The restaurant shift was nearly over. I was just taking off my apron when I heard, “Suzy? Is that you?”
In front of me stood my ex-husband, Liam, and my ex-friend Daria—the one he cheated on me with after my miscarriage. The sight of them together was a physical blow to the stomach, but I’ve learned to keep my face like stone.
“How can I help you?” I kept my voice professional, though inside I was boiling.
“What a surprise!” Daria smirked, her eyes scanning my uniform with predatory delight. “So, you work here?”
“Yes,” I replied shortly.
“ARE YOU A DISHWASHER NOW? WAIT, I KNOW—YOU’RE WIPING FLOORS!” Daria’s voice carried across the dining room. Liam grinned, leaning back against the mahogany bar as if he owned the place. “Oh honey, I told you she’d have to come back down to earth!”
Daria burst out laughing. “Of course! Still hopeless!”
I stood there, letting their laughter wash over me. Three years ago, Liam had divorced me while I was still recovering from the loss of our child. He took the house, the shared savings, and my confidence, claiming I was “unstable” and “unambitious.” Daria, who had been my bridesmaid, was there to “comfort” him—right into my bed.
They thought I had vanished into poverty. And for a year, I almost did. I worked three jobs, lived in a studio apartment that smelled like damp cardboard, and saved every cent. But they didn’t know about the late nights I spent studying market trends or the small inheritance from my grandmother that I had moved into a private, high-yield trust before the divorce was finalized.
“We’d like a table for two,” Liam said, his voice dripping with mock pity. “Somewhere where we don’t have to smell the bleach from your mop, Suzy.”
“Of course,” I said, a small, tight smile forming on my lips. “Follow me.”
I led them to the most prominent table in the center of the room. This wasn’t just any restaurant; it was L’Héritage, the city’s most exclusive bistro.
“The wine list?” Daria demanded, tossing her designer handbag onto the table. “And make it quick. We have a meeting with the owner later. Liam is looking to invest, and we’re thinking of buying this place out from under whoever is running it into the ground.”
Liam nodded importantly. “It’s a good location. It just needs… better staff.”
I handed them the menus. “I’ll let the manager know you’re here.”
I walked toward the back office. Instead of grabbing a tray, I took off the black server’s vest I was wearing to reveal a silk cream blouse. I smoothed my hair, grabbed a leather-bound folder, and signaled to Marcus, the floor manager.
“Are they ready?” Marcus whispered.
“They’re ready,” I said. “And Marcus? Make sure their water glasses are never full. I want them thirsty.”
Ten minutes later, Liam was complaining loudly about the service when I walked back out. This time, I didn’t stop at the server’s station. I walked straight to the head of their table.
“Where is the manager?” Liam barked without looking up. “We’ve been waiting—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw I wasn’t holding a mop. I was holding a contract.
“The manager is busy, Liam,” I said, my voice calm and resonant. “But the owner is right here.”
Daria laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. “Suzy, stop playing. We know you’re the help.”
“I was ‘the help’ today because my head chef is out with the flu and I don’t believe in asking my staff to do anything I won’t do myself,” I said, leaning over the table. “But if you look at the deed of incorporation for L’Héritage, you’ll find my name. Alone.”
Liam’s face turned a shade of grey that matched the sidewalk. “You… you bought this? With what money?”
“The money you thought I didn’t have. And the profits from the two other properties I opened while you were busy spending your settlement on Daria’s plastic surgery.”
I opened the folder. “I heard you wanted to ‘buy me out.’ Unfortunately, this establishment isn’t for sale. Especially not to someone with your… credit history. I’ve seen your recent filings, Liam. That ‘investment firm’ of yours is hemorrhaging cash.”
The silence at the table was deafening. The diners at the surrounding tables were whispering. Daria looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor she had just mocked me for cleaning.
“Now,” I said, snapping the folder shut. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. We have a very strict dress code regarding character, and yours doesn’t meet the house standards.”
“You can’t kick us out!” Daria hissed.
“I can. And I am. Marcus?”
Two large security guards appeared behind their chairs. Liam stood up, his face flushed with rage and humiliation. He tried to say something, to get the last word, but I simply turned my back on him.
“Oh, and Liam?” I called out as they were being escorted to the door. “Don’t worry about the water. It’s on the house. You look like you need it.”
I watched them walk out into the rain, huddled together, looking small and defeated. I picked up a cloth from a nearby station and wiped a stray drop of water off their table. It was the last time I’d ever have to clean up after them.
