Chapter 3
523 Words
Summer's POV
The maître d', who had been greeting guests all evening with effortless charm, suddenly straightened his jacket.
His smile disappeared.
Mrs. Hernandez froze.
The kitchen doors swung open.
Even Chef Marco looked toward the entrance.
A strange silence rippled through the staff.
Lily leaned closer to me.
"Why does everyone suddenly look terrified?"
Before I could answer, Mrs. Hernandez spoke quietly.
"So... he's really coming tonight."
Lily frowned.
"Who?"
No one answered.
One of the bartenders muttered under his breath,
"This is the third time this month."
Another waiter sighed.
"I hope he's in a better mood today."
I looked between them, confused.
"What am I missing?"
Mrs. Hernandez glanced at me.
"You've never served him before."
"Served who?"
Her expression turned serious.
"Mr. Black."
The name meant nothing to me.
Well...
Not entirely.
I knew the restaurant belonged to the Black Group.
Everyone in New York did.
But I'd never actually met the owner.
"You've never seen him?" Lily whispered.
I shook my head.
"You're lucky."
"Is he that bad?"
No one answered.
They didn't have to.
The looks on their faces said enough.
Just then, the restaurant manager hurried out of his office.
"Everyone."
His voice was low.
"Listen carefully."
Every employee stopped moving.
"Mr. Black is here."
"Mr. Black is here."
The restaurant doors opened once more.
A tall man stepped inside, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
The conversations around the restaurant continued, blissfully unaware of the tension spreading among the staff.
He didn't look around.
He didn't admire the décor.
He didn't acknowledge anyone.
His sharp gaze swept across the dining room only once before he spoke.
"Table twelve."
Three simple words.
Calm.
Controlled.
Cold.
The manager rushed forward.
"Right this way, Mr. Black."
As the man walked past, I caught my first proper look at him.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
An expression that suggested smiling was a complete waste of time.
For reasons I couldn't explain...
He looked angry.
Not the kind of anger that shouted.
The kind that sat quietly beneath the surface.
The kind that made everyone else nervous.
Mrs. Hernandez turned toward the staff.
"I need someone to take table twelve."
Silence.
No one moved.
Lily suddenly became very interested in polishing forks.
Another waitress avoided eye contact.
Someone actually took a step backward.
I blinked.
"...Seriously?"
Mrs. Hernandez sighed.
“Anna, you go”.
“Okay”
She went to meet him, served him water and appetizer and somehow came back crying.
Ben tripped on his own feet and shattered the glass near the bar.
There was tension in the air and everyone was nervous.
Then Mrs. Hernandez decided to go herself and that was when I had enough.
Before she could move, I reached for the order pad tucked into my apron.
"I've got it."
Her head snapped toward me.
"Summer..."
"It's just a table."
She hesitated.
"You don't understand."
I smiled reassuringly.
"Then I guess I'm about to."
Without waiting for anyone to stop me, I straightened my apron, picked up a menu, and started walking toward table twelve.
Behind me...
The entire restaurant held its breath.
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