The Boss Who Wanted a Free Feast Got a Million-Dollar Lesson

The department had just closed a big deal, and the director came strolling over to my desk.

"Cece," he said. "Tonight's celebration dinner is at your family's revolving restaurant. We'll buy out the place. Consider it your chance to shine, treating everyone."

"Don't worry, I won't let you eat the cost. I'll have finance cut you a two-hundred-dollar bonus afterward. See? I look out for you, don't I?"

At my family's restaurant, a single table started at two thousand.

A two-hundred-dollar bonus, and he wanted to freeload a hundred-thousand-dollar buyout?

I smiled and turned him down.

"Mr. Whitney, the restaurant belongs to my mother. It's not my call. Besides, the place is already booked tonight."

He didn't even acknowledge me. He just announced it.

"Six o'clock tonight, everyone heads to the Skyline Revolving Restaurant for dinner. Bring your families. It's all on the house!"

The room broke into cheers, a chorus of how mighty Mr. Whitney was, how generous Mr. Whitney was.

I looked at Oliver Whitney's face, that what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it expression.

And I smiled.

He wanted to freeload off my family's restaurant to buy himself a reputation?

Then let him find out what real free meals taste like. The kind they serve in prison.

...

It was always like this. I'd been at this company less than six months, and ever since he'd learned my family ran a revolving restaurant, Oliver had eaten and drunk on my tab no fewer than ten times, every visit running over two thousand.

Family gatherings, class reunions, treating company higher-ups to dinner, all of it at my family's restaurant.

He didn't even spare his client dinners, and on the way out he'd demand a padded receipt for more than he'd spent.

The first couple of times, he at least managed a few words of thanks.

After that, not one kind word, and the way he looked at my mother had the word "charity" written all over it.

As if his freeloading were some enormous favor he was doing us.

Oliver looked down at me, his eyes full of crushing, high-handed certainty.

As if I were an ant he could grind underfoot whenever he pleased.

"Cecily Joyner, holding the company dinner at your restaurant is giving you face. We're not even charging you a promotion fee, so count yourself lucky and quit being so ungrateful!"

"Right, Cecily, the director only thought of you for this. Don't go biting the hand. Jordan's family runs a restaurant too, you know. When have you ever seen the director hold a dinner there?"

That was Aileen Dickerson talking, Oliver's number-one lackey, the one who could flatter better than anyone, who'd swear his every fart smelled sweet.

What Jordan's family ran wasn't exactly a restaurant. It was a hole-in-the-wall diner on the corner.

That level of place, Oliver wouldn't lower himself to.

The rest of the department fell over themselves to pile on.

"That's right. A few dozen of us, plus families, that's over a hundred people, free advertising. You couldn't buy that kind of exposure, Cecily. You should be counting your blessings."

"And we're only coming out of respect for you anyway. Aren't all the dishes the same anyway? Cecily, you need to learn some gratitude!"

Showing support, they called it. But which time had any of them paid?

The small stuff, my mother had swallowed it all, as long as my work went smoothly and I got along with my coworkers.

But this time it was the whole department, families included, starting at a hundred thousand. I couldn't swallow that.

I was about to open my mouth to refuse when Oliver spoke up.

"Cece, that Maine lobster from last time was excellent. Get everyone a portion this round. And the Australian A5 Wagyu."

He turned to the others and swept a hand through the air.

"Everybody, call out whatever you want right now. Let Cece write it down. Don't worry about the price, just eat your fill."

The office erupted.

"Amazing! I hereby declare Mr. Whitney the most generous director, no contest... I want Gillardeau oysters."

"I want the imported snow crab legs, plus the black truffle braised sea cucumber."

"And the pan-seared foie gras, a fine-dining must. Dessert has to be fish maw, paired with an '82 Bordeaux. Perfect."

They really had the nerve to order.