The Waitress With a PhD Who Silenced a Arrogant And Rude Billionaire
Chapter 16
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Camille looked at her mother, pale and weak in her blue chair, and felt a new wave of desperation. "No, it won't be an issue."But it was an issue. The new medication cost $200 more per month. Camille did the math in her head: even with her regular shifts and tips, she was barely making ends meet now. Adding $200 meant something had to give. She could pick up more shifts. She could ask Mrs. Patterson for more hours. She could endure more Tuesdays and Thursdays with Theodore Lancaster if it meant her mother stayed alive.So, that's what she did."I need more hours," Camille told Mrs. Patterson that afternoon. "Whatever you have available, I'll take it."Mrs. Patterson studied her with those sharp eyes. "Is everything all right?""Yes, ma'am. I just... I need the money.""I can give you more weeknight shifts. But, Camille, you're already working full-time. Don't burn yourself out.""I won't," Camille lied.Over the next week, she worked 10-, sometimes 12-hour shifts. The extra money helped, but the exhaustion was cumulative. Her feet ached constantly. Her back hurt. She lost weight she couldn't afford to lose. And through it all, Theodore Lancaster continued his twice-weekly appearances, his German cruelty, his systematic dismantling of her self-worth.It was Thursday evening, two weeks after the disastrous date, when something inside Camille finally threatened to snap.Theodore arrived with two business associates, both men in expensive suits. They were discussing a merger, numbers and percentages flowing freely. Camille served them with her usual professional distance, but her hands shook slightly when she poured water.Theodore noticed. Of course he noticed."Unsere Kellnerin sieht müde aus," he said to his companions in German. Our waitress looks tired. "Vielleicht ist die Arbeit zu anstrengend für sie. Vielleicht braucht sie etwas Einfacheres. Obwohl ich nicht weiß, was einfacher sein könnte als das." Perhaps the work is too strenuous for her. Perhaps she needs something simpler. Though I don't know what could be simpler than this.One of the associates, uncomfortable, said in English, "Should we just order?""Of course," Theodore replied, then looked at Camille. "Können Sie das schaffen? Oder sind drei Bestellungen zu viel für Sie?" Can you handle that? Or is three orders too much for you?Camille's vision blurred for a moment. The room felt too bright, too loud. Her chest was tight, her breathing shallow. She was having a panic attack, right there in the middle of the dining room."I'll be right back," she managed, turning away quickly.She made it to the kitchen before her knees buckled. James caught her, his strong hands steady on her arms. "Whoa, whoa. What's wrong?""I can't... I can't breathe," Camille gasped.Bethany rushed over. "Sit down. Head between your knees."They guided her to a stool in the corner, away from the other kitchen staff. Camille tried to follow Bethany's instructions, tried to slow her breathing, but panic had its claws in her.