Sarah swallowed. She knew for a fact that Chef Elena’s preparation was flawless. The internal temperature of that Wagyu would have been exactly what Sterling had requested. But a server never argues with a guest.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” she said, her voice level. “I can take it back to the kitchen and have it cooked further to your liking.”
He let out a joyless laugh, loud enough to catch the attention of several neighboring tables.
“Cooked further? I shouldn’t have to repeat myself. This place is supposed to be top-tier. You should know how to serve a steak properly.”
Sarah took a slow, steady breath. She reminded herself of little Katie at home, the rent that needed to be paid, and the tips she was counting on.
“I understand,” she said quietly. “Let me fix that for you immediately.”
“I don’t want excuses,” Sterling snapped. “I want a solution, and I want it now. And while you’re at it, bring another bottle of this Riesling, and move it.”
Arthur Welch shot Sarah an apologetic look, but said nothing. The tension in the room thickened. Nearby diners shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to keep watching or pretend they hadn’t noticed.
Sarah felt her cheeks flush, but she kept her posture straight.
“Yes, sir,” she said, picking up the plate and turning to leave.
It was then that the billionaire raised his voice, addressing the entire room:
“For a place like this to mess up a simple steak is ridiculous. Do you have any idea how much money people spend to eat here? You’d think they’d hire competent staff.”
A hush fell over the diners as Sterling’s outburst echoed off the elegantly paneled walls. Whispers broke out. Arthur put a hand on Sterling’s shoulder, trying to calm him, but Sterling brushed him off.
Sarah’s ears burned. It was one thing to be reprimanded privately, but quite another to be publicly humiliated. Her composure wavered for a second, a flash of hurt crossing her face. However, years of hardship had taught her how to stay calm under fire.
She disappeared into the kitchen, asked Chef Elena to fire the steak for another minute, and grabbed another bottle of Riesling. The chef was fuming at Sterling’s accusation of it being “raw,” wondering if the man even knew what “seared rare” meant. Still, their hands were tied.
The customer is always right, especially a billionaire who could make or break a reputation. Sarah returned with the updated Wagyu and the new bottle, carefully presenting it to Sterling for approval. He didn’t offer a single pleasantry, merely holding up his glass for a refill as she poured.
Lines of tension were etched into his forehead, and his voice dripped with disdain. She set the steak back down in front of him.
“I hope this is more to your satisfaction,” she said, keeping the edge out of her voice.
He looked at her with a scowl but cut into the meat. He took a bite, then gave a curt nod and finally muttered:
