The Takeout Takedown

"H-How much?!" Mike stuttered.

"188,800 dollars," the server repeated, her professional smile unwavering.

"Are you ripping me off?!" Mike shot to his feet. "It's just a few dishes—how could it cost that much?!"

"Sir, the alcohol alone account for 150,000. The Australian lobster and black truffles are also priced at market rate."

Mike's face drained of color. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead.

He wiped at it frantically, forcing himself to sound composed. "Well… I'm a friend of Mr. Vance! He said I'd get fifty percent off! No—ninety percent off!"

The server shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Vance did not authorize any discount. And our establishment does not offer discounts as a rule."

"Bullshit! He agreed to it right at the entrance!"

Panicking, Mike pulled out his phone and pretended to make a call. But he didn't even have Mr. Vance's number.

He jabbed at the screen a few times, muttering "Hello? Hello?" to thin air before slamming the phone onto the table in frustration.

"Damn it! Bad signal!"

By now, the expressions of his colleagues and supervisors had completely changed.

The department manager, who had been seated at the head of the table, stood up with a dark expression.

"Mike, this is your 'inside connection'? This is what you call treating us to dinner? This meal is worth half a year of our department's budget! How are we supposed to reimburse this?!"

Mike's legs began to tremble.

One hundred eighty-eight thousand… Even if he sold himself, he couldn't come up with that kind of money.

Just as he was running out of options, his gaze suddenly landed on me, standing by the door, watching the show unfold.

In that instant, a vicious gleam flashed in his eyes, as if he'd seized his last lifeline. He pointed at me and shouted, "Wait! I've got it! I'm not the one paying for this meal—she is!"

All eyes turned to me once again.

Mike rushed over like a madman, reaching out to grab my hand. I sidestepped, avoiding him.

Unfazed, he turned to his manager and colleagues and declared loudly, "Everyone, the truth is—this dinner was arranged by Jennifer as an apology to me! She felt guilty about what happened yesterday and insisted on treating everyone to make it up to me! She even wants to get back together!

"She's a… uh… regular at this hotel! She ordered all these dishes! This has nothing to do with me!"

I raised an eyebrow. I'd seen shameless people before, but never anyone this shameless.

So now he wanted to dump the bill on me?

…

"Jennifer! Say something!"

Seeing my silence, Mike assumed I was intimidated and grew even more brazen.

Step by step, he closed in, his eyes filled with threat.

"In front of everyone, stop pretending. Since this is your way of making it up to me, I'll reluctantly accept it. As long as you pay the bill, we can still talk about us."

The surrounding colleagues began whispering among themselves.

Some found the situation absurd, but faced with an 188,800 dollar bill, no one wanted to be the one left holding the bag. Since someone was willing to take the fall, they were more than happy to go along with it.

Someone even chimed in, "Oh, so it's just a lovers' quarrel? Miss, if you want to apologize, you should do it properly—don't put Mike in an awkward spot."

I looked at their ugly expressions and spoke coldly, "Mike, if you're suffering from delusions, go get treatment. You ordered this meal yourself—what does it have to do with me? We deleted each other's contacts yesterday."