Chapter 10 - THE LAST TIME SHE SAW TABLE FOUR
Five years after that night, Cassidy returned to Le Rêve.
Not for nostalgia.
A client had chosen it for dinner.
She almost requested somewhere else.
Then decided against it.
Table four was available.
Of course it was.
The restaurant looked almost unchanged.
Same lighting.
Same polished mahogany.
Same impossible wine list.
Simon was gone.
A younger manager greeted Cassidy by name.
Not because she used to work there.
Because her company had booked the private room.
Cassidy smiled at the absurdity.
Halfway through dinner, she excused herself.
Near the service station, a young waitress stood blinking rapidly.
A man at another table had apparently spoken to her harshly.
Cassidy recognized the expression immediately.
Trying not to cry because crying made customers think they had won.
“You okay?” Cassidy asked.
The waitress straightened.
“Yes.”
Cassidy waited.
Then:
“No.”
“Do you want your manager?”
“He’s already handling it.”
Good.
“Then take thirty seconds.”
The young woman breathed.
“Were you really a waitress here?”
Cassidy laughed.
“Who told you?”
“Everyone.”
“That is concerning.”
“They say you destroyed a billionaire in Russian.”
Cassidy closed her eyes.
“Of course they do.”
“Is it true?”
“No.”
The waitress looked disappointed.
Cassidy smiled.
“I corrected his grammar.”
“Then he lost a giant business deal.”
“Yes.”
“So you destroyed him.”
“No.”
Cassidy shook her head.
“He lost the deal because of how he treated people.”
That difference mattered.
“You just spoke up?”
“I answered a question.”
The waitress considered.
“What if I don’t speak six languages?”
“You don’t need to.”
Cassidy looked toward the dining room.
“Being mistreated doesn’t become acceptable because you don’t have a dramatic skill to reveal afterward.”
The young woman went quiet.
“You don’t need to secretly be brilliant enough to deserve respect.”
That was the lesson people always missed.
Cassidy had been worthy of dignity when Dominic thought she was merely a waitress.
Fluent Russian changed the consequences.
It did not change her value.
She returned to table four.
Her clients were waiting.
A bottle of 1990 Château Margaux stood open.
Cassidy laughed.
“What?”
one client asked.
“Old joke.”
She poured herself a glass.
Outside, Manhattan glittered beneath the windows.
Years earlier, Dominic Pierce had looked at Cassidy’s uniform and decided he knew everything important about her.
He had been wrong.
Not because she secretly belonged among powerful people.
Not because she spoke Russian.
Not because Victor offered her a better job.
He had been wrong because no uniform, salary, debt, accent, or job title had ever determined how much respect she deserved.
Dominic had believed power meant deciding who was important.
Cassidy learned something better.
May you like
Real power was refusing to let someone else make that decision for you.
THE END
