CHAPTER 8
But smaller.
Much smaller.
And Richard never again joked about foreign-language contract versions.
Amara interviewed with Laurent Maison Group three weeks after the dinner.
She wore a navy suit.
Not expensive.
Tailored well.
She interviewed with four people.
None of them asked her about Richard until the final fifteen minutes.
The compliance director, Helen Wu, leaned forward.
“I’m going to ask something difficult.”
Amara nodded.
“Would you have noticed that wording if Richard hadn't humiliated you?”
Amara thought about it.
“Yes.”
Helen looked surprised.
“Why?”
“I had already noticed it while serving the table.”
“You heard them discussing it?”
“I saw parts of the French text while pouring wine.”
“And you said nothing.”
“It wasn't my place.”
Helen nodded.
“Then why did you speak later?”
“He asked me directly.”
“Would you have warned Mr. Laurent otherwise?”
Amara considered the question longer.
“I don't know.”
Helen appreciated the answer.
Amara continued.
“I was an employee serving customers. Their contract was confidential. I wasn't his lawyer or translator.”
She folded her hands.
“But if I believed someone was about to sign something materially different from what they thought they were signing…”
She paused.
“Yes.”
“I probably would have found a careful way to say something.”
Helen smiled faintly.
“That answer worries our lawyers and pleases me.”
Amara laughed.
She got the job.
Her first day was six weeks later.
Salary:
More than double what she had earned at Bellamy House.
Health insurance.
Tuition support.
Hybrid schedule.
Enough flexibility to continue helping her mother.
Amara still worked one final Saturday at the restaurant because she had promised Thomas.
At the end of the shift, the staff gathered near the service station with cake.
Emily from reservations had written:
DON’T TRANSLATE ANY CONTRACTS WITHOUT US
across the top.
Amara laughed until she cried.
Thomas handed her an envelope.
She frowned.
“What’s this?”
“Your final tips.”
“I already got them.”
“Open it.”
Inside was a hundred-dollar bill.
Amara stared at him.
Thomas smiled.
“Relax. Nobody threw it.”
She burst out laughing.
Then he handed her a second envelope.
Inside was a card signed by every member of staff.
On the front:
TO THE MOST EXPENSIVE WAITRESS RICHARD COLE EVER UNDERESTIMATED
Amara shook her head.
“That is terrible.”
Thomas grinned.
“You're keeping it.”
She did.
Six months later, Amara returned to Bellamy House.
Not to work.
To have dinner.
Her mother sat across from her.
Walking with a cane now.
Speech almost completely recovered.
Beside her sat Amara’s younger sister, Leah.
Amara had just completed her first semester of graduate school.
Laurent Maison Group covered sixty percent of tuition.
She covered the rest herself.
Thomas personally seated them.
“Table Twelve?”
Amara stared.
“You're joking.”
He smiled.
“I can give you another.”
Her mother looked confused.
“What’s wrong with Twelve?”
Leah started laughing.
Amara sighed.
“Nothing.”
They sat.
Same room.
Same chandelier.
Same polished glass partition.