The sneaky bastard!
A slow rush of anger filled her veins and made her fingers tighten over the edge of her tray. Damn him. All she’d asked when she’d agreed to give him a place to stay was that he didn’t complicate her life, and what had he done? He’d complicated her freaking life. Distracted her from her school work, stuck his nose into her job, and now her face would most likely be on every tabloid on the newsrack because of him. The attention at the airport had made her feel angry, exposed, and although she knew it wasn’t Ben’s fault the media had been waiting for them in the gate, she still blamed him just a little. She should’ve never gotten involved with a movie star. What the hell had she been thinking?
Her hands started to shake as she realized by now the entire world probably knew about her and Ben. What if the reporters started harassing her the way they harassed Ben? What if they showed up here at work, or at her apartment, or the community center? What if they dug around in her background, decided to paint her as some abandoned foster kid, or a gold-digger, or something equally horrendous?
The final thought made her hands tremble even more, which caused the tray she was holding to tilt over. The glasses on it slid around, screwing up the balance of the tray, and before she could stop it, three tall glasses of beer smashed onto floor. The glass shattered, cold liquid splashing against her ankles. She nearly gasped with embarrassment when she noticed the entire bar had gone dead silent. Customers were peering over to examine what had caused the commotion and all eyes were on her. She turned her head away from the curious stares and a second later she was on her knees, fumbling with the shards of glass with her bare hands.
A strong arm pushed her out of the way. “Careful, you’ll cut yourself,” Matt said anxiously. He’d brought a rag with him and began soaking up the spilled liquid.
“I’ll clean it,” she said, mortified by her clumsiness.
He pushed her hands away again. “Go clean yourself up,” he returned. “There’s beer dripping down your legs, Mags.”
“Let me help—”
“I can handle it.”
He looked ticked off with her and she didn’t blame him. She’d made a huge mess and she felt terrible that Matt was the one cleaning it up.
She swallowed, then nodded, then rose to her feet. She saw Trisha by the counter, watching her with concern as she walked toward the employee lounge, but her friend didn’t follow her, most likely because Trish didn’t want to make any more waves with Linda. There was a small bathroom in the back of the lounge, and Maggie headed for it, pulling paper towels out of the dispenser and wiping down her beer-soaked ankles. When she exited the washroom, she found Jeremy Henderson waiting for her in the doorway.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded.
His harsh voice sent a cold knot of dread to her gut. The tall, balding man was absolutely seething as he entered. He was tailed by Linda, whose expression displayed both concern and disapproval.
“It was an accident,” she said shakily. “I lost my grip and…” She drifted off, hating the pleading tinge to her voice. “It won’t happen again.”
“Damn right it won’t happen again,” Henderson snapped back. “You’re fired.”
She stumbled backwards. “What? You’re firing me because I dropped a tray?”
Henderson’s features hardened. “I’m firing you because you’ve displayed some inappropriate behavior as of late, according to Linda.” He lifted his hand to tick off each angry point with his fingers. “You changed the weekly schedule to suit your own personal needs.” He lifted another finger. “There was a complaint made about you.” Another finger. “You were late for work.” Another finger. “And you just caused a scene in front of a room full of customers. Clean out your locker, Ms. Reilly.”
“Mr. Henderson—”
“Don’t argue with me. The bar has already been getting bad reviews, and the scene out there did not help the Olive Martini’s reputation. You no longer work for this establishment, Ms. Reilly. Is that understood?”
She blinked back the hot tears prickling her eyes. “It’s understood,” she finally muttered.
“Good. Now clean out your locker.”
It was only ten o’clock when Ben let himself into Maggie’s apartment with the key she’d given him in the cab. He’d gone back to his brownstone to pick up some clothes, but when he’d found a lone reporter lurking on the curb he quickly hopped in a cab and headed right back to Maggie’s. He hadn’t expected her to be home from work until later, so he was surprised to walk in and find her sitting on the couch. Even more surprised at the sight of her puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
In a flash, he crossed the room and dropped next to her on the couch.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he said roughly, pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay.”