Liv had always assumed the tank-size goons were mostly for show, because nothing said I’m a big, important man like bodyguards. But apparently Royce also used them to intimidate the newly fired. Like now.
Sam wrapped a beefy hand around her upper arm. “Let’s go.”
Liv snatched her arm free. “Touch me again and you lose a testicle.”
“Make sure you watch her clean out her locker,” Royce said. “If she tries to steal anything, call the cops.”
Liv whipped around. “That’s rich coming from a guy whose about to release a cookbook full of other people’s recipes.”
Royce’s eyes bulged so far out of his head Liv feared he was having a seizure. “Get her the fuck out of my sight!”
Sam pulled her out of the office.
“You’re not very attached to your balls, are you?” Liv snapped, once again trying to pull from his grasp. This time he simply held on tighter.
At the end of the hallway, Geoff held open the elevator doors, his face ashen as he stared everywhere but at Liv. Sam had less shame. He all but tossed Liv inside.
She rubbed her arm where he’d grabbed her. “How much does he pay you to cover for him?”
They ignored her and instead took up matching wide-legged poses in front of her as if they were afraid she’d bolt as soon as they reached the ground floor.
“Do you know what I just saw in there? What he was doing to her?”
The elevator beeped as they reached the second floor.
“You work for a predator. Who knows what the hell he’s doing to her in there!”
With a soft shake and the groan of metal on metal, the elevator reached the ground floor. The doors slid open, and the sudden silence in the kitchen was as pronounced as the blare of a live band at the Grand Ole Opry. Sam and Geoff stepped sideways to hold the doors open and allow her to exit.
In her year of employment there, Liv had watched a half dozen other employees make this particular walk of shame, and now that it was her turn, she felt guilty for all the times she’d behaved exactly as her fellow prisoners did now. The averted gazes. The there but for the grace of God exhale as she passed. The stink of nervous flop sweat. Liv had smelled the odor often enough in her time there, and now she was the one who stank.
Or maybe it was the goons. They reeked of strong-armed intimidation and also maybe a salami sandwich. Which was a surprise because Liv had always assumed that Royce kept them locked in the basement with nothing but protein powder to snort in between bench pressing each other and snarling incoherently.
Riya was the only one who risked the malodorous contagion by daring to speak to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, hugging Liv.
“I’ll survive,” Liv said, giving her a tight squeeze. She pressed her lips close to Riya’s ears and lowered her voice. “Be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
Sam gave a none-too-gentle shove against her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll talk soon,” Liv said to Riya. Her friend nodded, brown eyes pinched in concern, and Liv was struck with a sudden sickening thought. What if Riya was next on Royce’s list of victims? What if she’d already been the target of his harassment? Liv glanced quickly around the kitchen at all the faces so obviously turned away from her. How many women in that room had he abused? How many were hiding a dark secret like Jessica’s?
And worst of all, how many women was Liv leaving behind to face Royce alone?
Liv stomped to the locker room, Sam and Geoff close behind. Two women were huddled in a corner of the locker room, talking in low, hushed tones when they walked in. The women immediately shut up and scurried out, their eyes glued to the tile floor. One might have even covered her nose.
“You may retrieve your personal belongings, but everything else stays here,” Sam said. “You are also reminded that you signed a nondisclosure agreement when you began working here.”
Geoff cleared his throat. “A copy of your NDA can be provided to you should you need one.”
Liv tapped her temple. “No need. Got it all saved up here. What happens at Savoy stays at Savoy, right?”
“Any violation of this agreement will result in civil litigation,” Sam said.
“You should be careful. Those are big words for you,” Liv said, shoving toiletries in her duffel bag. She held up her deodorant. “Either one of you want this? It’s clinical strength.”
Sam barely blinked. “Any personal items left in your locker will be disposed of.”
Liv shrugged and dropped the deodorant in her bag. “I was trying to be discreet, but I guess I need to be more direct. You stink.”
Sam raised an eyebrow over his ice-blue eyes. Geoff turned his head toward his armpit.
“Probably the steroids. That shit will mess you up.” Liv shut her locker and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “It’s been fun, boys. Now why don’t you both fuck off and die?”
Five minutes later, she stormed into the night. Her bag banged against her thigh with every angry step that took her from the brightly lit alley behind Savoy to the corner. Her car was in a parking garage two blocks away because Royce was too cheap to provide his employees with on-site parking. There was more than enough room behind the building, but oh no. Only Royce got to park there. So instead she and every other person who worked for him faced a nightly game of dodge-the-douchebags on Broadway. At least she could leave this bullshit behind. Her next job was going to be as far away from Honky Tonk Row as possible.
The sour taste of panic stung the back of her throat. Her next job . . . Wait. Would there be a next job? Holy shit, this was really happening. She’d been fired. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts connected by a single underlying question. What the hell do I do know?
Call the cops? He’d assaulted Jessica. She’d asked him to stop. Begged him. And he’d kissed her anyway. Rage returned and turned Liv’s blood to liquid fire. Her fingers gripped the strap of her bag so hard that the fake leather squeaked in protest. Men like Royce Preston thought they could get away with anything, didn’t they? And why? Because they did get away with it. They got off on the power.
She needed to talk to someone, but she couldn’t. And not just because of the NDA but because Jessica didn’t want anyone to know. What the hell was she supposed to tell people about why she was fired? Everyone was going to think she couldn’t hack it, that she was just another flameout in the burning hellfire of Royce’s kitchen. After everything she’d endured and worked for, her career would now bear the permanent stain of this.
Of course, that didn’t matter compared to what Jessica was going through. Why wouldn’t Jessica let her report him? Why would she even want to stay working for an abusive asshole?
She stopped at the corner to wait for the light to change. Fucking men.
“Liv?”
She turned around at the sound of her name.
Of course.
Braden-Fucking-Mack.
“What the hell do you want?”
Of all the things he expected Liv to say when he saw her at the corner, it hadn’t been that. He’d been heading back to his club because it was only a few blocks away and because the thought of going home to his empty house was too depressing to consider, and then he saw her. Hoofing up the street like her bag was on fire.
The light changed with a beep, and Liv whipped back around to cross the street. She didn’t even wait for him to answer her question.
“Liv, wait.” He jogged to catch up with her.
She glared over her shoulder in the crosswalk. “Are you following me?”
“No. I’m going to my club. What are you doing?”
“Going home.”
Dread was a sour taste in his mouth. “What happened?”
Liv looked around. “Where’s your date? Did you stuff her in your trunk or something?”
“She went home.”
“Lucky her.”
They’d reached the other sidewalk by now, and she obviously had no intention of slowing to talk to him.
“Liv, wait. Come on.” He grabbed her arm.
She whipped around swinging. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
Mack held up his hands, truce-like. “I’m sorry. Jesus, just wait. Talk to me. What happened?”
She scoffed. “What do you think happened?”
“Oh, shit. You got fired? Just now?”
“No, yesterday. I just decided to come in and work today for free because I knew you were going to be there and wanted to make something extra special to throw in your date’s lap.”
He probably deserved the sarcasm. She turned again and started walking.
“Liv, wait.” He was saying that a lot tonight. “Jesus, let me do something. Come to my club. I’ll get you a drink.”
“No thanks. You’ve done enough.”
Gavin was going to kill him over this. “At least let me walk you to your car.”
“Why?”
“It’s not safe this late at night for you to walk to your car alone.”
Liv stopped in the middle of the street and faced him head-on. “Are you kidding me right now?” It was clearly a rhetorical question, because she plowed ahead. “I don’t need you. I’ve been walking into that parking garage by myself for a year now. So why don’t you run along and do whatever it is you do when you’re not spending a thousand dollars on a stupid cupcake.”
“Liv, I’m sorry.”
She whipped around again, and this time it hit him. He could fix this.
“Wait.”
She groaned. “What?”
He jogged to get in front of her and started walking backward. He’d be lucky if he didn’t wipe out. “I’ll hire you.”
Liv stopped so fast that her bag fell off her shoulder. There was a pause, and then she tipped her head back and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I am not going to work for you.” She hoisted her bag back onto her shoulder. “Get out of my way.”