Chapter 2
Mr. Dawson dragged me into the service corridor before Victoria had even left the building.
The moment the ballroom doors closed behind us, his professional smile disappeared.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
I stared at him.
“She was going to hit that woman.”
“That woman happens to be Isabella Moretti.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“That makes it worse!”
I blinked.
“How?”
“Because you put your hands on a guest without knowing who was involved.”
“So if she hadn’t been Mr. Moretti’s mother, I should’ve let Victoria hit her?”
His jaw tightened.
“This isn’t about what should happen in some perfect world, Emma. This is hospitality.”
“No. That was assault.”
“Lower your voice.”
I almost laughed.
All night, I had watched powerful people whisper while something ugly happened in front of them.
Now I understood why.
People were terrified of consequences.
So was I.
I just couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen what I saw.
Mr. Dawson rubbed his forehead.
“Victoria Langford is one of our biggest private clients.”
“She just got thrown out.”
“That doesn’t erase three years of contracts.”
My stomach dropped.
“I’m fired.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
That told me enough.
I thought about Dad’s medical invoice sitting under a magnet on our refrigerator.
Two thousand eight hundred dollars.
I thought about Lily’s tuition deposit.
I suddenly felt dizzy.
Mr. Dawson looked away.
“I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
His face hardened.
“Turn in your badge after the event.”
I swallowed.
“Fine.”
I walked back toward the kitchen before he could see my eyes fill.
I hated crying at work.
Especially when I had another four hours left.
I was stacking dessert plates when someone touched my elbow.
I turned.
Isabella Moretti sat behind me in her wheelchair.
A security officer stood several feet away.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Please don’t apologize.”
Her voice was gentle.
Up close, she looked exhausted.
There was something fragile about her, but her eyes were sharp.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
I almost laughed again.
She had nearly been slapped.
She was asking about me.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
I looked down.
“My manager fired me.”
Her face changed immediately.
“Because of what happened?”
“He says I touched a guest.”
Isabella’s hands tightened on the armrests.
“That is unacceptable.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I’ll find something else.”
“Why should you have to?”
I didn’t have an answer.
She studied me.
“You have a family?”
“Yes.”
“Children?”
“No.”
The question made me smile despite myself.
“My dad and little sister.”
“You support them?”
“Mostly.”
She nodded as if she had confirmed something.
Before I could ask what, Vincent entered the corridor.
Every kitchen worker suddenly became fascinated by whatever was directly in front of them.
He looked at his mother.
“There you are.”
“She was fired.”
He stopped.
His eyes moved to me.
“Who fired you?”
I pointed toward the ballroom.
“My manager.”
Vincent’s expression became unreadable.
“It’s fine.”
He looked at me.
“Is it?”
“I touched a guest.”
“You stopped an assault.”
“My manager doesn’t see it that way.”
Vincent glanced toward one of his security men.
“Ask the catering company’s owner to meet me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Mr. Moretti, please don’t.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Why?”
“I don’t want you threatening anybody because of me.”
Something almost amused him.
“You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“That makes two of us.”
Isabella laughed softly.
Vincent looked at her.
She raised one eyebrow.
“Don’t scare the girl.”
“I’m not.”
“You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that makes bankers apologize before you speak.”
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
Vincent looked at me.
For the first time, I saw him smile.
Only slightly.
Then Mr. Dawson entered with a gray-haired man I recognized as Charles Benton, owner of the catering company.
Benton looked terrified.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Mr. Benton.”
Vincent nodded toward me.
“Why was Miss Carter terminated?”
Benton looked at Dawson.
Dawson swallowed.
“She violated company policy.”
“What policy?”
“Physical contact with guests.”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“If someone attempted to strike another guest, your employees are trained to stand aside?”
Dawson’s face reddened.
“No, sir.”
“Then she wasn’t violating your policy.”
Benton jumped in.
“We can correct this.”
I hated how quickly his tone changed.
Ten minutes earlier, I was disposable.
Now I mattered because a billionaire was asking questions.
“I don’t want my job back,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
Even I was surprised.
Dawson frowned.
“Emma.”
I looked at him.
“You fired me for stopping someone from hitting an elderly woman.”
“You were emotional.”
“No.”
I felt strangely calm now.
“I was useful until defending someone inconvenienced you.”
Benton stepped closer.
“We can discuss a promotion.”
“That’s not the point.”
Vincent watched silently.
I removed my server badge.
My hands shook as I placed it on a stainless-steel counter.
“I quit.”
Walking out felt wonderful for approximately thirty seconds.
Then reality returned.
I had no evening job.
No backup savings.
And bills that didn’t care about principles.
I rode the train home after midnight.
Dad was awake on the couch.
He had lost weight.
Too much.
“You’re home early.”
“I quit.”
His eyebrows rose.
Then I told him everything.
Lily came downstairs halfway through and sat beside him.
When I finished, nobody spoke.
I waited for Dad to ask how we would pay everything.
Instead, he smiled.
“I’m proud of you.”
My throat closed.
“We need the money.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
He had no answer.
That scared me more than anything.
Lily looked down.
“I can delay school.”
“No.”
“Emma—”
“No.”
She reached for my hand.
“You can’t carry everyone forever.”
“I’m not carrying everyone.”
Dad laughed weakly.
“Yes, sweetheart. You are.”
I looked away before they saw me cry.
The next morning, I woke to fourteen missed calls.
Most were from unknown numbers.
One voicemail was from Benton Catering offering me my position back.
Another was from a local television station.
A video of what happened had somehow reached social media.
Someone at the gala had recorded everything.
By noon, millions of people had seen it.
WAITRESS STOPS SOCIALITE FROM HITTING ELDERLY WOMAN.
Another headline named Isabella.
Another named Vincent.
My phone became unusable.
Then someone knocked.
I opened the door expecting a reporter.
Vincent Moretti stood on our front porch.
I stared at him.
He wore no tuxedo now.
Just a dark coat and an expression I couldn’t read.
Behind him stood a driver.
I suddenly remembered the laundry drying over the radiator.
The medicine bottles on our kitchen counter.
Dad’s hospital paperwork.
My entire life visible through one open door.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“I hope I’m not intruding.”
“You’re standing outside my house at nine in the morning.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Technically, nine seventeen.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“What are you doing here?”
His expression became serious.
“My mother asked me to find you.”
“Why?”
“She wants to thank you properly.”
“I told her she doesn’t owe me anything.”
“I told her the same thing.”
“And?”
“She reminded me she is my mother and therefore doesn’t require my permission.”
That sounded exactly like Isabella.
I opened the door wider.
Vincent stepped inside.
Then Dad coughed from the living room.
Vincent looked toward him.
Dad slowly stood.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Vincent’s expression changed when he saw the hospital bracelet still around Dad’s wrist.
He looked at me.
“You didn’t mention your father was ill.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Dad gave me a look.
“Manners, Emma.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
Whatever he saw erased the humor.
He answered.
“Moretti.”
He listened.
His eyes went cold.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Keep her there.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked directly at me.
“Victoria Langford just filed a police report.”
My stomach dropped.
“For what?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
May you like
“She says you assaulted her.”
And suddenly quitting my job was no longer the biggest problem I had.
