Max’s parents provided him with everything they could: toys, expensive gadgets, designer clothes. For his eighteenth birthday, they gifted him a luxurious car, and at twenty, they bought him his own apartment.
In return, the young man showed great promise in continuing the family business, planning to take over his father’s position when it became too challenging for him. For now, he was content with the role of deputy. Max had a knack for picking things up quickly while also studying at university, majoring in management and human resources. In short, Max did everything in his power to succeed, and his parents were proud of their son’s achievements. Max himself wasn’t shy about it either—he boasted that by twenty-five, he already had everything many people dream of at forty.
Overall, Max was a decent person, though excessively self-confident and sometimes even arrogant. However, this didn’t hinder his business dealings; in fact, it often helped. One day, Max went to a restaurant with his father’s business partner to iron out some details in a contract—such matters are best handled over a good meal. Oliver Grant, his father, couldn’t attend the meeting himself as he had suddenly fallen ill. He decided to rest and, at the same time, see how his son would handle the situation.
Michael Anderson, the business partner in question, was initially skeptical and even a bit offended when he saw Max instead of Oliver. But after an excellent dinner and a few glasses of fine wine, he warmed up.
— Max, you have a real talent for smoothing over rough edges, — Michael Anderson said with a chuckle.
— Thank you for the compliment, — Max replied with a smile. — Now we just need to sign the new contract, and then we can relax.
— Yes, yes, of course. At first, the terms seemed a bit unfavorable to me, but you managed to highlight the benefits for me… I’m satisfied with the contract now. One thing, though—I absolutely loved this wine. Would you care for another glass before we wrap up and sign the new deal? — Michael Anderson was no longer in the mood for arguments or scrutinizing every penny of his profits, so he was ready to unwind.
Max nodded and called over the waitress, requesting two more glasses of wine. The young woman jotted down their order with a smile and headed to the bar.
The waitress’s name was Christine, and at that moment, all she wanted was for these two snobs to leave as soon as possible. Sure, their restaurant often hosted businessmen like them, but these two were particularly insufferable. The younger one had no manners or refinement, constantly summoning Christine with a snap of his fingers. Was she a dog? And his “servant-master” tone irritated her to no end.
— Sam, here’s the order. Two more glasses for the table with Mr. Business Prodigy, — Christine huffed, handing the ticket to the bartender.
— Why are you so fixated on them? They’re just discussing some paperwork. Half the people here do the same, — the bartender said, opening a bottle of wine and pouring it into glasses.
— It’s not about that. The younger one acts like he’s the king of the world, — Christine grimaced.
— Maybe he is, — Sam chuckled. — Your job is simple: bring their order, smile, and walk away.
— I can handle that, but I’d love for them to leave already, — Christine sighed, placing the glasses on her tray. — I bet he won’t leave a single cent for a tip.
She was approaching the table, forcing a professional smile, when Max suddenly stood up and turned around. She couldn’t have known that just a second earlier, he had told his business partner he needed to call his sick father.
— I didn’t hear my phone ring; I should check if something serious has come up.
Michael Anderson nodded understandingly, promising not to be bored since the wine was on its way. At that exact moment, Max’s shoulder collided with Christine’s elbow. The tray, as if in slow motion, tipped over, the glasses shattered, and the wine splashed onto Max’s expensive suit.
— Damn it! — Max cursed.
Christine paled and instinctively tried to fix the situation, grabbing a napkin and attempting to wipe the spreading stains from the guest’s shirt and jacket.
— Oh my God, I’m so sorry… — she mumbled, reciting the standard apology.
It didn’t matter that the clumsy guest was at fault; the customer is always right.
— This suit costs more than four of your paychecks, — Max hissed quietly, ensuring his business partner wouldn’t hear the greedy edge in his voice.
— I’m so sorry… — Christine repeated. — I think the management can cover the dry-cleaning costs…
— Dry cleaning? This suit is ruined, — Max said grimly. — What kind of staff do they hire here? Be thankful you didn’t spill something hot on my head.
— I’m sorry, — Christine said resignedly one last time.
— Call the manager. This is outrageous, — Max pushed her hands away and stormed off to the restroom.
What a jerk! Christine thought as she picked up the glass shards from the floor.
The guest had stood up abruptly and practically knocked the tray out of her hands. And now she’d have to endure a lecture from her boss. The day was definitely not going well. Only now did she notice that the wine seemed unusually pale, and her hand was stinging. Turning her palm toward herself, Christine barely stifled a scream of horror. In her shock, she hadn’t noticed a large piece of glass somehow lodged in her hand. Blood was flowing freely from the wound, and the floor was still a mess.
Per restaurant policy, Christine was supposed to clean up the mess caused by her mistake before attending to her own problems. She still didn’t feel the pain—likely because the sight of the injury sent her back into shock. She quickly swept the shards into a dustpan and headed to the back room. After disposing of the broken glass, she looked at her hand again. It was now swollen and throbbing intensely. Tears welled up in her eyes as she made her way to the manager.
— Jane, one of the guests wants to see you, — Christine said through gritted teeth. — And I need to leave.
— What? Why? Your shift isn’t over for hours… Oh my God! — The manager looked up from her computer and saw blood dripping from the waitress’s hand. — Christine! How did this happen?
— I broke the wine glasses, and this happened, — Christine sniffled.
— Go, of course. There’s an urgent care clinic nearby. Do you need someone to walk you to the exit, at least? — Jane asked.
— No, I’ll call a cab. You’ve got enough on your plate with the “lovely” conversation awaiting you with the guest I accidentally doused with wine, — Christine tried to stay strong, ignoring the growing pain in her hand and the blood that still wouldn’t stop.
— I hope there’s no glass in the guest? — Jane asked seriously, but Christine gave a hysterical chuckle.
— I wish there was! He’s the one who bumped into me. But unfortunately, it’s just wine on him. On a suit that costs “four of my paychecks,” as he put it. Anyway, I’m going. I’ll be back tomorrow to hear about my clumsiness… — Jane watched the waitress leave.
Christine had never caused such incidents before; this guest must be something else. At the urgent care clinic, Christine received nine stitches. They offered her medical leave, but she needed to work and earn money. It was unfortunate that her right hand, her dominant one, was injured. Now she couldn’t take notes properly at school or carry heavy trays at work. But she’d have to manage somehow.
Christine’s parents had only been able to give her a start in life. Then her father had a tragic accident at a construction site, leaving him disabled. All the money her mother earned went toward expensive treatments and maintenance therapy, and even that wasn’t enough. So Christine had to scrimp and save to help her father. She had one more year of college before she could work in her field. For now, she had to endure working as a waitress and tolerate treatment like this.
While Christine was receiving medical care, Jane approached Max and introduced herself as the manager. By then, Michael Anderson had received a fresh serving of wine, finished his glass, and praised the evening despite the minor mishap. Max said he’d wait for the waitress to “teach her some manners.” The dinner, of course, was on Max. Michael Anderson shrugged, thanked him for the meal and pleasant company, and left.
— Did you have any issues? — Jane asked after introducing herself.
— Yes, I did. Take a look at my suit, — Max pulled back the sleeve of his beige jacket, which was lying nearby.
The wine stains hadn’t faded much; dry cleaning was unlikely to help. The drink had left marks on his shirt, pants, and even his light-colored shoes. In short, the guest was thoroughly soaked, as if a whole barrel had spilled, not just a glass.
— I’m very sorry this happened. Unfortunately, all our restaurant can offer is to comp your dinner.
— Of course, I expected that, but there’s something else you can do, — Max said brazenly.
— What’s that? — Jane inquired.
— Isn’t it obvious? You need to fire that sloppy girl! — Max declared irritably. — She’ll ruin every guest’s experience. Next time, someone might be less lucky and get hot soup spilled on them, for example.
— We’ll take appropriate measures, — Jane replied calmly.
— I know your “measures”! — Max frowned. — You’ll probably just dock her bonus. No, I want her fired immediately.
— That decision is up to the restaurant owner, — Jane explained, still patient with the difficult guest.
— Then get me the owner, — Max crossed his arms.
— I’m afraid that’s not possible, — Jane’s tone shifted. — First, I don’t recall us switching to informal terms, and second, the owner isn’t at the restaurant right now.
— What a dump, — Max cursed and laughed. — Rude staff, spilling drinks… When was the last time the health department stopped by? Or the consumer protection agency? I can arrange a visit.
— We’ve done everything we can for you. If you have no further complaints… — Jane began, but Max interrupted:
— Oh, I do! You’re just not listening, repeating the same nonsense… Oh, forgive me, lady, I forgot we haven’t switched to informal terms. In this restaurant, God help us, they completely ignore the guests, as if we’re the help here.
— Please leave our restaurant, — Jane said in a steely tone.
She knew only the owner could speak like that, but she had to take action. Other guests were starting to turn and murmur—Max was disturbing their evening, so it was time to ask him to leave.
— Excuse me? — Max craned his neck, incredulous. — So, I get doused, insulted, and now you’re throwing me out?!
— I’m very sorry your evening was ruined. We’re not charging for your meal, but you’re disturbing other guests. We’ve done all we can. There’s nothing more we can help you with.
— This is outrageous! — Max hissed. — I’ll deal with your little diner. You don’t know who you’re messing with. I’ll shut this place down before you can blink!
— That’s your right, of course, — Jane agreed.
She was done dealing with the petulant guest.
— What was that waitress’s name? I want her personal information, — Max said, standing abruptly and nearly repeating the incident with Christine.
Now it was clear to Jane how the waitress had injured her hand and spilled the wine. It even seemed like Max had intentionally tried to bump into her.
— I’m not authorized to disclose employee information. I can tell you her name is Christine, — Jane replied.
— Then bring me the waitress who served me. I want to speak to her personally before I leave, — Max planned to find out her full name, maybe even take a photo, to ensure she’d have a bad reputation.
Through his connections in the restaurant industry, Max intended to keep the girl who’d spilled wine on him from working for a long time. She’d quit eventually, and then she could work as a cashier, not a waitress.
— Unfortunately, I can’t do that either. Christine went to urgent care, — Jane answered.
— Urgent care? — Max was taken aback. — What happened?
— She severely cut her hand while trying to save your evening, — Jane replied with a hint of sarcasm.
She wanted to put this arrogant guest in his place, and it seemed she succeeded. Max now looked completely flustered, though moments ago he was ready to raze the restaurant to the ground and blacklist Christine from the industry, at least in this city.
— Oh… What a mess… — Max rubbed his neck. — I’m sorry for getting so heated. I didn’t know she got hurt while I was chewing her out. Look, forget the free dinner, — he pulled a few bills from his pocket without looking and placed them on the table. — Tell me where she went. I’m asking as a human being now.
— I don’t know, — Jane said, a bit thrown off.
She hadn’t expected such a reaction from someone like him. But, as it turns out, Max wasn’t entirely spoiled or cruel.
— Got it. Alright, sorry for the trouble. Have a good evening, — Max said goodbye and headed for the exit, leaving the bewildered manager by the table.
Outside, Max approached his car, where his driver was waiting. Settling into the backseat, he immediately opened a map on his phone.
— Hey, Dave, do you know where the nearest urgent care is? — Max asked.
— No, Mr. Max. — Is something wrong?
— You never know anything, — Max grumbled, showing the driver the map on his phone. — Let’s go.
Dave didn’t ask unnecessary questions. If he was told to drive, he drove. When they parked, Christine was just exiting the clinic with a bandaged hand. Max recognized her immediately and rushed toward her.
— Christine! — he called out.
She turned and saw the guest from earlier hurrying toward her.
— Oh, great… — Christine muttered under her breath but stayed put.
Thankfully, they were now on equal footing as civilians, and she could tell this jerk exactly what she thought of him from the restaurant.
Max caught up to her and looked, puzzled, from her bandage to her face. In the restaurant, he hadn’t noticed that the waitress was quite attractive.
— Did you have something to add? — Christine asked.
— Uh, I feel really awkward… I had no idea you… that you got hurt trying to fix… that mess, — Max, usually quick with words, was surprised at his own stumbling, while an indignant Christine had no intention of holding back.
— You’re the one who bumped into me. So let’s not be shy—call it what it was: your mess.
— I’m sorry if I caused it… but isn’t a waitress supposed to, I don’t know, dodge or something? — Max asked with a sheepish grin.
— Oh, sure, they teach us that right after the course on maneuvering between tables during rush hour, — Christine shot back sarcastically. — You have a pretty poor idea of waitress training. There isn’t any.
— Well… — Max was reluctant to admit fault, his slightly inflated sense of self-worth holding him back.
He genuinely believed Christine had run into his shoulder.
— Let me make it up to you. How about dinner with me next week, for example?
— Oh, no, thanks, — Christine raised her aching hand. — I’ve had enough.
— Come on, I’m inviting you as my guest.
— Who knows, another “mess” might happen, — she smirked.
— Fair enough, — Max smiled.
He found an angry Christine oddly charming. She seemed cute but far from a pushover—a girl with character.
She’ll probably agree to something more private soon enough. She’s just a waitress, after all—she’s used to it, Max thought.
He already had specific plans for Christine and wasn’t about to back off. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
— If that’s all, I think I’ll go. Try to be more careful in the future, — Christine said, waiting for him to continue.
— Wait, — Max snapped out of it. — If you don’t want to go to a restaurant, how about meeting at the theater?
— Hmm, — Christine paused to think.
Max was a very attractive young man, her type—at least physically. His personality, though, left much to be desired. But maybe she was just prejudiced? She’d read so many novels where the most romantic relationships started in situations like this. Perhaps she should give him a chance?
— Well, it’s hard to break anything in a theater, — she relented.
— Perfect. As soon as you’re feeling better, here’s my number, — Max handed her his business card.
He had two goals: the obvious one, to share his contact info, and the subtler one, to present himself as financially successful.
— I’ll be waiting eagerly.
— I’ll definitely text or call, — Christine promised, slipping the card into her pocket without even glancing at it, which slightly disappointed and surprised Max. — We must look a bit ridiculous: a guy in a suit with red stains and a girl with a bandaged hand outside an urgent care clinic. So, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll head home.
— Oh, you’re right! — Max laughed, slapping his forehead. — Let me give you a ride?
— No, I’ve had enough interaction for today, — Christine said firmly and turned away.
A couple of weeks later, she remembered Max when her stitches were removed. She hadn’t told her parents about the incident but decided to message him. After some thought, Christine sent a text:
“They’ve unbandaged me. When’s the theater? Christine.”
Hesitating a bit, she added a laughing emoji, just in case he didn’t get the joke. Within seconds, she got a reply:
“Glad you’re okay and can joke about it. We’re going to the theater tonight. Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up.”
So, he hadn’t forgotten her. Christine sent her address and waited for the evening.
By 7 p.m., Max called to say he was outside. Christine, out of principle, made him wait another twenty minutes. When they met, he showered her with compliments.
Christine wore a classic black dress and black pumps—perfect for the theater.
— Wow, — she sighed. — Your way with words is something else.
— Believe me, I didn’t even have to try, — Max smiled, opening the car door for her.
— Is that a professional skill you’ve honed? — Christine teased.
— Maybe just a little, — Max was driving himself today. — Your beauty did the rest.
— So, what exactly do you do? — Christine wasn’t here for flattery and tried to change the subject.
— Uh… You didn’t look? It’s on the card, — Max said, surprised.
— Nope, I only saw your name and number, — Christine replied honestly, and Max laughed.
— Well, then. Now I know you’re definitely not with me for my money.
— Hold on, — Christine, a woman of principle, bristled. — If you think I’m…
— I don’t think anything, — Max interrupted, though that’s exactly what he thought. — I just want to have a great evening with a great lady. How do you feel about plays?
— If I didn’t like them, I wouldn’t have agreed to go, — Christine shrugged, gazing out the window at the city lights fading into the dusk. — I love art.
— Hmm, you know, there’s a new exhibit coming up at the art gallery. Want to go? It’s a private showing, not open to the public, but I know how to get tickets.
— Tempting, — Christine smiled.
— Consider us already there, — Max grinned.
For the next month, Max took Christine to museums, galleries, and theaters. She was genuinely thrilled, with a deep knowledge of art and a refined taste. But things never went beyond a kiss—Christine skillfully dodged anything more, which frustrated Max. For her, moving to a more intimate setting after a few dates was unthinkable. She needed to be sure of her feelings, and that was proving difficult.
Something kept holding her back from getting closer to Max. Every time they neared a more intimate moment, she felt something akin to repulsion—not strong enough to call it that, but he wasn’t entirely pleasant to her. Still, Max was a great conversationalist, and spending time with him was enjoyable. Max, however, was tired of these “childish” kisses. He invited Christine to a restaurant with a firm plan to continue the evening at his place or at least a hotel.
At the end of dinner, as he smoothly steered the conversation to more suggestive topics, Christine tensed up again, feeling that vague discomfort.
— You seem a bit on edge, — Max noted.
— Yeah, a little, — she admitted.
— Let’s go to my place. I have a hot tub—you could relax…
Christine sighed heavily.
— Look, I just can’t, — she said, frustrated. — I’m not used to acting like that. I really enjoy talking and spending time with you, but I’m not ready yet…
— And when will you be ready? — Max asked brusquely, all traces of tenderness gone from his voice.
— I don’t know, — Christine replied.
— Awesome! — Max slammed his glass down on the table. — So I’ve been entertaining you, taking you to theaters and museums, and all I get is a couple of kisses? Christine, don’t you think you’re being a bit… entitled?
— I’m entitled?! — Christine nearly choked with indignation.
— Well, it’s not me, — Max shrugged.
— So you’ve been trying to get me into bed this whole time, and now you’re mad it didn’t work and accusing me of being entitled?!
— Sweetheart, all our lovely moonlit outings cost a pretty penny. It’s only natural I’d expect something more than a kiss in return.
Christine burned with shame. Part of her wanted to slap him and leave, but another part wondered if there was some truth to his words. Her parents had always taught her not to live off others, though they also said a man could treat a woman to a date. Christine had tried to pay her share, but Max insisted on covering everything. Now she understood what repelled her about him. Despite his charm and good looks, Max was insufferably petty, arrogant, and rude…
And these traits weren’t a one-off, like when she accidentally ruined his suit. His behavior couldn’t be excused as a bad mood.
— Why so quiet? If you think I haven’t spent enough on you, I can pay you after, — Max pressed, sensing Christine was trapped in her thoughts.
— It’s not about money, — she said through clenched teeth.
— Oh, come on, — he laughed. — Drop it. How much do you want? Ten grand? Fifty? A hundred? What’s your price?
That sealed it—there was nothing romantic about their relationship. Christine suddenly calmed down, realizing who he truly was and what he’d wanted from the start. Maybe some novels depict love born from chance encounters, but that wasn’t Max.
— If you want a price, I’ll give you one, — she nodded. — With a condition, of course.
— Name it, — Max said in a commanding tone, sensing she’d made up her mind.
— If you can’t pay, you leave me alone. No calls, no texts, no visits to my workplace, nothing.
— If the price is reasonable and not, say, all the money in the world, — he smirked.
— Don’t worry. It’s reasonable, — Christine smiled.
Max raised an eyebrow.
— Alright, I’m in. Name it, — he said.
— Love, — Christine answered simply.
Max sat there, stunned. Love? What the hell? He’d expected a smart girl like her to name a figure he could hand over and finally get what he “deserved.”
— So, Max? Can you give me love? It’s easier than all the money in the world, right? Or is that too steep a price for you?
Max hung his head. He realized Christine couldn’t be “bought.” She was different, special. Thinking back, she hadn’t even known who he was when she agreed to the theater. Suddenly, he felt ashamed. From the start, he’d seen her as just another notch on his belt.
— I thought so, — Christine smirked and stood up. — Tell me how much I owe you for my “entertainment,” and I’ll pay. But don’t follow me anymore.
— Wait… — Max said quietly. — I messed up. I didn’t see you. I only saw your looks. I didn’t realize who you really are. You’re right—I’m a jerk. I thought you’d fall for money like everyone else… but you’re not like that.
— It’s too late. I can’t be with someone like you, — Christine said firmly.
— Fair enough. I know it’s my fault. But you’re such an interesting person—maybe we could at least stay friends? — he asked hopefully.
— Doubtful. We’re from different worlds. You spend money on fun; I count every penny to help my family. We have nothing to talk about.
— What about art? That’s where we connected! — Max persisted.
— You promised not to pursue me, — Christine reminded him. — Now, excuse me, I’m going home. Have a good evening.
Christine didn’t regret her decision one bit. Max, meanwhile, was kicking himself as he watched her walk away. He’d remember her and the lesson she taught him for the rest of his life.
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