I was quietly cutting my daughter’s chicken when the manager stopped beside our table and sneered, “People like you don’t belong in this section.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
Maria whispered, “They’ve paid. I thought—”
“That’s your problem. You think.”
Several diners turned toward them.
Vanessa seemed to enjoy the attention.
Daniel quietly asked, “Do you speak to all your employees like that?”
Vanessa laughed.
“You’re still here?”
Maria’s face reddened.
Daniel looked at her. “How long have you worked here?”
“Four years.”
Vanessa snapped, “Don’t answer him.”
Daniel leaned back.
Interesting.
Four years meant Maria had worked under the previous manager, when Bellmont House had some of the company’s highest customer-service ratings.
“Why shouldn’t she answer?”
“Because this is my restaurant.”
Daniel almost smiled.
Vanessa leaned closer.
“And frankly, people like you come in, order the cheapest entrées, occupy tables for hours, then complain when we protect the atmosphere.”
Embarrassment filled Sophie’s eyes.
Daniel’s calm turned colder.
“People like me?”
Vanessa realized she’d gone too far, but arrogance pushed her onward.
“You know exactly what
