Chapter 10 - The First Decree of a New Era
The remainder of that Thursday evening at The Alder felt less like a restaurant shift and more like a surreal, high-stakes political transition playing out in slow motion under the warm glow of the crystal chandelier.
Chef Laurent, realizing that his theatrical protests had completely backfired and that his new boss possessed the backing of Brooklyn's most powerful financial dynast, swallowed his pride, bowed stiffly, and retreated back to the kitchen without another word.
The remaining diners quickly returned to their meals, though the atmosphere in the room had shifted dramatically; every single waiter, busser, and host now moved with a new sense of caution and respect, casting curious sideways glances toward Table 1 where I was still standing.
Eleanor, looking completely revitalized by the sudden turn of events and the warm attention of her son, finally agreed to order a light meal of lemon-herb sea bass and a warm bowl of asparagus soup, which Vincent personally inspected before allowing her to touch.
"You're not going to fire me for talking back to the chef on my first minute on the job, are you?" I whispered to Vincent while Eleanor was busy dipping her bread into her soup.
Vincent turned his dark, intense gaze toward me, the harsh lighting of the room catching the sharp angles of his face and the faint, almost imperceptible amusement dancing in his eyes.
"If you hadn't talked back to him, Lucy, I would have questioned my own judgment in offering you the job," Vincent replied quietly, leaning his forearms against the edge of the table. "This city is full of people who know how to keep their heads down and take orders from tyrants. What it lacks are people who know how to stand their ground when the world tells them to fold."
His words hit me harder than I cared to admit, stirring up old memories of my mother holding our family together after my father passed away, working two jobs while studying for her own accounting certifications without ever complaining about the weight of the world on her shoulders.
"My mother taught me that," I murmured softly, looking down at my sensible black shoes, realizing with a sudden jolt of emotion that I wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow's grocery bill or next week's pharmacy run for my mother's medication.
Vincent reached into his inner coat pocket once more, pulled out a sleek, heavy fountain pen, and flipped over the matte-black business card he had given me earlier, scribbling a direct ten-digit phone number on the back before handing it back to me.
"That's my direct line," Vincent said, his voice dropping an octave as he lowered his tone so only I could hear. "If anyone in this building—whether it's a dishwasher, a line cook, or an investor—gives you any trouble during your transition tomorrow morning, you call that number before you do anything else."
I took the card, my fingers brushing against his warm skin, and felt an electric jolt of anticipation and fear race down my spine.
"And what about my nursing classes?" I asked impulsively, the question slipping out of my mouth before I could stop it. "The ones I had to drop out of?"
May you like
Vincent's dark eyes softened just a fraction, a quiet, knowing look passing over his features as he leaned back in his chair.
"Caruso Holdings has a philanthropic education foundation that covers full tuition and living stipends for healthcare workers and administration professionals in the tri-state area," Vincent said smoothly, a faint, cryptic smile playing on his lips. "All you have to do to qualify is submit an application to our HR department on Monday morning."
