Beside that sat the bouillabaisse fragrant with saffron tomatoes and delicate pieces of shellfish. Sophia emerged from the kitchen and made her way through the tables, head held high. As she arrived at table nine, she gently placed the Wagyu before Ethan, then set down the bouillabaisse in front of Aaron Welsh.
I hope you enjoy your meal, she said softly, stepping back to maintain the polite distance required. For a few minutes Ethan picked up his cutlery and began to eat, ignoring Sophia entirely. She half expected him to bark some complaint about temperature or presentation, but to her surprise he seemed too absorbed in his own thoughts to speak.
Instead, she watched Aaron’s discreet nod, acknowledging the quality of the bouillabaisse, and felt slightly relieved. But just when she thought she might skate through the service unscathed, Ethan’s face hardened. He set down his fork, leaned back in his chair, and pushed the plate away in an abrupt gesture.
Waitress, he barked, looking directly at Sophia for the first time. Her heart lurched at his tone, but she approached maintaining a calm demeanor. Yes, sir, she answered, trying not to let her apprehension show.
Ethan gestured to the steak, his expression stormy. This is raw, he snarled. I asked for rare, not raw.
Are you trying to give me food poisoning or something? Sophia swallowed hard. She knew for a fact that Chef Lemaire’s cooking was impeccable. The internal temperature of that wagyu would have been precisely what Ethan had asked for.
But a server never argues in front of a guest. I’m sorry to hear that, sir, she said voice measured. I can have it taken back to the kitchen and cooked further to your liking.
He let out a mirthless laugh, loud enough to turn a few heads at nearby tables. Cooked further, I shouldn’t have to repeat myself. This place is supposed to be top tier.
You should know how to serve a steak properly. Sophia breathed in and out steady. She reminded herself of little Kiki back home, of the rent that needed paying, of the tips she relied on.
I understand, she said softly. Let me fix this for you immediately. Chef Lemaire.
Well, I don’t want excuses, Ethan snapped. I want solutions. Now.
And while you’re at it, bring another bottle of that Riesling. And hurry. Aaron Welsh glanced at Sophia apologetically.
But he said nothing. The tension in the dining area thickened. Nearby patrons shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to keep watching or pretend they hadn’t noticed.
Sophia felt her cheeks flush, but kept her posture poised. Yes, sir, she said, lifting the plate and turning to leave. Only then did the billionaire raise his voice to address the rest of the restaurant.
For a place like this, to mess up a simple steak is ridiculous. Do you realize how much money is spent to dine here? You’d think they’d hire competent staff. A hush fell among the diners as Ethan’s outburst reverberated against the elegantly paneled walls.
Murmurs rose among the crowd. Aaron placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder trying to calm him, but Ethan shrugged him off. Sophia’s ears burned.
It was one thing to be berated quietly, but quite another to be humiliated publicly. Her composure slipped for a moment, a flash of hurt crossing her face. However, years of hardship had taught her to remain calm under provocation.
She disappeared into the kitchen, asked Chef Lemaire to cook the steak just a tad longer, and retrieved another bottle of Riesling. The chef was furious at Ethan’s accusation of rawness and questioned if the man even understood what rare meant. Still, their hands were tied.
The customer was always right, especially a billionaire who could make or break reputations. Sophia returned with the updated wagyu and the new bottle, carefully displaying it for Ethan’s approval. He gave no sign of courtesy, merely lifting his glass for a refill as she poured.
Tension lines creased his forehead and his voice dripped with disdain. She set the steak in front of him. I hope this is to your satisfaction, she said, biting back any edge in her tone.
He glowered at her, but cut into the meat. He took a bite, then nodded curtly. Finally, he muttered.
Then he added, You should have done it right the first time. His voice echoed. A few patrons stared openly now, while others pretended to be absorbed in their meals.
The pianist continued playing more softly, more hesitantly, trying in vain to maintain the ambience. Ethan’s eyes flicked up at Sophia. Well, what are you waiting for? You can go.
She inclined her head and stepped away, feeling her pulse racing. Before she could take more than three steps, he barked again. Waitress.
She froze, turning slowly. His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it, reading a text, and then glared at Sophia as though she had personally offended him.
Get me the check. Now, he ordered. And get your manager over here.
Sophia’s stomach sank. This couldn’t be good. She hurried to the maitre d’, who immediately tensed at the request.
Managers rarely appeared tableside unless there was a major issue, and for a VIP like Ethan Caldwell, damage control had to be swift and thorough. The maitre d’ smoothed his jacket and joined Sophia approaching table nine with careful diplomacy. Ethan wasted no time in ranting about how incompetent the service was, how his stake was sub-par, and how his time was wasted.
The maitre d’ tried to placate him, apologizing profusely and promising to remove the wagyu from the bill. It was then that the dreaded moment happened. Ethan turned to Sophia, face twisted with scorn, and unleashed an insult-laden tirade that rose above the gentle hum of the dining room.
This waitress is clueless, he fumed. She can’t follow simple instructions. She wasted my evening, brought me raw meat, and I’m paying top dollar unacceptable.
I don’t care if she’s new or incompetent. People like her shouldn’t be allowed in places like this. I’ve run companies with thousands of employees, and if any one of them performed like she did tonight, I’d have them fired on the spot.
The whole restaurant fell silent. A hush blanketed the dining room, as though someone had hit a pause button on life itself. Every pair of eyes fixed on Ethan Caldwell, stunned by the ferocity of his outburst, the chatter of the other tables died away.
Forks and knives clattered to a standstill. And even the pianist’s fingers froze on the keys. Aaron Welsh was red-faced, staring down at his half-eaten bouillabaisse, clearly wishing he could melt into the floor.
Sophia stood rigid, heart pounding in her ears. Her cheeks burned with both humiliation and anger. She struggled to keep in check.
The entire staff watched as this towering man verbally pummeled her, telling the world she was worthless, incompetent. A nobody. Something inside Sophia cracked.
She had spent years turning the other cheek, dealing with condescending customers who snapped their fingers, students in her second job as a dance instructor complaining about fees. Even the father of her child who vanished without a trace, leaving her alone to raise Kiki. She had always bottled up her frustrations, swallowing every harsh word and insult, convinced that meek acceptance was the only way to survive.
But in this moment with the entire restaurant gawking at her humiliation, her backbone finally straightened. She lifted her chin, looked Ethan Caldwell square in the eye for the first time that night, and spoke a single sentence that stopped all of Manhattan in its tracks. Or so it felt.
You can buy a steak, sir, but you can’t buy decency. Her voice was calm, but the words cut through the air like a knife. For a moment it seemed as though time itself had halted.
The words lingered echoing in the silent dining room. Every person within earshot felt the impact of her statement. A wave of shock rippled through the crowd.
Even the maitre d’ was stunned into momentary silence. Chef Lemaire, peeking from the kitchen, felt her heart jolt with pride and dread all at once. Ethan Caldwell’s expression froze, his eyes widened in anger, and a flush crept up his neck.
No one spoke to him like this, especially not a waitress. After a stunned beat, he began to splutter. What, did you just say, Sophia’s composure held? Her posture was as straight as an arrow, her gaze unflinching.