Chapter 20 Subtle Strike
Rick's internal response was immediate: Afford it? I could buy the whole damn place. Outwardly, he just smiled. "Let's find out. I'm feeling like something a bit more… refined today." He remembered The Golden Spoon. It was one of the first high-end establishments he'd visited in his original timeline, long after he'd made his fortune. A place he'd wanted to impress Jenny with, but never had the chance. Now, he wanted to see if the past matched his memories.
As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The loud chatter of the mall faded, replaced by the soft clinking of silverware, hushed conversations, and the distant strains of classical music. The interior was dimly lit, with plush seating and tables set with crisp white linen and gleaming crystal.
A waiter, tall and impeccably dressed in a black waistcoat and bow tie, glided towards them. His expression, however, was not welcoming. His eyes, cold and appraising, swept over their group, lingering on their casual student attire – Leo's new shoes notwithstanding, which were now tucked under his arm in the bag.
"Good afternoon," the waiter said, his voice smooth but condescending, betraying a distinct lack of warmth. "Welcome to The Golden Spoon. Do you have a reservation?"
"No, we don't," Rick replied calmly, his politeness unwavering despite the waiter's obvious disdain. "Is there a table available for three?"
The waiter's lips thinned. "Indeed. However," he paused, his gaze sweeping over them again, "I must inform you that the prices here reflect the quality of our cuisine and service. Our average meal ranges from five hundred Poh to three thousand Poh per person, depending on your selection." He emphasized the numbers, as if to underscore that such prices were likely beyond their means. "Perhaps you might find something more… suitable, elsewhere?"
Rick felt a familiar prickle of annoyance. This is exactly why I hate these kinds of establishments. He'd built his own restaurant chain on the principle of treating every customer with respect, regardless of their attire or perceived wealth. This man's arrogance reminded him sharply of the humble beginnings he'd worked so hard to escape.
Jenny, oblivious to Rick's inner turmoil, but sensing the waiter's unspoken judgment, looked uncomfortable. Leo, usually quick to defend himself, seemed to shrink slightly under the waiter's gaze.
"We understand the pricing," Rick said, his voice flat. "We were just hoping to enjoy a nice meal." He held the waiter's gaze, a challenging glint in his eye. He wanted to make a point, but not create a scene. Civility. Even when faced with rudeness, I must maintain my composure. It's about dignity, not just winning an argument.
"Of course," the waiter said, a subtle sneer now playing on his lips. "However, I must reiterate, our prices are quite… substantial. We wouldn't want you to be surprised at the bill." He made no move to seat them.
Rick exhaled slowly. The desire to pull out his wallet, filled with thousands of Poh, and slap it on the waiter was almost overwhelming. But that wasn't his style. Not anymore. Not the Rick Lane who had built an empire.
"You know what?" Rick said, turning to Jenny and Leo. "Perhaps he's right. The atmosphere… it just doesn't feel right, does it? Too stiff. I was thinking something a bit more relaxed, anyway." He managed a small, convincing smile for Jenny. "Don't you agree?"
Jenny, relieved, nodded eagerly. "Yes! Exactly. It feels a bit… stuffy. I was hoping for something with a bit more life."
Leo, grateful for the excuse to leave, quickly chimed in. "Yeah, definitely. And I just bought these new shoes, I don't want to get anything on them in a place like this."
Rick turned back to the waiter, his smile now genuinely polite, though his eyes held a hint of amusement. "Thank you for your… guidance. We'll find somewhere else."
They turned and walked out, leaving the waiter standing, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. As the heavy door swung shut behind them, cutting off the hushed sounds of The Golden Spoon, Jenny let out a small sigh of relief.
"Goodness, what a snob," she whispered. "Did you see how he looked at us?"
"I certainly did," Rick muttered, still feeling the lingering sting of the dismissal. Some things never change, no matter what timeline you're in. Arrogance and judgment are universal.
Just across the concourse, directly opposite "The Golden Spoon," was another restaurant. This one, "The Orchard Bistro," had an inviting, open facade, with large windows and a few tables set outside, adorned with potted plants and cheerful checkered tablecloths. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling herbs wafted invitingly towards them.
As they walked towards it, Rick glanced back at "The Golden Spoon." He caught a glimpse of the condescending waiter, now standing by the entrance, seemingly receiving a stern talking-to from an older man in a slightly more formal suit – likely the manager. The manager's gestures were sharp, his expression one of clear displeasure. Rick couldn't hear the words, but he imagined the manager was delivering a lecture on customer service, on not judging books by their covers.
The waiter, chastened, nodded repeatedly, but as his eyes flickered towards Rick and his friends, a faint sneer still twisted his lips. He might have been rebuked, but his underlying disdain remained.
"This looks much better," Jenny said, her mood already lifting as they approached The Orchard Bistro. "So much brighter, and look, they have outdoor seating!"
"Perfect for enjoying the mall activity," Rick agreed, a subtle plan already forming in his mind. Ah, the perfect stage.
A different waiter, this one with a genuine, welcoming smile, greeted them at the entrance. "Welcome to The Orchard Bistro! Table for three, please. Outside, perhaps?"
"That would be lovely," Rick said, relieved by the change in demeanor.
They were led to a charming table beneath a small, shady awning. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the bustling mall, and, more importantly, a direct line of sight to the entrance of "The Golden Spoon" and its unpleasantly familiar waiter.
"This is much nicer," Leo declared, settling into his chair. "The air is fresh, and it feels so much more relaxed."
"Agreed," Jenny said, already perusing the menu. "Oh, look! They have that homemade bread I love!"
They ordered, and Rick, with his sophisticated palate honed by decades of running successful restaurants, ordered a few of his favorite dishes: a pan-seared river trout with lemon-herb butter, a hearty mushroom ragout with fresh pasta, and a crisp garden salad. Jenny opted for a roasted chicken sandwich with avocado, and Leo, still beaming from his shoe purchase, chose a towering beef burger with all the fixings. They also ordered a bottle of the house white wine, for the adults. Rick raised an eyebrow at Jenny, who just shrugged playfully. "You're seventeen, Rick, but you already act like you're thirty! And besides, one glass for three of us won't hurt."
While they waited for their food, their conversation flowed easily. Jenny enthusiastically detailed her experiences while she and her sister were trying out some new bread recipes, sketching out ideas for new bread types and pastry designs on a napkin. Leo, still buzzing from his shoe triumph, recounted the story of Maria's mortification, making Rick and Jenny laugh.
Rick listened, contributing with genuine interest, but his mind was also working. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction in being able to subtly guide their lives, to correct the minor injustices and disappointments that had plagued his early years and those of his loved ones.
While watching Jenny's smiles and gestures, the love he felt for her deepens. He suddenly thought of Nortorn Klane, Jenny's brief, almost disastrous relationship with him in the future. I will ensure that never happens. She deserves so much better. He thought of Michael, Joana's future husband. I need to subtly steer Joana towards him, too. Ensure everyone finds their right path.
A few minutes later, their dishes arrived, beautifully presented and steaming. The aroma alone was intoxicating. As their waiter placed Rick's pan-seared trout before him, Rick subtly raised his eyes, glancing towards the entrance of "The Golden Spoon."
There he was. The snobbish waiter, now standing just inside the glass doors, talking to a patron, his eyes still scanning the mall with that familiar, haughty air. His gaze swept over The Orchard Bistro, and for a fleeting moment, locked with Rick's.
Rick didn't flinch. A slow, almost imperceptible smile spread across his face – not a malicious grin, but a subtle, knowing one. He picked up his wine glass, the crystal catching the light. He held the waiter's gaze for a beat longer, then, with deliberate slowness, raised the glass in a silent, mocking toast. His message was clear: We're doing just fine, thank you. Better than fine, in fact. And without your 'suitable' establishment.
The waiter's sneer faltered, a flicker of confusion and annoyance replacing it. Rick gave a minuscule nod, then lowered his glass and took a sip, turning his attention back to Jenny and Leo with a contented sigh.
"This trout looks exquisite," Rick said, picking up his fork. "Truly."
Jenny and Leo, completely oblivious to the silent exchange, were already digging into their meals with relish, happy chatter filling the air around their table. Rick took a bite of his trout. It was perfectly cooked, flaky and flavorful. He savored it, the taste of delicious food mingling with the sweet taste of a subtle, well-executed victory.
It was a good day. And there were so many more good days to come.