I looked at her. Smugness was written all over her face.
She was betting that I'd cave because I had clients in the room. That I'd pay just to save face in front of them.
What she didn't realize was that these clients and I went back years, and the trust ran deep. And beyond that, I wasn't about to comply just because she demanded it.
The moment Janet had walked in, I'd quietly hit record on my phone.
I knew exactly what this kind of situation called for: evidence.
"Janet, I'm not paying this."
I held her gaze. "And I have every reason to believe you're trying to pin someone else's charges on me."
"The police have been called."
"We'll sort this out when they get here."
Janet's face went dark. She stared at me, hard—then her gaze cut sideways toward my clients.
"Gentlemen—you're all President Dickerson's clients!"
"President Dickerson can't even pay for a meal at our restaurant!"
"And you still want to do business with her?"
Her words hung in the air. The clients went still for a beat.
One of the longtime clients just smiled. "If President Dickerson really can't cover the bill, we'll chip in ourselves."
"But something about this tab doesn't add up."