And so, the quiet tension in La Lumiere was no longer the signature peace of a fine dining establishment. It had become a taut string, stretched to its breaking point, waiting for a single spark to ignite a full-blown confrontation. Emma, smug in her actions, remained blissfully unaware that the very patrons she believed had overlooked the injustice were, in fact, rallying behind Shaq, and they were no longer willing to stay silent.
The atmosphere in La Lumiere restaurant was as tense as a taut string stretched to its limit. After several more rounds of serving other tables and deliberately ignoring Shaq, Emma finally walked toward the corner table where he sat. In her hand was a silver tray holding the filet mignon Rossini he had ordered, a signature dish of the restaurant, priced at $350.
Emma moved slowly, her high heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor, intentionally drawing the attention of every diner in the room. Her eyes betrayed an air of arrogance, and her stride seemed to declare that this was nothing more than a begrudging service for her.
As she approached the table, Emma paused for a moment and placed the plate on the table with slightly more force than necessary. The faint clink of the plate meeting the table reverberated in the air. Her smile was cold and challenging.
“This is what you ordered. I hope you can appreciate it,” she said.
Shaq, as usual, maintained his polite and composed demeanor. He glanced down at the intricately presented dish before him, then looked up at Emma. “It looks delicious. Thank you,” he said in a warm, courteous tone, as if he hadn’t noticed the challenge in her words.
Not content to let the moment end there, Emma leaned down slightly, half-friendly, half-intimidating. Her voice was low but clear enough for him to hear, laced with subtle bitterness. “This dish is for connoisseurs. I’m guessing it’s your first time.”
Shaq looked up, his eyes meeting hers. Yet there was no anger or irritation in his gaze. He smiled faintly and nodded. “Thank you for the advice,” he replied.
Shaq’s calm reaction not only unsettled Emma, but it also made the onlookers feel second-hand embarrassment on her behalf. Instead of humiliating Shaq, she inadvertently exposed her own pettiness.
Lisa, from a nearby table, could no longer keep quiet. She leaned toward her friend, her voice brimming with indignation. “He just politely thanked her, and she’s still being sarcastic. Unbelievable.”
Her friend nodded, her eyes fixed on Shaq’s table. “She’s trying to provoke him, but I think she picked the wrong target.”
At the center table, Mr. and Mrs. Carter continued to watch with a serious expression. Mr. Carter lifted his wine glass but didn’t drink, his eyes following Emma’s every move. “She has no idea who she’s dealing with,” he said, his voice low but firm. “A man like that doesn’t need to say or do anything. She’ll end up embarrassing herself.”
Emma, unaware of the judgmental glances from other diners, straightened up again. She scanned Shaq one more time, as if looking for a sign of discomfort or annoyance, but found none. A faint sense of defeat crept into her, and to mask it, she threw out another smug remark.
“If this doesn’t suit your taste, we always have simpler options. Feel free to order if needed.”
Shaq maintained his steady smile and nodded lightly. “Thank you, I’ll consider it.”
His composure was almost infuriating. Emma clenched the notebook in her hand tightly and turned on her heel, walking away without a backward glance.
At the counter, she slammed the silver tray down, startling Jake, her colleague. “He’s just pretending to be polite,” she hissed, her voice dripping with frustration. “I’m sure he doesn’t even know what he just ordered. People like that only come here for attention.”
Jake looked at her, his disapproval evident. “Maybe he just wants a peaceful dinner. Isn’t it our job to serve everyone?” he asked.
Emma spun around, her eyes filled with disdain. “Can’t you see, Jake? He doesn’t belong here, and I bet he’ll leave as soon as he sees the bill.”
Meanwhile, Shaq began to savor the Filet Mignon Rossini before him. The tender slices of beef, paired with the foie gras and truffle sauce, were a masterpiece both in flavor and presentation. He chewed slowly, unhurried, his expression serene.
Around him, the murmurs of the other diners grew louder. A few expressed their indignation on his behalf, while others merely glanced at Emma with disapproving eyes. No one spoke out loud, but the atmosphere in the restaurant had shifted from formal elegance to an uneasy tension.
Shaq, seated in the most inconspicuous corner, had become the center of attention. Yet he did nothing but eat his meal, calmly, gracefully, as if he were the one orchestrating the entire scene. Emma had no idea that her actions were leading her closer and closer to a lesson she would never forget.
Emma had just turned her back from Shaq’s table, a smug smile still lingering on her lips. She believed she had everything under control, that her delays and cutting remarks would ultimately force Shaq to leave the restaurant in silent humiliation. But what she didn’t expect was how drastically the atmosphere in the restaurant would change just seconds later…
