Chapter 867: Old Friends

Charlotte raised an eyebrow as I approached our booth.

I’d been gone maybe ten minutes—just long enough to find the manager’s office, have a conversation, and apparently collect a stray along the way. She still didn’t know what I’d been planning, what little miracles I’d been arranging for a tiny girl who believed in

gods

like other kids

believed in cartoons.

All Charlotte knew was that I’d walked off with purpose...

...and now I was walking back with

company

.

Vanessa had finally settled back into the booth beside Charlotte, though

settled

was generous. She’d stopped hovering only because Rory had threatened to cry if Mama didn’t sit down and stop acting like a

malfunctioning Roomba.

Rory, meanwhile, was currently coloring on a napkin with a pen she’d somehow acquired—

because of course she had

—tongue poking out in concentration, completely unbothered by the adult chaos swirling above her head like storm clouds.

But Charlotte’s surprise—her

real

surprise—came from the person walking next to me.

A woman in an immaculate manager’s suit, posture so perfect it looked painful. The kind of woman who didn’t just run a restaurant—she

commanded

it. Her expression carried the exhausted dignity of someone who had just lost an argument they hadn’t even realized was happening.

Beautiful, too. Not in a soft way. In a sharp, polished, competent way. The kind of beauty that made mediocre men stutter and competent women straighten their backs.

And she looked utterly defeated.

Which, frankly, was my favorite look on authority figures.

I arranged my face into an expression of wounded betrayal—eyes wide, brow furrowed, lips pressed together in exaggerated pain, like a man who’d just found out his dog had been talking behind his back.

"Charlotte," I said as I reached the table, voice dripping with theatrical heartbreak. "Can you believe this? Ms. Chen got a new job and never even told us."

Ms. Chen sighed.

Not just a sigh—

the sigh

. The sigh of a woman who had accepted that she was trapped in my gravitational pull now, and resistance would only make it worse.

"Eros—"

"We were friends, Ms. Chen." I placed a hand dramatically over my chest. "I thought we had something

special."

"We were together three days ago. Even had a

special arrangement."

"Three meaningful days."

Charlotte snorted into her wine, already laughing, one hand pressed to her mouth like she was trying to contain it before it escaped and embarrassed her.

Ms. Chen’s lips twitched despite her best efforts to remain composed. It was the tiniest betrayal of amusement, like her professionalism had cracked for half a second and something human had peeked through.

Vanessa, meanwhile, had gone rigid.

Because her new manager—

her new job manager

—was now walking toward their table with the impossibly beautiful man and Charlotte Thompson, and they were all laughing like old friends, like this was brunch and not a situation that could obliterate Vanessa’s entire livelihood.

Vanessa’s eyes widened.

Her soul briefly left her body.

Then she scrambled to her feet so fast she nearly knocked over a water glass.

"Ms. Chen, I am so sorry, I can

explain—"

Ms. Chen’s gaze landed on Vanessa.

Cool. Measuring. Surgical.

The kind of look that didn’t just evaluate your performance—it evaluated your

worth

.

"Ms. Porter."

Vanessa swallowed hard. "Yes, ma’am?"

"Your daughter."

"I know, I know," Vanessa rushed out, words tumbling like loose coins. "She escaped from the back office, it won’t happen again, I swear—"

"Escaped." Ms. Chen’s voice was flat. Not angry. Worse than angry.

Controlled

. "From a locked room. Past two hallways. Through the kitchen. Into the dining room. To bother VIP guests."

Vanessa’s face drained of color.

She looked like she might faint right there in front of the soufflé.

"I—"

"In my restaurant."

"It was my fault, I should have—"

"On your second day."

Vanessa’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

No sound came out, because panic had shoved her brain into a corner and told it to sit down and shut up.

I caught Rory’s eye across the table.

Winked.

Rory giggled into her napkin like she was watching her favorite sitcom. Completely unconcerned about the apparent public execution of her mother happening three feet away.

She knew the ploy before her mother did.

Ms. Chen let the silence stretch.

Let it hang there.

Let Vanessa stew in it like a tea bag.

Just long enough for Vanessa’s eyes to start shining with tears.

Then Ms. Chen’s severe expression cracked.

"I’m

messing

with you."

Vanessa blinked.

"What?"

"Sit down, Ms. Porter." Ms. Chen’s voice softened, warmth slipping through the professional armor like sunlight through a curtain. She even reached out, guiding Vanessa back into her seat with surprising gentleness.

"You’re Eros’s guest tonight. I’m not heartless enough to fire someone in front of a child."

Vanessa stared at her like Ms. Chen had just announced she was secretly a mermaid.

"I—you—"

"Despite what they whisper about me in the kitchen."

Vanessa’s mouth opened again, this time in pure disbelief.

"I don’t—I

never—"

Ms. Chen waved a hand dismissively, sliding into the booth beside Charlotte with the effortless grace of someone who owned every room she entered. She moved like she was born with authority stitched into her bones.

"I know." She glanced at Vanessa, almost fond. "You don’t join the gossip circles. You’re one of the only ones who doesn’t, actually.

Yet."

Vanessa blinked again, as if her brain was buffering.

"It’s why I noticed you," Ms. Chen added casually—like that wasn’t the most terrifying sentence an employee could ever hear.

She leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, eyes glittering with something between amusement and genuine curiosity.

"But tell me—" her voice dropped conspiratorially, like they were girlfriends sharing secrets over

mimosas

—

"what do they say about me?"

Vanessa stared at her.

At this woman who was her boss, her new manager, the person who controlled her employment and therefore her entire life—

...leaning across the table at La Maison like they were at brunch, asking for gossip like it was dessert.

A small, incredulous laugh escaped Vanessa before she could stop it.

And it wasn’t polite.

It was the laugh of a woman whose brain had completely given up on predicting reality.