Chapter 230 Restaurant Dust–up
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The man gave the bag a single, bored glance. “It’s just a bag. You want us to pay for that?”
Yvaine snorted. “That’s not the point. Maybe teach him to keep his hands off other people’s things. And an apology wouldn’t kill you.‘
“1
“He’s just a kid. Why are you going after a kid? I’m a VIP here. You’d think my son has the right to sit in a restaurant. If you don’t like it, go sit somewhere else.”
I frowned.
Where was the logic in that?
Because he was a VIP, his kid could get away with anything?
“He’s a kid. Fine. But you’re not. Apologize,” I said. “And your kid disrupted our table, not the other way around. Why should we move?”
The guy’s voice shot up. “You’re disrupting my meal now! Raising your voice and bothering everyone—”
I glanced around.
The restaurant was almost empty.
His wife piped up. “You’re seriously picking on a five–year–old? Pathetic.”
The kid stuck his tongue out at us.
Yvaine reached into her bag and froze. “Where the hell is it? I swear I packed it.”
“What’s missing?” I asked.
“My headphones. The limited–edition Finnish pair Emmett got me. I babied those. I packed them this morning myself.”
“You’re sure they were in there?”
“One hundred percent.”
I stared at the bag, then at the kid.
We both turned to the parents.
Yvaine spoke first. “We’re looking for a pair of headphones. Just checking if your son might have taken them by accident.”
The mother scoffed. “Earphones? What are they worth, ive dollars? You that desperate?”
Yvaine’s voice went cold. “They’re a discontinued Finnish designer release. Twelve grand retail. Twenty now, if you can find one.”
The couple looked at each other, then burst out laughing
The man swept his eyes over our trainers, Yvaine’s oversized hoodie, my hiking gear.
“You two probably saved all year for this buffet lunch,” he said, sneering. “Now you’re trying to pull some
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scam over a fake designer headset? Real classy.”
The manager finally wandered over, face stiff.
His name tag said Bruce Zed.
I faced him. “My friend’s property is missing. We want to check the CCTV.”
Bruce didn’t look at us.
He looked at the couple.
Then he said, “I’m afraid I can’t authorize that.”
“You’re kidding,” Yvaine muttered.
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“They’re accusing my son of theft!” the man said. “One damn headset and they’re screaming twelve grand. It’s a shakedown! Bruce, throw them out.”
I didn’t look away. “We never said your son stole anything. But if that’s where your brain went, that’s not on me.”
Yvaine folded her arms. “Mine had cartoon prints all over it. Maybe the kid liked it and grabbed it. If you hand them over now, I won’t call the police.”
I turned back to Bruce. “This isn’t complicated. Just check the footage.”
He didn’t budge. “I have to protect the guests‘ privacy.”
“Guests or your friends?” I asked. “You’ve been swapping glances with them since we got here.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “Mr. Happy is a VIP. I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed a misunderstanding to upset such a valuable client.”
Happy–seriously? Didn’t he find that ironic?-smirked. “I’ve seen this scam before. Create drama, pretend some flashy thing’s missing, demand money. You think I’m falling for that?”
I narrowed my eyes. “We don’t want your money. We just want the damn headset.”
Bruce’s lips pinched. “If you keep disturbing other guests, I’ll have to call security.”
“Please do,” I said. “I’d love to see you explain why you refused to check footage when a guest reported stolen property.”
The kid snickered behind his mother’s legs.
Then I noticed the bulge in his fist.
His palm was clenched around something white and round, with a glossy case and cartoon stickers–the exact ones I’d helped Yvaine apply this morning.
Talk about getting caught red–handed.
“Don’t bother with the cameras,” I said. “He’s holding ”
Yvaine stepped forward. “Give me what’s in your hand. Now.”
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The mother shrieked and slapped her forearm hard enough to leave a red mark. “You psycho! He’s a child! You can’t just grab him like that!”
The boy wailed, loud, red–faced, crocodile tears.
The manager turned to us. “You’re disrupting business. If this continues, we will call the police.”
He said that to us, not the couple or the thief.
I clenched my jaw. “Go ahead. Please. Call them.”
The doors at the front of the restaurant swung open.
A man walked in. (1
Black windbreaker, gray joggers, trainers.
The tension in my shoulders dropped on instinct.
Ashton’s eyes flicked over me once, checking.
I gave a small nod, telling him I was fine.
He turned to the manager. “If I hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have known my hotel’s being run by someone
like this.” 1
Bruce Zed went pale under his tan.
He stammered, tried to smile. “Sir, I–I didn’t realize-
Another man jogged in from the back, out of breath. “Mr. Laurent! Apologies! I was in a meeting.‘
He skidded to a stop next to Ashton, hand out, back slightly bent, smile too eager. “I’m Carter Kairo,
general manager.”
Ashton didn’t take his hand.
Carter held the pose for a beat, then dropped his arm and cleared his throat. “We’ll handle this right away.”
Ashton was still staring down Bruce. “You’ve got one hour. I want to know exactly what ties he’s got to this family. Then fire him.”
Carter nodded like his head was about to fall off. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ll look into it personally.”
Bruce staggered back a step and caught himself on a table.
The brat’s dad cleared his throat. “We didn’t mean any trouble. This girl here-”
Ashton cut him off. “That girl is my wife.”
Silence,
Ashton turned back to Carter. “If she ever has a single problem here again, you’re out.”
“Of course. Yes. Absolutely, I understand.”
The boy cowered behind his mum’s legs, suddenly nerves.
