Chapter 3 - The Icy Shift
The laughter from Derek and Nolan slowly began to die down. The atmosphere at the table shifted violently.
Instead of crying or fleeing, Fiona’s dark eyes hardened with a brilliant, icy confidence. The quiet, submissive posture of the waitress completely evaporated. She stood tall, adjusting her grip on her black serving tray, her natural breathing steady and entirely unbothered by the towering mafia-linked billionaire sitting in front of her.
She looked Grant dead in the eye without blinking for three agonizing seconds.
"You shouldn't be asking what to buy, Mr. Holloway," Fiona said.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the ambient noise of the luxury rooftop like a perfectly sharpened blade. The absolute, undeniable authority in her tone made Derek lower his champagne glass to the table.
Fiona tilted her head slightly, her messy ponytail shifting over her white collar.
"You should be asking what to sell," Fiona stated, cold and steady.
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Grant’s arrogant smirk instantly froze on his face. The amusement completely vanished from his dark eyes. No one spoke to him this way. He was a man who destroyed hedge funds for breakfast and buried his rivals by dinner. For a waitress in a retro pink uniform to look down on him was an insult his massive ego simply could not process.
👉 Grant was about to try and intimidate the waitress, completely unaware that he had already walked straight into her trap.
