Billionaire Humiliated the Waitress in French — Then She Answered in a Language He Never Expected
Chapter 5
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If you intend to use the language of Molière to insult me, I suggest you first master its grammar.Nathaniel's jaw went slack. The glass halfway to his mouth froze. For a terrifying second, his brain completely failed to process what was happening. The submissive, invisible peasant he had just mocked was looking down at him with an expression of profound, absolute pity.Before he could sputter a single syllable, Phoebe continued, her tone conversational but sharp enough to draw blood:"You used 'dominate people like her.' That is incorrect; one says 'dominate the people.' Your use of prepositions is as remarkably poor as your judgment. Furthermore, your accent is an absolute tragedy. It sounds as though you learned French by reading a fast-food menu."Beatrice Vandenberg let out a sudden, sharp gasp that she quickly muffled with her linen napkin, though her eyes danced with sudden, unmistakable delight. Henrik Vandenberg, the stoic titan of logistics, slowly lowered his chin, a profound, genuine smile spreading across his weathered face.Nathaniel's complexion morphed from its usual arrogant bronze to an ugly, mottled crimson. The veins in his neck bulged against his starched collar."What? How dare you! Who do you think you are speaking to?" he stammered, his facade of cultured wealth completely disintegrating into the crude, defensive bluster of a cornered bully. He abandoned his broken French, retreating to the safety of English."I am speaking to a man who believes a bespoke suit can mask a bankrupt character," Phoebe replied effortlessly in flawless, upper-crust English, refusing to break eye contact. "You assume I am uneducated because I am pouring your wine. You assume I work for crumbs because I am entirely devoid of intellect. In truth, Mr. Hayes, I am working double shifts to pay off the medical debts of my late father, Professor William Bennett—a man who possessed more intelligence in his little finger than you could ever hope to acquire in a lifetime of hostile takeovers."She placed the linen cloth smoothly over her forearm, entirely composed."I speak six languages, Mr. Hayes. I hold a master's degree in comparative linguistics from the University of Geneva. And I can assure you, in every single language I know, your behavior tonight translates to nothing more than profound insecurity.""Arthur!" Nathaniel bellowed, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the heavy silverware rattled against the porcelain plates. "Get the manager! You are fired! You are completely done in this city! I will make sure you never work in a restaurant, a diner, or a fast-food drive-thru ever again!"The heavy mahogany doors flew open and Arthur, the maître d', rushed in. The color had drained from his face; he had heard the shout from the hallway. He looked at Nathaniel's furious face, then at Phoebe, who stood with the serene posture of a queen facing a jester.