"Who does that?"
"She's going to walk out."
"No, she isn't."
"How do you know?"
"Look at her."
The woman speaking nodded toward Maya. The waitress wasn't shaking. She wasn't crying. She wasn't angry. She was simply doing her job. And somehow that made the entire situation stranger. Most people would have broken; Maya hadn't.
Charles leaned toward Raymond. "Watch this."
Raymond sighed. "Charles, what—"
"Let it go."
Charles smirked. "Why?"
"Because you're turning a dinner meeting into a circus."
A flicker of irritation crossed Charles's face. "I am trying to determine whether the people serving my investors are qualified."
"No." Raymond took a sip of water. "You're trying to win."
The words landed harder than expected. For a second, Charles said nothing. Then he looked away, because Raymond wasn't entirely wrong. Winning mattered to Charles. It always had.
The need had started long before the money, long before the skyscrapers, long before magazine covers and television interviews: back when nobody respected him; back when he was the kid wearing cheap shoes; back when people laughed at his father's used car dealership; back when success felt like the only escape. Somewhere along the way, winning had become more important than understanding people.
And tonight, he couldn't stop himself: not when an employee had challenged him in front of investors; not when 60 people were watching; not when a waitress refused to be intimidated.
Across the dining room, Maya stopped beside another table. An elderly couple was celebrating their anniversary. She smiled warmly. "Can I get you anything else tonight?"
The husband smiled. "Just the check."
His wife touched Maya's arm. "You handled yourself beautifully."
Maya blinked.