Page 13 of Wrecked By You
“No room for butterfingers in this job, Miss Reyes. Looks like your first paycheck will go toward paying for breakages.”
An overwhelming need to defend myself came over me. “I’ve only broken this one glass.”
“Which just happens to be crystal and expensive. This is an exclusive establishment. One you’re clearly not used to.”
A tightness spread through my chest. Looked as though I’d be back at the agency tomorrow begging for scraps.
Johannes plucked the broken glass from my hand. “You’ve cut yourself.”
I glanced down. My palm was covered in blood. “Oh.” I wavered. The sight of blood always made me woozy. Ever since that night when—
“Come with me.”
Johannes gripped my elbow, propelling me along the bar and through the throngs of people. I skipped to keep up with his long strides. We entered his office, and he pointed at the same chair I’d perched on earlier today.
“Sit.”
My knees folded as if he’d compelled me to obey him and I was powerless to resist. He opened one of the drawers in his desk and removed a first-aid kit. My hand began to throb, and blood still oozed from the wound. Queasy, I looked away.
Johannes crouched in front of me and drew my hand toward him. His warm touch belied the coldness in his eyes. A raft of goose bumps raced across my skin, trepidation mixed with a hint of attraction. My new boss might be brusque and dour, but visually, he was a work of art. High, aristocratic cheekbones sculpted to perfection, a strong chin, thick dark brown hair, and ice-blue eyes that bored right through me, delving into parts I wasn’t willing to share.
“Are you always this clumsy?”
I swallowed past a narrow throat. “Not usually, no. I was a bit nervous.” I left out the reason for my nervousness—namely coming face-to-face with someone famous, which, even to me, sounded ridiculous. “It won’t happen again.”
He grunted, removing a few items from the box and setting them on his desk.
Ah, hell. He planned to fire me. I’d bet he was taking care of my injury just to avoid a lawsuit or bad publicity, or a concern that I’d leave a bad review or take to social media to call him out for being a shitty boss.
Not that I had my social media accounts any longer. I’d closed them all down the night I’d made my escape. I was completely off the grid both under my real name, Eloise Fernandez, and my assumed name, Ella Reyes. I half expected Johannes to ask me why I wasn’t on multiple social platforms. Didn’t all companies research their staff that way these days? Maybe he had and he either didn’t care or was biding his time to ask me why I wasn’t like all other young women my age, obsessed with Instagram and Snapchat and TikTok.
I still recalled the look on the face of the woman at the agency I’d signed up with on arrival in Los Angeles when I’d told her I didn’t have email or social media accounts, just a cell phone and Ginny’s address. Seriously, anyone would have thought I’d had a zit on my chin the size of a planet the way she’d gaped at me.
“There. You might want to have a doctor check it over, and maybe get a shot, but that should do for now.”
I glanced down at my hand, wrapped in white gauze. I’d gotten so lost in my head that I hadn’t paid attention to him as he’d worked. I flexed my fingers, then lifted my gaze to his. Cold, flat eyes met mine, but beyond the surface, trauma lurked. I recognized it all too well. Each time I looked in the mirror, that same kind of stare looked back at me. A little vacant, a lot defensive, a shield that told nosy parties to fuck off.
Maybe he’d recognized the same signs in me and that was why he hadn’t delved too deeply at our interview or searched the internet for information about me.
“Am I fired?”
The question came from left field. He stared at me with narrowed eyes, then rose to his feet and closed the first-aid kit.
“Why would I fire you?”
There was a softness to his voice that surprised me. “I-I broke an expensive glass.”
“That you’ll pay for.”
“But—”
“Do you want me to fire you?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
“Then get back behind the bar and help out your teammates. Injured hand or not, I expect you to work your full shift.”
Tension left me in a whoosh. I still had a job. I stood, offering him a small smile. “Thank you. For the job and the bandage.”