Billionaire Humiliated the Waitress in French — Then She Answered in a Language He Never Expected
Chapter 3
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Desperation began to leak into Nathaniel's posture. His voice grew louder. He ordered a $15,000 bottle of Château Margaux, demanding the sommelier present it as if the price tag alone could bludgeon the Vandenbergs into signing the contract.Phoebe was tasked with the wine service. She brought the decanter to the table holding a pristine white linen cloth. She poured a shallow tasting measure into Nathaniel's glass. He snatched it up, swirling it violently enough to threaten the rim, and threw it back without a hint of refinement."Fine. Pour it," he snapped, barely looking at her.Phoebe moved to Beatrice first, pouring exactly the right measure. Then she moved to Henrik.The room was quiet, save for the soft jazz filtering through the hidden speakers and the gentle glug of the red wine hitting the crystal. Nathaniel, feeling the oppressive silence of the Vandenbergs' judgment, decided he needed a distraction. He needed to assert dominance; he needed someone to crush to prove that he was the apex predator in the room.His eyes locked onto Phoebe. She was just finishing pouring Henrik's glass, ensuring not a single drop stained the tablecloth. She was focused, unobtrusive, perfect.And that is exactly what infuriated Nathaniel: she was a peasant, yet she carried herself with more natural dignity than he had managed all evening.He leaned back in his chair, swirling his empty glass, a cruel, predatory smirk spreading across his face. He looked at Henrik and Beatrice, deciding to bond with them over the one thing the ultra-rich universally understood: the inferiority of the working class.He spoke loudly, switching to his broken, heavily accented French, fully assuming that the quiet girl in the apron holding his wine was nothing more than an uneducated American laborer."Regardez," Nathaniel sneered, gesturing toward Phoebe with his empty glass. "Look at this girl."Phoebe froze for a fraction of a second, her hand gripping the neck of the decanter. She didn't look up, keeping her eyes fixed on the stem of the glass.Nathaniel chuckled, leaning closer to the Vandenbergs, speaking as if Phoebe were a deaf mule standing in the corner. "Sapées," he continued in French, his voice dripping with venom. "This is exactly the problem with this country. They are all stupid. Peasants. This waitress, for example—she has no education. She works for crumbs, smiles like an idiot, and has no idea what is happening in the world."Henrik's posture immediately stiffened. The casual cruelty of the remark hung in the air, a foul stench over the expensive meal. Beatrice looked down at her lap, deeply uncomfortable with the aggressive, unprovoked attack on the staff.