Chapter 3 - THE WINE SPED ERRAND
Inside the VIP room, Marcos pulled out the plush velvet chair for Lourdes himself, ignoring the protests of the head waiter who scurried over, looking terrified by the unconventional seating arrangement.
"Get her the tasting menu," Marcos instructed the head waiter, his voice sharp and commanding. "Bring the finest reserve vintage we have, and have the chef prepare a selection of our best signature dishes. Immediately."
"Sir, of course," the head waiter stammered, casting a bewildered glance at Lourdes's faded uniform before scurrying away to execute the order.
Lourdes looked down at her hands, still trembling slightly. "Marquinhos... you don't have to do all this. I'm just... I'm just working for Madame Estela. If she sees me in here, she’ll fire me. She’ll make my life miserable."
Marcos sat across from her, leaning forward with an intensity that brooked no argument. "Lourdes, listen to me very carefully. You are never going back to scrubbing her floors. You are never carrying her bags again. Not after today. What you did for me shaped every single thing I am. I built this empire on the values you taught me—kindness, resilience, and respect for every human being. The woman out there..." Marcos glanced through the glass with absolute disdain. "...is the exact opposite of everything good in this world. And she is about to learn a very expensive lesson."
Meanwhile, out in the main dining room, Estela could no longer maintain her polite composure. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She slammed her wine glass down onto the white tablecloth, causing a few drops to spill over the rim. Several nearby diners glanced at her, disturbed by the ungraceful display, but Estela didn't care. Her mind was racing.
How? How does a miserable old maid know Marcos Albuquerque?
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She had spent a small fortune on public relations, charity galas, and social club memberships just to get a nod from Marcos at a charity auction. And here he was, treating Lourdes like visiting royalty.
Impulse taking over reason, Estela stood up from her table, smoothing down her designer dress, and marched straight toward the glass-walled VIP room. She didn't care about decorum anymore. She needed answers, and she needed to reclaim her social standing before the gossip mill destroyed her reputation entirely.
