The Waitress With a PhD Who Silenced a Arrogant And Rude Billionaire
Chapter 22
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"No, but it lets you sleep at night." Gloria reached out and took her daughter's hand. "You've been carrying so much, baby. Too much. Maybe this is the universe's way of forcing a change."Camille wanted to believe that, but the practical part of her, the part that had been managing their survival for months, was already panicking. Without her income, they had maybe two weeks before things fell apart.That night, she lay in bed and tried to make a plan. She could apply for other restaurant jobs. She could look for office work, retail, anything. But it would take time to find something, time to start earning again—time they didn't have. She finally fell asleep around 3:00 in the morning, exhausted and worried.The next day was Monday. Camille woke early, determined to start job hunting immediately. She made her mother breakfast, helped with medications, then opened her laptop.Before she could start searching job sites, her phone rang: unknown number."Hello?""Miss Johnson? This is Theodore Lancaster."Camille's blood ran cold. "How did you get this number?""From the restaurant's employee records. I know I shouldn't have, but I needed to speak with you." He paused. "Please don't hang up."Camille's finger hovered over the end call button, but curiosity held her. "What do you want?""To apologize. Properly. Not in front of an audience. Just human to human.""I don't think you know how to do that.""You're probably right." His voice was different: quieter, almost humble. "But I'd like to try. Would you meet me for coffee? Just 30 minutes. I promise I'll never bother you again after that.""Why should I?""Because I owe you that much. And because..." He hesitated. "...because I've been thinking about what you said: about who I am, about what I've become. And I don't like it."Camille closed her eyes. She should say no, should hang up, should never speak to this man again. But something in his voice sounded genuine, and she'd spent months reading people, learning to distinguish real emotion from performance. This sounded real."One coffee," she said. "30 minutes. There's a cafe on Maple Street. Tomorrow at 10:00.""Thank you. Thank you so much."He hung up. Camille stared at her phone, wondering if she'd just made a terrible mistake.The next morning, she dressed carefully: not the burgundy uniform, but not too nice either. Jeans and a green sweater, casual but put-together. She wanted to look like herself, whoever that was.The cafe was bright and cheerful, with yellow walls and white tables. Camille arrived first and chose a table near the window. She ordered coffee and waited, her stomach in knots.Theodore arrived exactly at 10:00. He wore jeans and a blue button-down shirt, no suit jacket. He looked different without the armor of expensive clothing: younger, more human.He sat across from her, ordering his own coffee from the passing waiter. For a moment, they just looked at each other.