The manager forced a weary smile, looking like a man burdened by fate.
It’s your restaurant, boss… If you’re not the one to talk investments, who else could it be? Me?
He dared not say that aloud, bowing and scraping as he led Quentin to the private dining room.
Quentin, fuming, marched into the main hall–only to spot a familiar figure from
across the room.
He raised an eyebrow.
Wasn’t that the same woman who, last year, nearly soaked their entire stock of napkins with her tears?
Interest piqued, Quentin strode over.
He wondered, half amused, how long she’d be crying this time.
“Well, look who we have here. Rare guest indeed.”
Quentin yanked off his apron and appeared behind the silent crowd.
Celestine heard a vaguely familiar voice. She turned, only to see Quentin grinning at
her.
She felt awkward.
Wasn’t this the head chef from a year ago?
What was he doing here?
Quentin stood tall, his frame lean and graceful. Sans his white apron, he looked even more striking.
“What’s wrong? Do I really look that terrifying?”
Celestine’s smile grew even more embarrassed.
How was she supposed to answer that?
She forced herself to reply, “No, not at all.”
“Good to know.”
Apparently satisfied, Quentin stopped in front of her, leaned down conspiratorially,
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and asked in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “So, did you finally divorce that husband of yours–the one who ditched you on your birthday last year? Since you’re here today, maybe I’ll whip up something special for you. Just try not to cry again, okay?”
Celestine wanted to play dumb, but had no idea how to respond, so she stuck to her feigned amnesia act.
Everyone around pricked up their ears to eavesdrop.
After all, in their circle, who didn’t know that Celestine’s husband was Chester?
Chester’s cool gaze flickered with confusion.
Celestine never celebrated birthdays.
Last year, if he recalled, it had actually been his birthday. Celestine had told him she’d booked them a table at this restaurant.
He’d never been one for ceremonial dinners or empty gestures; he’d spent that day deep–sea fishing with Joanna and Zeke instead.
So, Celestine cried because he didn’t show?
Joanna noticed Chester staring at Celestine again, and bit her lip so hard it nearly drew blood.
Zeke, ever attentive to the woman he pined for, felt another pang of frustration at the sight.
Damn that Celestine–she never should have shown up tonight!
If only he hadn’t meddled in the partnership, maybe he could’ve tripped her up a little longer.
He was starting to regret everything.
On top of that, he’d already committed thirty million to this deal!
Agitated, Zeke grabbed the restaurant manager by the arm. “Where’s your boss? Is this what you call sincerity in a partnership? I’m dropping thirty million on a private room here, and you make me wait?”
The manager looked utterly pained.
Just then, the boss himself slowly straightened, the smile fading from his face.
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“Oh, I see. So it’s a toad–brained idiot who wants to throw thirty million at us,” Quentin drawled.
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Zeke looked him up and down. “And who are you supposed to be? Just a lousy chef–what makes you qualified to talk business with me?”
Without missing a beat, Quentin flipped over the nametag on his chest, revealing the gold–embossed “Owner” beneath the “Head Chef.”
“Qualified now?”
Zeke fell silent, then muttered awkwardly, “So, it’s you. Great. Well, let’s see your sincerity, then–have someone kick these two women out, and I’ll consider your partnership. Thirty million for your restaurant.”
He clearly didn’t believe any private restaurant owner would turn down an offer like
that..
Quentin ignored him and turned to the manager. “Irwin, go hang a sign on the door: ‘No idiots or dogs allowed:”
“Right away, boss.”
Zeke hadn’t even processed what was happening before Crystal Lennox burst out laughing, almost doubled over.
The others tried to stifle their amusement, but their faces said it all.
“You-!”
Joanna quietly tugged at Zeke’s sleeve, holding him back, but he had nowhere to vent his anger.
Tension in the room thickened.
“Mr. Yates, let’s talk.” Chester’s tone was cold, his eyebrows drawn tight.
“I don’t see the need,” Quentin scoffed, pointing at the private room. “You’ve brought outside food and drinks into my restaurant like it’s your living room. Do you think I run this place as a charity?”
Celestine listened, and suddenly it all came back.
Watersedge Grillhouse was notorious for its strict house rules. One of the most important? Absolutely no outside food or beverages allowed.
If caught, the penalty was a hundred fold fine–and a lifetime ban.
Chester’s gaze darkened, his voice low and edged with warning. “One private dining room–are you sure you want to be so inhospitable, Mr. Yates?”
The Fordham family’s roots were in Portside City, but in recent years they’d
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established themselves firmly in Oceanview. They weren’t without influence here.
But Chester had always favored a low–key approach, never one to throw his weight around in public.
