“About Mr. Cole,” Gerald repeated.

“How much time you spent at his table. What you talked about.”

Naomi stood across from his desk, still wearing the same black uniform she had worn when she walked into corporate headquarters the day before.

But she did not feel like the same woman.

Gerald watched her carefully.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Naomi thought about the envelope inside her bag.

Director of Cultural Development and Employee Advocacy.

Ninety thousand dollars a year.

Benefits.

A corporate office.

A seat at tables where people like her were usually discussed without ever being invited into the room.

And twenty-four hours to decide.

She looked at Gerald.

“Why did you report me?”

His face tightened.

“I reported inappropriate behavior.”

“I served a customer.”

“You sat at his table.”

“He asked me to.”

“You had personal conversations with the owner of this company.”

“He kept coming back.”

“And you encouraged it.”

Naomi stared.

There it was.

The thing she had known was coming.

Not a concern about food.

Not a complaint from Darius.

Not a mistake on her check.

Her offense was that she had crossed an invisible line.

The wrong person had been noticed by the right person.

Gerald folded his arms.

“You don’t understand how corporations work.”

“Maybe.”

“You think because Mr. Cole likes talking to you, suddenly the rules don’t apply.”

Naomi almost laughed.

“If the rules said I couldn’t speak to him, someone probably should’ve mentioned that before everybody refused to serve him.”

Gerald’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t get smart.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re acting like this is funny.”

“It isn’t.”

Naomi stepped closer.

“You told me I needed to know my place.”

“I remember.”

“You told me people like him don’t play fair.”

“I remember that too.”

“And now corporate is asking questions because you reported me for doing my job.”

Gerald pointed toward the door.

“I’m trying to protect this restaurant.”

“From what?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation told her more than an answer would have.

“From me?”

Gerald exhaled.

“From instability.”

Naomi’s eyebrows lifted.

“Instability.”

“You have the CEO showing up every night asking for one waitress.”

“People notice.”

“Employees gossip.”

“Guests notice.”

“It creates problems.”

Naomi nodded.

“So this isn’t about whether I did anything wrong.”

“It’s about what people might think.”

“That matters.”

“More than what actually happened?”

Gerald looked away.

Naomi suddenly understood something.

He wasn’t simply frightened of Darius.

He was frightened of losing control of the story.

For years, managers like Gerald survived by knowing exactly where everyone belonged.

Chef in the kitchen.

Waitress on the floor.

Executives upstairs.

Owners somewhere far enough away that employees could fear them without ever really knowing them.

Naomi had disrupted that by carrying a glass of water to Table 17.

Nothing more.

And somehow that had become dangerous.

Gerald leaned forward.

“Whatever happened at headquarters yesterday, don’t let it go to your head.”

Naomi went still.

He knew.

Maybe not everything.

Enough.

“Who told you?”

“Nobody had to.”

“Corporate called me this morning.”

“They asked about your record.”

“Your attendance.”

“Your performance.”

“They asked whether there had been disciplinary complaints before Mr. Cole started coming here.”

Naomi felt her heartbeat change.

Gerald continued.

“You think I don’t know what that means?”

She said nothing.

“They’re considering you for something.”

Still nothing.

His expression hardened.

“What did he offer?”

Naomi could have lied.

She had spent most of her life learning when silence was safer.

Instead she said:

“A job.”

Gerald laughed.

Sharp.

Disbelieving.

“Doing what?”

“Corporate culture and employee advocacy.”

The laughter stopped.

“What?”

Naomi repeated it.

Slowly.

Gerald sat back.

For the first time since she had known him, he looked completely lost.

Then he smiled.

It was not kind.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“That’s not your business.”

His face told her he already hated the answer.

He stood.

“Naomi, listen to me.”

“I am.”

“This is not an opportunity.”

“It’s a stunt.”

She frowned.

“Darius Cole wants to prove some point to his executives.”

“He picked the waitress who wasn’t afraid of him.”

“They’ll put you upstairs.”

“They’ll parade you through meetings.”

“They’ll say, look, we listen to frontline employees.”

“And then the first time you embarrass him, you’re gone.”

Naomi hated that part of her believed him.

Because she had seen it before.

Different company.

Different language.

Same pattern.

Somebody from the bottom gets lifted high enough to become a story.

Then everybody applauds the story instead of changing the system.

Gerald saw the doubt.

He pressed harder.

“You don’t have a degree.”

“I know.”

“You’ve never managed a department.”

“I know.”

“You’ve never worked corporate.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know budgets.”

“Boards.”

“Compliance.”

“Labor strategy.”

“Executive politics.”

“I know.”

His voice softened.

Almost sympathetic now.

“They will eat you alive.”

Naomi looked at him.

“Maybe.”