The manager plastered on a bureaucratically polite smile, oozing arrogance. “Please, be my guest.”
Mandy’s face turned a shade of steel, her composure slipping as anger took hold. She massaged her temples and was about to unleash a fierce retort, “Do you have any idea who we-”
But she stopped mid–sentence when she caught sight of Mirabella sitting by the window. Her jaw dropped. Wasn’t Mirabella supposed to be waitressing? Why was she sitting
there?
A flurry of questions swirled in Mandy’s mind. Then, her gaze shifted to the young man sitting across from Mirabella. Although she only saw his profile, he was unmistakably memorable. He was the Davis family’s sharp–tongued second son, a lawyer. She had encountered his biting wit when Summer had returned to the Gilbert family fold.
A sneer escaped Mandy’s lips as she pointed toward Mirabella and said, “Oh, the irony. Your establishment would rather cater to posers with empty pockets than to genuine patrons like us. Amusing, isn’t it?”
Following the direction of Mandy’s accusatory finger, the manager glanced over, took a mere two seconds to assess the situation, and then looked back at Mandy with a hint of something else in his gaze.
Mandy sensed mockery in his eyes. Frowning, she demanded, “What’s with that attitude?”
“You might as well stop wasting time here. Our restaurant will not be serving you in the future. That’s final,” the manager said dismissively, then glanced back towards Mirabella, thinking about presenting the after–dinner fruit. He walked away, leaving Mandy behind.
Outraged, Mandy no longer cared about appearances. She shouted, “Hold it right there! I demand a proper explanation, or this matter is far from over!”
The manager turned back around, his imposing frame and rugged features casting an
intimidating aura when devoid of emotion. Mandy flinched under his gaze, instinctively stepping back.
The manager smiled, his eyes once again settling on Mirabella as he spoke in a tone devoid of warmth, “Do you even know who they are?”
Mandy’s brow furrowed, as she gripped her purse tighter, a sinking feeling that she might not want to hear the answer.
“That’s the owner’s daughter and son,” the manager stated flatly, walking away.
The owner’s daughter and son…
The words echoed in Mandy’s ears, disbelief etched across her face.
How’s this possible?
How could a family living in a run–down neighborhood, driving a beat–up old car, possibly be connected to a restaurant under a global top 100 enterprise?
The manager must’ve been playing some kind of sick joke.