Chapter 98: I’ll Wait

I knew she had very limited time to sit and chat before a manager started breathing down her neck, so I didn’t waste a single second with unnecessary small talk.

"How’s work going for you, Patricia?" I asked softly, resting my elbows on the table.

She froze. The guarded, professional look on her face completely melted away, replaced by pure, stunned silence. For a long moment, she just stared at me like I had spoken a foreign language.

"I... no one has ever asked me that before," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. A faint, tired smile touched her lips, but it quickly faded as she caught sight of the floor supervisor walking out of the back kitchen.

Panicking slightly, she shifted her weight and started to stand back up, adjusting her apron.

"I’m really sorry, sir, but I genuinely can’t stay and chat," she said, her polite server facade snapping back into place as her hands trembled slightly against her notepad. "If my boss sees me sitting at a guest’s table during morning service, he’ll be furious, and I can’t afford to lose this job. I really have to get back to work."

She gave me a quick, respectful bow of her head and turned to walk toward the kitchen prep station, leaving her untouched notepad resting on the edge of the table.

I watched her walk away, checking my watch. The System’s 9.5 potential chef indicator was practically glowing over her head.

"Patricia," I called out smoothly, just loud enough for her to pause in her tracks and look back over her shoulder. "Leave your apron on the counter. I’m buying out your contract today."

She paused, giving me a hesitant, flustered look. "Um... I’m really not sure, sir. I really shouldn’t be meddling with customers..." She bowed politely, turning around quickly to hurry off toward the kitchen floor before anyone could catch her.

I reached a hand out to stop her, but pulled back mid-motion. Coming off too aggressive right now would only spook her, and given how terrified she was of losing this paycheck, forcing the issue in front of her coworkers wasn’t the play. The probability of her accepting a blind offer on the spot was still uncertain.

Maybe I should wait for her or offer to give her a lift after work instead, I thought, tapping my fingers against the mahogany table. A neutral environment outside of this pressure cooker might work better.

Before she slipped completely out of earshot, I called out one last question. "Patricia, what time does your shift end today?"

She paused near the kitchen doors, looking back over her shoulder. "9 PM, sir."

I raised an eyebrow, instinctively flicking my wrist to check my watch. 6:00 AM to 9:00 PM. A grueling fifteen-hour shift.

"Isn’t that completely absurd?" I muttered under my breath.

I stood up from the booth, intent on settling this directly with whoever was running this establishment. "Get me your manager."

Patricia shrank back slightly, her hands tightening around her tray. "He... he isn’t in today, sir. He won’t be back until late tonight."

I looked around the busy floor, the System interface hovering silently beside her, tracking her physical fatigue levels rising by the minute.

"I’ll still wait for you," I said firmly, keeping my tone smooth and reassuring. "No pressure, but I’ll be right here when your shift ends."

She looked at me warily, her eyes flickering with hesitation as she weighed my words. After a tense beat, she gave a small, quiet nod. "Okay... I’ll call or come out once I clock off."

With a polite bow, she hurried back to the kitchen, disappearing behind the double doors into the chaos of the dinner prep.

9:00 PM

The sun had long set over the island, replacing the ocean view with dark waves under a starlit sky. I sat in the driver’s seat of my sports car parked right outside the venue, the interior ambient lights glowing softly against the leather. I had May’s hit single blasting through the crisp sound system, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while I watched the staff entrance.

9:05 PM passed. Then 9:15 PM.

No phone call, and no sign of Patricia coming through those doors.

I paused the music, the quiet hum of the night filling the car as I glanced down at my phone. Zero notifications. I looked up at the restaurant—the main lights were dimming, and a few kitchen workers were starting to trickle out the back exit, but Patricia wasn’t among them. ℴ

I unbuckled my seatbelt, stepped out of the car, and walked straight over to the staff entrance. When I spotted a couple of line cooks locking up the side doors, I flagged them down and asked if Patricia was still inside.

"Patricia? Oh, she clocked out right at nine," one of them said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "She took off through the back alley exit toward the bus stop like ten minutes ago."

I stood there in the cool night air as the cooks walked away. She had deliberately snuck out the back way just to avoid me.

I pulled out my phone, looking at my reflection in the dark screen—tailored designer clothes, a high-end watch, an exotic sports car parked under the streetlights, and a guy casually offering to alter the entire trajectory of her life.

Do I look scary? I thought, half-amused, running a hand through my hair.

To her, I probably didn’t look like a savior—I looked like a walking, talking storm of wealth and crazy expectations.

She was an exhausted girl working fifteen-hour shifts just to survive, completely unused to anyone giving a damn about her, let alone a high-profile investor who shows up out of nowhere offering to buy out her contract.

To someone living in survival mode, a random billionaire acting like a fairy godfather doesn’t feel like an opportunity; it feels like a trap.

I leaned back against the hood of the car, looking down the dark alleyway she’d run off through.

She was spooked, sure. But with a high potential a little hide-and-seek wasn’t going to stop me.