A more violent thought hits me with force.
Little Napoleon is the culprit. He’s the one screwing the Brazilian owner and Mr. Douchebag is involved someway. I’m certain of it.
Although all the legal papers are signed and I have the power to act on the Brazilian owner’s behalf, I tread with caution.
Today is about reconnaissance.
I don’t want to expose my cards yet.
If Étienne is crooked, it’s no wonder he doesn’t care about doing the right thing.
My gaze lands on Harley. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?” The truth needs to come out. Little Napoleon needs to see sense.
Her eyes tear up.
Fuck.
“Well—”
“What is done is done.” Étienne doesn’t allow her to speak. “Harley caused the good customer to be hurt. The hot tomato sauce it can burn the customer skin. The customer is telling usshe will sue. That is because of Harley.” He turns to face her. “Your work not good. You are fired.”
What the fuck?
“You can’t fire me,” Harley says. “This was an accident caused by?—”
“You were late today?—”
“By three minutes?—”
“Yesterday, same. Three minutes late.”
Why is this guy being such a hardass?
Harley frowns. “You called me on my day off at eleven-thirty to come in because you were short-staffed?—”
“Not a reason for you to be three minutes late.”
This guy has zero professional decorum. You don’t air your dirty laundry in front of patrons. It leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths.
As much as I’m dying to unleash my full wrath on this moron, losing my temper won’t benefit Harley.
“No more talk. You go.” Little Napoleon slashes a hand through the air.
I get in his face and tower over him. “You have no right to humiliate her that way and you have no right to fire her. You’re a scumbag.”
“I amdeepower here,monsieur.” Those words reek of dictatorship.
I lock eyes onto her. “Harley.” Her name leaps out of my mouth.
She lifts a hand up, cutting me off. “Drop it, Kaz.” With that, she turns on her heel and rushes out of the dining room.
I ready myself to go after her, but a commotion stops me in my tracks.
“NYPD! Everyone stay where you are.”
Who the hell contacted the police?
My gaze lands on Mr. Douchebag.
