Curtis took a breath. Slow, measured. The kind of breath a man takes when he's choosing peace over war. "We don't have a reservation, but we were hoping a table might open up." "No reservation?" Bradley let out a full open-mouthed laugh. Head tilted back, shoulders shaking like Curtis had just delivered the funniest joke of the century. "We've been fully booked since Tuesday. Every table, every seat, nothing available tonight."
Denise looked past Bradley's shoulder. Right at that moment, a couple walked in behind them, white. The man wore a wrinkled polo and loafers without socks. The woman wore a sundress with flat sandals. "No reservation," Denise heard them say so clearly. Bradley turned around. His entire body transformed. Shoulders dropped, smile bloomed, voice turned to warm honey. "Welcome to the Sterling Room. Perfect timing. We just had a cancellation. Right this way, folks." He grabbed two menus and walked them personally to a window table overlooking the courtyard, pulled out the chair for the woman with both hands, placed the wine list before the man like a sacred offering. He even leaned in and whispered something that made them both laugh. Then he strolled back toward Curtis and Denise. Same hallway, same floor, different world entirely.
Denise's voice stayed level, but her eyes were on fire. "You just told us every single table was booked. They're members of our loyalty program." "You don't have a loyalty program. There's nothing about one on your website, your door, or anywhere in this building." Bradley's jaw tightened. A vein on his neck pulsed. He was not accustomed to being corrected. Especially not by a black woman in a hair wrap. "Ma'am, I don't have time to stand here arguing with you. We have standards. If you can't meet them, I suggest somewhere with plastic chairs and paper napkins. More your speed."
Curtis stepped forward. Not aggressive, just present. "We'd like to speak with Chef Raymond Ellis, please." Bradley snorted. "Chef Ellis doesn't take meetings with random walk-ins off the street. He's an award-winning chef running a serious kitchen, not a drive-thru window you knock on whenever you feel like it." "I understand. But if you could just let him know, let him know what? That two people in gym clothes showed up wanting a $200 meal. Trust me, he'd laugh even harder than I did." Bradley raised his walkie-talkie, pressed the button slowly, deliberately, keeping his eyes fixed on Curtis the entire time. When he spoke, he spoke loud. Loud enough for 30 guests to hear every word. "Hey, let security know we've got two walk-ins who can't take no for an answer. Might need an escort out the front door."