I’m forced out of his grasp. Partly from my spastic wiggling and partly from the help of someone else. I look back and it’s Asher, eyes blazing with rage. He drops my arm and tries to step in front of me. I don’t let him.

“You’re a disgusting person,” I say. “I hope you know that. I hope you go to sleep at night and know you’re the equivalent of a pile of dog—”

“I couldn’t help but overhear you sexually harassing this woman.” It’s Vivian. She wraps her hand around the back of his chair one finger at a time and speaks calmly. “In fact, I think this whole restaurant heard you sexually harassing this woman.”

“I think you misunderstood.”

“I don’t think I did,” she says, turning to me. “Olivia, did I misunderstand?”

“No.”

“Like I was saying, sexual harassment is a criminal offense and I happen to be a very expensive lawyer that you will have to pay for when Ms. Langley takes you to court and a jury finds you guilty.”

“It was all in good fun.”

“I don’t think it—”

“What’s going on here?” Ivan snaps in my direction. “William, are they giving you a hard time?”

“Yes, they’re making some nasty accusations,” he says. “Olivia was getting a little friendly and—”

“A hundred people will tell you that’s a lie,” Vivian says. “Are you the manager?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Olivia will be filing a police report,” Vivian says. “I expect you’ll be complying with state and federal regulations. I also expect that you’re up to date on your state-mandated sexual harassment training.”

“Now, just wait a minute,” William tries.

“No,” Vivian says.

“Olivia, I need to speak with you in my office.”

Ivan is glaring at me, the whole restaurant watching. I can say no. I don’t have to go with him.

But I do.

Because he deserves a piece of my mind.

“I’ll come with you,” Asher whispers, a concerned look in his eyes.

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Then let Vivian.”

“No.”

I follow Ivan’s heels through the dining room and into the kitchen. Celeste is waiting, but I don’t get a chance to speak. The look I give her says enough.

This is it.

Ivan’s office smells like cigarettes and too much air-freshener. Papers are strewn across his desk, a sea of uncapped pens on the floor. How does anyone work like this? He’s an unorganized, messy slob. And that’s putting it nicely.

“You’ve been testing my patience, Olivia,” he says.

“He grabbed my ass.”

“I told you to be nice. William invests a lot of money into this hotel.”

“So I was supposed to let him touch me?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “And you will not be filing a police report.”