Page 70 of Knotted

Roxana’s eyes narrow, her lips curling into a smirk. “You mean barged in.” Her gaze sweeps over me like I’m some lower life form she hasn’t yet classified. “You’re that waitress from Salvatore’s, aren’t you?”

Ex-waitress, thanks to you.

I ignore her and turn all my attention to Mr. Richards. “Can we talk? Privately?”

He leans back in his chair, the picture of nonchalance, despite his belt hanging loose. “Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say in front of Ms. Voss.”

His hand curls possessively around her waist, and it’s clear that their on-again, off-again romance is on again, like a bandage slapped over a festering wound.

“Fine. The article you published under my name.”

“You mean under Sydney Sun’s name,” he adds.

Yes. Me. Sydney Sun.

I’m not exactly sure what he means by that, so I keep trudging forth. “That article’s riddled with errors, bad grammar, and straight-up lies. I think my account was hacked, and someone used it to pass off their crappy works as mine.”

How it even made it past editing and into print is beyond me, but I’m not here to nitpick his job. All I want is for it to be retracted so I can move on.

Roxana stiffens, her lips curving into a smug, almost predatory smile. “I can spell, you know.”

My eyes snap wide, and realization slaps me hard. “Oh, my God, you wrote that? Why the hell did you put my name on it?”

She shrugs, dripping with false innocence. “My name isn’t trending like it used to, so I borrowed yours. Sydney Sun—it really grabs attention, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Because it’s my name.”

“Your pen name, you mean. And just so you know, it now belongs to theHerald—along with your laptop and email. So, if you want to keep your job and very steady pay, deal with it. But if not, there’s the door. But anything that’s property of theManhattan Heraldstays right here.”

Her words land like an uppercut to the chin, knocking the wind out of me. Getting me fired was dirty, but this? This is toxic, one step below nuclear sewage.

I want to lash out, to wipe that smug smile off her face, but the bitter truth is, she’s got me.

My mind spins because she’s right. I did sign away the rights to my work the moment I walked through these doors, but my name?

Cold and indifferent, Richards piles on. “Read your contract, kid. If there’s an issue, have your lawyer call mine. Oh, but wait—you’re just a washed-up waitress with not one article to your name. Yeah, good luck with that. Now”—he straightens his tie—“get to work, or get out.”

CHAPTER 29

Jules

I sink deeper into the couch, letting the cushions swallow me as Taylor paces like a hangry lioness.

She’s fuming, practically crackling with enough energy to light up the entire city, and I’ve been silently thanking God that Brian’s penthouse spans the whole floor. Seriously, the noise complaints would be nonstop with her shouting down the roof with every swear word in the book.

“That’s fucking bullshit! They can’t fire you for that!” She throws her hands up like she’s ready to storm down there, picket sign in hand, and demand, “Justice Now! Justice Now!” in her leather mini and six-inch heels.

She punches the air for emphasis. “You point out her car. I’ll slash her tires.”

I giggle a little because this is why I love Taylor. She’s always ready to rush in, full charge, straight into a class E felony without a second thought.

I try to shrug it off, pretend it doesn’t matter. But it stillstings. This was my shot—my no-kidding, real writer’s job. And now, just like that, it’s gone.

Taylor finally stops pacing and drops onto the couch beside me. “Do you want me to see if Salvatore’s will take you back?” she asks, her tone softening, a hint of concern threading through her fiery outrage.

“No,” I mumble, burying my face even deeper into the throw pillow, hoping it will somehow smother the disappointment gnawing at me. “At least, not yet.”

The truth is, I’m so disillusioned with people right now, I don’t even know what I want anymore. The world feels like it’s spinning out of control, and I’m just clinging on for dear life, without the slightest clue where or how I’m supposed to land.

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