“Dessert,” I manage to say, placing the panna cotta in front of him without spilling. “Would you like anything else, sir? Or should I bring the check?”
Clive leans back in his chair, lips curling into a smirk.
“The check?” he scoffs. “What for? This place runs on my money, sweetheart. I shouldn’t be paying at all.”
The rumors could be true, but I don’t care right now. I blink. “Sir, that’s restaurant policy?—”
“Iamthe policy.”
He picks up a five-dollar bill, folds it with precise, smug fingers, and slides it across the table.
“Here,” he says. “Be a good girl and take this as your tip.”
The banknote stops at the edge, balanced like it’s daring me to touch it.
I stare at it.
Five dollars. That’s what I’m worth to him.
Clive gets up, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need the restroom.”
As he walks away, I catch sight of something left behind.
His wallet.
Thick. Black. Monogrammed.
I don’t think.
I justmove.
I grab it, shove it into my apron, and walk as fast as I can toward the hallway. My heart’s pounding. This is wrong. I know it’s wrong. But I know he's got money to spare. And anything that lets me come just a little closer to those five thousand dollars...
It could save my brother.
The ladies’ room is empty. I duck into the farthest stall and sit on the closed toilet seat, forcing myself to breathe. I just need to think. Just—figure out what to do.
Then I hear it.
A voice.
Amalevoice.
"Oh, sweetheart. Didn't Mommy teach you it's wrong to steal?"
My blood turnsto ice as I slowly open the stall door.
Clive is standing just inside the bathroom, holding the door shut behind him.
He smiles, but there’s no warmth in it.
“Took me a second to realize what you’d done,” he says. “Came back to grab my wallet. Imagine my surprise.”
I fumble with the wallet, holding it out. “I…I didn’t mean to," I blurt. "I just... I was going to return it. I’m so sorry. It's just been a really rough time, and I…”
I rely on tips. I need them to survive. And when you didn't give it, when you treated me like that?—
Shame floods me at what I did. Am I really making excuses for stealing?
