“Then act like it.”
The waitress looked at him for a moment.
Then answered in Dutch.
“Belangrijk zijn en respect verdienen zijn niet hetzelfde.”
Being important and deserving respect are not the same thing.
The billionaire slammed his palm against the table.
Crystal glasses rattled.
“Enough!”
The waitress didn't flinch.
He reached toward the menu folder in her hands, snatched it away, and threw it onto the white tablecloth.
A silver spoon fell from its place.
One of the Americans recoiled.
“Get your manager!” the billionaire shouted.
The waitress remained still.
“Immediately!”
He pointed toward the door.
“I'll have you fired before the next course arrives!”
The young woman slowly took a breath.
Then she reached behind her waist.
Untied her white apron.
Folded it.
And placed it beside the menu folder.
The billionaire laughed bitterly.
“Oh, wonderful. Now you're quitting.”
She looked at him.
“No.”
He frowned.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Preparing to discuss the acquisition.”
The billionaire stared.
Before he could respond, the older financial adviser suddenly stood.
He'd been watching her face carefully for the past minute.
Something about her eyes and the confident way she spoke had finally triggered his memory.
He had seen her photograph.
On the first page of the seller's management presentation.
Standing beside the restaurant's head chef.
Smiling in a tailored business suit.
The adviser looked toward the billionaire.
“Sir.”
The billionaire turned angrily.
“What now?”
The adviser swallowed.
“That's the woman we've been negotiating with.”
The billionaire blinked.
“What?”
The waitress calmly pulled out the chair at the head of the table.
The adviser continued.
“She's the majority owner of Het Blauwe Huis.”
The room went utterly silent.
The young woman sat down.
She placed both hands on the polished wood.
Then she looked directly at the billionaire.
“Mijnheer, dit restaurant is van mij.”
Sir, this restaurant belongs to me.
The billionaire stared as though the ceiling had suddenly disappeared.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then the young woman opened her leather folder.
Inside were the acquisition documents.
The billionaire's company's name appeared on the cover.
His own signature appeared on the accompanying offer letter.
And beneath the proposed purchase price stood a number large enough to make most people forget every objection they'd ever had.
$48,000,000.
The woman glanced at the figure.
Then at the man who had threatened to fire her.
“I believe,” she said calmly, “we have quite a few things to discuss.”
But the billionaire was about to discover that the most dangerous thing in the room wasn't the woman he'd insulted.
It was the evidence she'd brought with her.