Chapter 138

“It is on the backs of the working class that you achieved any kind of fortune and success,” I snapped. “And you’d do well to remember it.”

“Hazel,” Logan said, voice sharp. Another warning.

Let him warn himself to death, I didn’t care. No one should be able to talk about anyone the way this group had been talking about this waitress. About me. About anyone who actually worked for a living.

“Let the girl speak, Logan,” said a new voice. I turned to see Logan’s grandfather standing behind me. A shot of trepidation shot up my spine. “I want to hear her speak in defense of her class.”

Logan’s mouth twisted downward, but he said nothing more.

Fear and anxiety might have coiled inside of me, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from speaking my mind.

“It’s disrespectful to mean the hard work of other people, just because they don’t have as much money as you,” I said. “Most are doing what they can to carve out a life for themselves, or provide for their families. Many don’t have wealthy parents or family to fall back on…”

“Unlike Logan. Is that what you mean?” the elder Mr. Hatfield asked.

Oh, no. I hadn’t been thinking of Logan when I had said that. I meant all those people who had earned their positions from nepotism and didn’t work at all to earn anything.

I knew for a fact that Logan worked harder than anyone to keep the company going. The sheer number of overtime hours he logged spoke for themselves. Most CEO’s didn’t care half-so-much as Logan did.

“My point,” I continued, hoping to steer the conversation back in the way I truly meant it, “is that the people you mock make their way forward on their own two legs, often by doing the jobs you deem unsavory but that are necessary.”

“So necessary that a robot could replace them?” asked one of the other CEO’s.

“If you will excuse me,” the waitress said. “I really must return to my duties.”

My grandfather waved her away. Before she left, she caught my eyes, and though she didn’t say anything, I felt a moment of solidarity pass between us. Still, she turned without a word and continued on with her job.

“If you replace a living breathing person with a robot, you remove the heart of the job,” I said.

Just then, I noticed as Dylan moved into the group. Crossing his arms, he stood stoic beside the snotty wife and her CEO husband.

Logan noticed him too, his frown deepening. An unspoken conversation seemed to pass between them, kind of like what had happened between me and the waitress.

“What you call the heart,” Mr. Hatfield said, “I call mindless limbs, incapable of acting on their own without direction from those above them. Maybe they do the hard labor, but they don’t need to be skilled to do so. Running a company takes considerable more skill than handing out drinks at a party. Or… What is it you do, again? Get coffee orders.”

I did a hell of a lot more than that! But he left me no time to reply.

“It’s not up to the everyday man to think above their station, little girl. We tell you what to do and you do it. Now. Go and be a good worker bee and bring me back a fresh glass of wine. Merlot, if you can remember that.”

He was mocking me, and I shook with rage down to my core. “I am not your servant –!”

“That’s enough, Grandfather,” Logan said. He stepped forward, physically placing himself between me and his grandfather. “Hazel is here as my assistant, and I would prefer if you stopped trying to humiliate her.”

“Not to mention, of course, that your comments are incredibly demeaning,” Dylan added, stepping forward. “People are people, Mr. Hatfield, even if you’d rather not see them that way.”

Peeking over Logan’s shoulder, I watched Mr. Hatfield’s disagreeable gaze shift from Logan to Dylan and back again. “You’d both stand against me on this? Did I not build Hatfield Supply with my own two hands? You think I don’t know a person’s worth? That I have no place to judge?”

“You can’t paint people with such broad strokes, Mr. Hatfield,” Dylan said.

“Hazel works as hard as I do,” Logan said. “Many of my employees do.”

Mr. Hatfield lifted a single graying brow. “You’ve changed Logan, and not in a way I’m particularly proud of.”

Logan stiffened.

“You spend a lot of time with this girl, do you? Is she the one who has corrupted you and turned you against your own?”

“Hazel isn’t –” Dylan started.

“I’m done speaking with you,” Mr. Hatfield said sharply, and Dylan, perhaps on reflex or perhaps simply startled, fell silent. “I’m talking to my grandson now.”

The others around us snickered as they watched. They seemed to be dearly enjoying the show.

“I’m not corrupted,” Logan said.

“No? Then let the girl speak for herself,” Mr. Hatfield said.

I appreciated Logan and Dylan’s attempts to stand up for me. Mr. Hatfield was predetermined to hate me, it seemed, and I doubted there was anything I could say that would turn his opinion around.

That didn’t mean I was just going to roll over and let him say whatever he liked, however. If he wanted to talk to me directly, I wouldn’t back down.

Yes, he was in direct control of my job. He wasn’t on the board anymore, but I suspected he still had them all in his pocket. Between that and this hold he seemed to have over Logan, if he wanted me gone, I’d be gone.

Well, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I tapped Logan on the shoulder. “It’s fine,” I whispered. “I’ll be okay.”

Logan and Dylan shared a worried look, but with my nod, they both stepped aside, letting me face Mr. Hatfield unimpeded once more.

“I can speak for myself,” I told Mr. Hatfield.

His lips curled upward slightly at the corners, a vicious little smile. The kind a sadistic little boy might make before he pulled the wings off a fly.

“You have convinced my grandson that you have some value, girl, so I propose this,” Mr. Hatfield said. “You imply the everyday employee is worth more than we here believe. How about you prove it?”

My stomach twisted. I was no fool. Attempting to prove someone’s worth to a person who didn’t think they had any was a near-impossible feat. But I couldn’t back down without looking like I was standing down on my own beliefs.

Everyone had value. The working class was just as feeling and worthy as those attending this high society party as guests.

“I’ll prove it,” I said.

At my reply, Mr. Hatfield seemed no less pleased.

“We’ll see,” he said, then turned and left the group.

Some of the CEO’s openly laughed now.

“A person of high society would show more respect to such a legend as Mr. Hatfield,” said the board member.

“What can you expect? Her class just don’t know any better?” one of the CEO’s said.

“That’s enough,” Logan snapped.

The group generally quieted at Logan’s harsh words.

Except the CEO’s snotty wife, who accidentally tripped forward and spilled her red wine all down the front of my expensive dress.

“Oh, no,” she said, smirking. “How clumsy of me.”