her eyes hits me in the gut.
Dammit, I need to get through Little Napoleon.“Étienne?—”
“It doesn’t matter what you saw,” Mr. Douchebag says, interrupting me. “Harley is responsible for ruining a customer’s suit. Not me.”
A blush crawls up her slender neck. Harley seems to shrink in size and the faint light I spotted in her eyes when I first saw her many minutes ago dies.
“You’re going to pay for my suit on this clumsy waitress’s behalf?”
My attention swings to the woman drenched in tomato and meat sauce. “I told you I would.”
“I don’t know you from Adam or Eve. That one here”—she points to Harley—“nearly caused me third degree burns because of her clumsiness. There’s no salvaging this suit. I want to make sure someone takes full responsibility for my predicament. Because I doubt Broke Hot Mess here?—”
“She has a name. Use it. I don’t want to hear any more insults from your mouth. Not one.” I waggle my finger in her face.
The woman flinches then narrows her eyes on Harley’s name tag. “Harleydoesn’t seem to have two pennies to rub together. I’d rather deal with someone who has money than go through the long proceeding of a lawsuit—which I won’t hesitate to do.”
I glower at her. “I’m not going to repeat myself, lady. I made you a promise, and I intend on keeping it.”So, shut your fucking mouth.
“This whole ordeal was unnecessary.” Mr. Douchebag’s words cause my teeth to clench.
“Yeah, you’re right. All you had to do was keep your filthy paws to yourself.”Don’t touch what’s not yours.My chest rises and falls.
“If she can’t do a decent job, she shouldn’t be working at Grazie Mille. Her actions sullied the reputation of this fine establishment.” Mr. Douchebag glances at the manager. “Our waitress is a liability, don’t you think, Étienne?”
Our waitress?
What?
