The city lights of Los Angeles glittered like spilled diamonds in the reflection of Will’s water glass, and for the hundredth time that night he checked his phone to make sure the time was right. Downtown hummed outside the huge windows of the rooftop restaurant, a wash of neon and honking horns and distant sirens. Inside, it smelled like truffle butter and grilled steak and money.

He tugged at his shirt, trying to smooth the fabric over his belly. The host had sat him at a perfect corner table with a view of the skyline and the whole time he’d been thinking: a girl like Zoe probably comes here all the time. Girls like Zoe belonged in places with golden menus and mood lighting. Guys like him belonged at home with takeout and streaming.

“Relax,” he muttered to himself, pushing up his glasses. “You got this.”

Then he saw her.

Zoe swept in like she’d been poured straight out of a magazine ad — long legs, tiny waist, hair cascading over her shoulders in honeyed waves. Heads turned. Even the bartender paused mid-shake.

Will’s breath caught.

She spotted him, smiled, and walked over.

“Will!” she sang out, leaning down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. She smelled like vanilla and expensive perfume.

“H-hey, Zoe,” he stammered, standing up so quickly his chair almost toppled. “You look… wow.”

“I know,” she said with a wink. Then her smile widened. “And these are my besties, Vicki and Tori.”

Two more women stepped forward, just as polished and intimidating. High heels, perfect makeup, matching designer handbags. Vogue covers, all three of them.

“Oh. Hi,” Will said. This was not part of his very careful, very overthought mental script.

Vicki looked him up and down once, a quick sweep that landed too long on his midsection. Her lip twitched.

“Wow, Zoe,” she said lightly. “This is the big date you told us about.”

“At least she wasn’t lying about the big part,” Tori murmured, just loud enough.

Heat climbed up Will’s neck. He pretended not to hear.

“Don’t worry about my girls,” Zoe said, looping an arm through his. “I think you’re adorable.”

He tried to smile.

“Come on, Vicki, let’s leave these two lovebirds alone,” Tori said theatrically. “You wouldn’t want to be rude…”

She started to turn away.

“Wait,” Zoe said suddenly, tightening her grip on Will’s arm. “Since we’re all here together, there’s no reason we can’t all have dinner, right, B?”

She leaned into him, eyes shining, voice dropping into that soft, coaxing tone that had undone him over text all week.

“Pretty please?”

Will’s palms went damp. His brain did math fast: three extra people, Los Angeles rooftop restaurant, wine, tax, tip—

“Uh, quick question,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Your friends are cool with paying their half of the bill, right?”

Zoe’s smile flattened.

“That’s very funny,” she said.

She turned to her friends. “Did you hear him? So funny, right?”

Tori and Vicki giggled, but their eyes were iced over.

“Oh,” Will said. “I… I was being serious. It’s just… things are a little tight right now and—”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Zoe’s brow arched. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “I really do. I just—”

“If you really liked me,” Zoe said sweetly, “you’d want to make my best friends happy just as much as you make me happy. Right?”

He swallowed hard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice was screaming this is a bad idea, but it was drowned out by another louder voice saying this is your shot, don’t blow it.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “Yeah, of course. Let’s… do it.”

“Yay!” Zoe clapped, bright and triumphant.

They sat. The waiter swooped in, menus open like glossy hardcover books. Downtown LA glittered beyond the glass, but Will could barely see it over the menu prices.

“So,” the waiter said, “is everyone ready to order?”

“Yes,” Zoe said. “We’re starving. Girls, you go first.”

“I can’t decide between the lobster or the steak,” Vicki sighed.

“Same,” Tori said. “Both sound amazing.”

“They’re also the two most expensive items on the menu,” Will muttered, too low for anyone to hear.

“Price is not an object,” Zoe crooned. “Nothing’s too good for my girls. Isn’t that right, Will?”

He felt his stomach twist.

Zoe leaned closer. “Oh, I know,” she said, voice loud enough for the waiter to hear. “Why don’t you each get both — lobster and steak — and bring the leftovers home. I’m sure Will won’t mind. Will you?”

Three sets of eyes landed on him.

He forced a smile. “No. Of course not.”

“Perfect,” Zoe said. “Lobster and steak for each of us.”

“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.

“You know, I think I’m good with water,” Will said, laughing weakly. “I’m on a diet.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Oh, and bring us your best bottle of wine,” she added. “We’re thirsty.”

“Just so you know,” the waiter said gently, “our best bottle is at least eight hundred dollars.”

“My man can afford that,” Zoe said, patting Will’s cheek. “Isn’t that right?”

There was nowhere for him to run. Not yet.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes. Let’s… do that.”

“Excellent,” the waiter said, though his eyes lingered on Will for a second longer than usual, like he was checking to see if the man was okay.

Will excused himself a few minutes later, saying he had to take a call. He practically fled onto the balcony, pulling his phone out with shaking hands.

“Come on, come on, pick up,” he whispered.

“Yo,” his friend Mark answered. “What’s up?”

“I need a favor,” Will said, voice tight. “Can you front me a couple hundred? I’m on this date with Zoe. She brought friends. It’s… a lot. I promise I’ll pay you back—”

“Will, man, that doesn’t sound good—”

“I know, I know, but how many chances am I going to get with a girl like her?” he blurted. “Please.”

There was a pause on the line.

“Let me think about it,” Mark said. “But honestly—”

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted softly.

Will turned.

The waiter stood by the balcony door, apron on, notepad shoved in his pocket. Up close, his name tag read: EMMA.

“Uh, Mark, I’ll call you back,” Will muttered, hanging up.

“Yeah?” he said.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Emma said, “but I heard a little of what you said. And… there’s something you should know about your date.”

His stomach dropped. “What?”

“When you stepped outside, they didn’t notice I was near their table,” she said quietly. “I was refilling water. They were laughing about how they pull this kind of thing all the time. They called it ‘running the baddie scam.’”

Will blinked.

“They said guys can’t resist pretty women in fancy restaurants,” Emma went on, cheeks flushing from secondhand embarrassment. “They bragged that you were an easy target because, in their words, you’d be too self-conscious to walk away.”

There was a moment where the city sounds faded — honks and sirens and chatter became a dull buzz. Will stared at her.

“I guess I should have known,” he said finally, voice strained. “Who would want to go on a real date with a guy like me?”

“Hey,” Emma said sharply. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

He looked away, embarrassed.

“When the right person comes along,” she said, softer now, “they won’t need you to buy them lobster and eight-hundred-dollar wine to be interested. They’ll just… like you.”

Will let out a brittle laugh. “Yeah, sounds nice. In theory.”

Emma tilted her head. “Or in reality,” she said. “If you actually give it a chance.”

He studied her for a second — the tired eyes, the stray wisp of hair coming loose from her bun, the small ink stain on her cuff. She wasn’t dressed like Zoe. She wasn’t polished like Zoe. She also wasn’t laughing about scamming anyone.

“So what do I do?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. “I might have an idea.”

Inside, the scam was going beautifully.

Zoe had her head back, laughing loud enough for half the restaurant to hear. “Then I spilled champagne all over his designer suit,” she screeched. “You should’ve seen his face!”

“This is so much easier than those college guys we used to trick,” Tori said, swirling her wine.

“Seriously,” Vicki giggled. “Those tech nerds actually read contracts. This guy is so desperate it’s almost cute.”

“Almost,” Zoe said. “Between you and me, there are two things in this world certain types of guys can’t resist—”

“Let me guess,” Vicki chimed in. “Women like us…”

“And restaurants like this,” Zoe finished, gesturing at the chandeliers. “He’s practically begging us to use him.”

“Plus, zero risk,” Tori said, taking a big bite of lobster. “What’s he going to do? Chase us? We’ll be three blocks away before he even squeezes out of his chair.”

They clinked glasses.

At the edge of the room, Emma watched, jaw tight, while Will walked calmly toward the front desk.

Five minutes later, Zoe ripped open the leather bill holder.

Her smile fell off her face.

“Uh… where’s his card?” she asked, flipping the booklet over.

The total was a small horror movie: appetizers, three lobsters, three steaks, dessert, two bottles of premium wine, tax, tip suggested.

Ten seconds passed. Then fifteen.

“Maybe he left his card with the waiter?” Tori suggested weakly.

As if summoned, Emma appeared at the table.

“Hi, ladies,” she said with professional sunshine. “I can take care of this whenever you’re ready.”

“Yeah, our date is paying,” Zoe said, waving the booklet. “He just stepped outside.”

“I’m afraid he already did,” Emma said.

“Perfect,” Zoe said. “So we’re good—”

“I mean,” Emma clarified, “he already paid for his water and left. He had an emergency. But he said you three would take care of the rest of the bill, since he only had water.”

The silence that landed on the table was thick.

“He left?” Zoe said, voice rising. “What kind of person does that?”

“A very smart one,” Emma thought, but didn’t say.

Vicki grabbed the bill and blanched. “There is no way we can cover this,” she whispered.

Tori’s fingers clenched around her clutch. “Relax. We’re not paying. We’re going to… leave. Quietly.”

They started rising in unison, sliding purses over shoulders.

“Ladies,” Emma said, stepping neatly into their path, “you’re not trying to leave without paying, are you?”

“No,” Zoe said quickly. “Of course not. We were just, um, going to the restroom.”

“With your handbags?” Emma asked politely. “All of them?”

Behind her, the manager appeared with arms folded, and the security guard moved closer, not threatening, but solid.

Zoe’s bravado crumpled.

“This is a misunderstanding,” she protested. “You don’t know who I am. I have followers. I—”

“What you have,” the manager said evenly, “is a very large bill. And two options: pay it, or work something out with the police.”

Thirty miserable minutes and several panicked phone calls later, the “baddies” were sitting red-faced in the manager’s office, explaining the concept of a payment plan and why their credit cards kept declining.

Their night of fun ended in signatures, humiliation, and a note on their record that made every fancy restaurant in the downtown Los Angeles dining group very wary of reservations under their names.

Out on the sidewalk, Will leaned against the wall, watching the lights, heart pounding with leftover adrenaline.

Emma slipped out the side door, untying her apron.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied, smiling. “They won’t be pulling that trick on anyone else for a while.”

“You’re kind of scary,” he said. “In a good way.”

“You’re kind of sweet,” she countered. “In a good way.”

They grinned awkwardly at each other.

“Listen,” he began, “I… I owe you. You didn’t have to help me. I’d probably be inside crying into my credit card if it weren’t for you.”

“About that ‘owe me’ thing,” Emma said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “My shift just ended. Maybe you could make it up to me over dinner sometime… at a nice, normal place where the most expensive thing is a cheeseburger?”

His heart did a weird leap.

“You mean like… a date?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Like a date.”

He smiled, genuinely this time. “I know a great diner a few blocks from here. Parking’s easy. And I promise not to order lobster.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

They walked off together into the LA night, past lines of people waiting for tables at places that were suddenly a lot less shiny than the feeling in his chest.

Across town, in West Hollywood, another kind of first date was about to crash and burn.

Britney tapped the table with her freshly manicured nails, annoyed. The trendy bistro was packed, overhead lights low, the kind of place that lived on Instagram Stories and food blogs. Every time someone opened the door, she glanced up, expecting her date.

When the Porsche pulled up outside, sleek and black under the streetlights, she exhaled with relief.

Finally.

Then the driver stepped out.

He was attractive, clean-cut, nicely dressed… and shorter than she’d expected. A lot shorter. When he walked in and waved at her, she realized with a quiet horror that they were almost the same height sitting down.

He reached the table, smiling. “Britney?”

“Oh my gosh,” she said before she could help herself. “You’re… so short. Like, ridiculously short.”

He chuckled, unbothered. “Nice to meet you too.”

Her eyes flicked past him out the window.

“Wait,” she said. “Is that your Porsche?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back. “That one’s mine.”

She swallowed. “Okay. Fine. We can do this. But just so we’re clear, you’re taking me somewhere really nice next time. No fast-food stuff. I have standards.”

He smiled. “I don’t do cheap.”

The evening might have settled into something decent, but fate had other plans.

Across the room, a tall guy with movie-star looks and perfect hair sat with Zoe and her friends at a large, loud table. When his cousin mentioned they were taking him out on the town, he stared straight at Britney.

Amber’s cousin Luke.

“You’re Amber’s cousin?” Britney said, blinking.

“Guilty,” Luke said with a grin. “She never told me she had such gorgeous friends.”

Her cheeks flushed. The short guy across from her shifted in his seat.

“You should join us after your business meeting,” Luke said — because that was how Britney had panicked and described the date. “You seem like the perfect person to show me all the hot spots.”

“Totally,” Zoe chimed in. “Just come over after, girl.”

“I’d love that,” Britney said, dazzled. “Just… save me a seat.”

Right next to Luke.

As they walked back to their table, her date leaned in.

“What was that?” he asked.

“What?” she said.

“You were flirting with him right in front of me.”

“So?” she shrugged. “We’re just on a date.”

“Exactly,” he said. “We’re on a date.”

“Oh, please,” Britney scoffed. “Do you blame me? Look at him. He’s tall, gorgeous, successful. And look at you.”

He stared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re too short, okay?” she said bluntly. “I need a real man. Someone who can reach the top shelf without a ladder. Not someone who’s the same height as a fifth grader.”

Silence sat on the table between them.

“I thought you liked me,” he said quietly.

“I like the idea of you,” she said. “A guy with a nice car. But I have standards. I don’t want to bend down to kiss someone. That’s not the vision.”

He swallowed, jaw tightening. Then he exhaled slowly.

“You know,” he said, “all that outside stuff fades. Looks, height, money — it all changes. What really matters is what’s on the inside. That’s the stuff that lasts.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s something people say when they can’t compete on anything else.”

He nodded once, stood, and left money for his half of the bill on the table.

“I really hope you find what you’re looking for, Britney,” he said quietly. “I mean that.”

And then he walked out.

When she slid into Luke’s booth ten minutes later, she didn’t think about the look on the other guy’s face. She was too busy soaking up Luke’s attention.

He was tall, handsome, rich, and charming. Her dream checklist incarnate.

At first, things were perfect: expensive dinners in Beverly Hills, nights at rooftop bars, weekend drives down the Pacific Coast in his convertible. She took photos of his hand on the steering wheel, tagged the locations, watched the likes roll in. This, she told herself, is what I deserve.

Until the night she decided to surprise him.

His building in downtown LA had a private garage, but she’d convinced the guard to let her up. She rehearsed how she’d jump into his arms, maybe talk about moving in together.

But when she reached his door, she heard laughter inside.

A female laugh.

She froze.

The door wasn’t fully closed. She nudged it.

Inside, Luke was on the couch with another woman’s legs draped across his lap. He was saying the exact same things he once said to Britney — about destiny, about “never meeting someone like you.”

Britney stood there for seven silent seconds, heart cracking, then turned and walked away.

Luke was anything but loyal.

She could have learned her lesson then. She didn’t.

She kept dating: tall, handsome, big-money men. Actors, founders, finance guys. Each one looked great in pictures. Each one made her feel like she’d finally hit the jackpot. Each story ended the same way — with betrayal. A secret girlfriend. A hidden habit. A disappearing act.

One night, after yet another date told her she “looked better with filters,” Britney sat at the bar of a small neighborhood restaurant, mascara smudged, stirring a drink she didn’t really want.

“Bad night?” someone asked.

She turned and almost choked.

It was him.

The “too short” guy from months ago. Only this time he was wearing a wedding band. And he was smiling.

“You again,” she said, voice hoarse. “Great.”

“You okay?” he asked. “You look…”

“Don’t say ‘tired,’” she warned. “I might throw this drink.”

He laughed. “I was going to say ‘upset.’ But, point taken.”

She sighed and stared at the ice. “Dating in this town is a joke. Every guy I meet is either lying, cheating, or both. It’s like I’m cursed.”

“Well,” he said, “what are you looking for?”

“Nothing crazy,” she said defensively. “I just want someone tall, handsome, makes at least six figures. That’s normal.”

“Those aren’t character traits,” he said. “They’re stats.”

“And?”

“And choosing a partner based on stats is how you pick a fantasy,” he replied. “Not a person. It’s a recipe for heartbreak.”

She scoffed. “What would you know about it? I dumped you, remember? You’re clearly just as single as I am.”

He smiled faintly. “Actually, I’m not.”

A woman walked up just then, glowing, gorgeous in a simple dress, car keys in hand.

“Hey, baby,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “The valet just pulled the car up.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said.

She smiled politely at Britney. “Nice to meet you.”

She left.

Britney blinked. “That’s your wife?”

He nodded. “We met on a blind date. No photos, no filters, no checklists. Just conversation.”

“How?” she asked, genuinely baffled. “You’re…”

“Short?” he offered, amused.

She winced.

“She didn’t care,” he said. “We talked for four hours about books and music and how she once burned rice so badly she set off the fire alarm. We laughed. We clicked. The rest… didn’t matter.”

He stood, dropped a few bills at the bar, and looked at her one last time.

“It’s not what’s on the outside that counts, Britney,” he said quietly. “It’s what’s inside someone’s heart. That’s the part that doesn’t fade.”

Then he walked out into the Los Angeles night, hand in hand with the woman who’d chosen him for something she’d never see in a photo.

On the other side of the city, closer to Santa Monica, another test of character was unfolding under warm restaurant lights.

Jodie’s hands shook as she balanced the tray.

It had been a brutal shift — a Friday night in a popular American bistro, tourists mixed with locals, reservations backed up, the kitchen running at full tilt. Her feet throbbed. Her hair was damp under her apron. Her phone buzzed every hour with check-in texts from the neighbor watching her younger brother.

Almost done, she reminded herself. Just one last table.

She walked toward the corner booth where a woman in a sharp blazer sat across from a man in an expensive but understated suit. Corporate types. The kind of people who ordered confidently and complained loudly.

She set down the water glasses carefully.

That was when the other server clipped her elbow by accident.

The tray tipped.

Water and ice cascaded onto the woman’s lap, splashing onto the floor, the table, the menu, everywhere.

Cold silence.

“Oh my gosh,” Jodie gasped. “I am so, so sorry—”

The woman stood, chair scraping. “Are you kidding me?” she snapped, staring at the wet lapel of her blazer. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

“Miss, I’m really sorry—”

“I have a life-changing interview tonight,” the woman said dramatically. “This is my dream job, and now I look like someone just threw a drink at me on national television.”

“I can bring napkins, and we’ll of course comp—”

“You know what? It worked,” the woman said suddenly.

Jodie blinked. “What?”

“You did this on purpose to get attention, didn’t you?” the woman accused. “This service has been awful. And now this. I’m done. Get your manager. Now.”

“There’s no need for that,” Jodie said quickly, heart pounding. “It’s a busy night, and we’re short staffed. It was an accident.”

“I don’t want excuses,” the woman snapped. “I want your manager.”

“The manager’s not here,” Jodie said. “I’m the shift lead tonight. If you have a complaint, I’m the one to talk to.”

The man across from her was watching quietly, eyes thoughtful.

“You’d better get it together,” the woman warned. “Tonight is crucial for me. I will not let your incompetence ruin my shot. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jodie said quietly.

“Good. Now get us clean place settings. These have been on the floor.”

Jodie hurried away, cheeks burning.

“Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. Norris,” the woman said once Jodie was out of earshot. Her voice slid into silky charm. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Of course,” he said. “Your résumé is impressive.”

“I know,” she said with a confident smile. “Sounds like you’ve already decided to give me the job.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I’m looking for more than technical skills. I need a leader. Someone who can bring out the best in their team.”

Jodie returned with fresh plates and silverware.

“Can I get you anything else to start?” she asked.

“That wasn’t an invitation to keep talking,” the woman snapped. “Please stop interrupting. Just do your job.”

“Sorry,” Jodie whispered, backing away.

The man’s jaw tightened slightly.

“So,” he said, turning back to the candidate, “let’s talk scenarios. One of your engineers finds a critical security vulnerability in a component already live in production. What do you do?”

“Easy,” the woman said. “I’d prioritize containment, loop in security, develop and deploy a patch, communicate with stakeholders. I’ve handled that kind of thing before.”

“Good,” he said. “Next scenario: the team’s web app is experiencing major performance issues. How do you diagnose and resolve it?”

She hesitated. “Well, I’d, um… talk to the team, look at the logs, maybe add more servers. You know. Standard stuff.”

“I’d start with a profiler,” a voice said softly.

They both turned.

Jodie stood at the edge of the table, hands twisting in her apron. She looked like she wanted to disappear.

“I am not paying for your opinion,” the woman snapped. “Stay out of this.”

“Wait,” Mr. Norris said. “Go on. What would you do?”

Jodie swallowed. “I’d use a profiling tool — something like JProfiler or YourKit — to identify bottlenecks. CPU spikes, memory leaks, database queries taking too long, network latency. Once I understood where the slowdown was, I’d decide whether to refactor, add caching, or scale infrastructure.”

He stared at her. “Where did you learn that?”

“I went to MIT,” she said, cheeks pink. “Computer engineering. I was supposed to graduate. I, um… didn’t.”

“Why not?” he asked gently.

“My parents passed away in a car accident my senior year,” she said quietly. “My little brother needed someone to care for him. He’s autistic. So I left school and moved home. I’ve been working multiple jobs ever since. Waiting tables pays faster than internships.”

“That sounds… incredibly hard,” he said.

“It can be,” she admitted. “But my brother is worth it.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. No one wants to hear your personal drama.”

“Okay,” Jodie said, stepping back. “I’m sorry.”

She retreated toward the bar, blinking fast.

“That,” the candidate said, leaning in, “is the kind of hand-holding that ruins businesses. If that were my employee, I would have corrected him in front of everyone. Public embarrassment is an excellent teacher. People need to know their place.”

Mr. Norris studied her for a long moment.

“And you think that makes you a strong leader?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she said. “I run a tight ship. I protect the bottom line, not people’s feelings.”

At the bar, one of the new servers fumbled a tray loaded with dishes. It crashed to the floor, plates shattering.

“Hey,” Jodie called. She hustled over. “It’s okay. It’s your first week. Everyone drops a tray sometime. Just breathe.”

“I’m so sorry,” the server whispered, eyes wide. “I’ll pay for it, I—”

“No you won’t,” Jodie said firmly. “Put the heavier dishes in the center next time. It helps with balance. Go take a minute in the back, then help at the bar. I’ve got this.”

She knelt with a broom and dustpan, sweeping up the broken ceramic herself.

Mr. Norris watched, expression unreadable.

A few minutes later, Jodie returned to the table with their salads. The steak sandwich the man had ordered looked perfect.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” she said. “Here’s your order. If you need anything—”

“Take this back,” the woman announced suddenly.

“Is there a problem with the food?” Jodie asked.

“I changed my mind,” the woman said. “The steak looks better. I want that instead.”

“Sure,” Jodie said. “We can bring you a steak. I’ll still have to charge you for the salad, though, since we can’t resell it.”

The woman stared at her as if she’d suggested a crime.

“You want to charge me for a salad I didn’t even touch?” she said.

“It’s just that it’s already been served,” Jodie tried to explain.

Without warning, the woman picked up the bowl and turned it over.

Lettuce, dressing, and shredded cheese hit the floor with a wet splat.

“There,” she said. “Now it’s definitely not reusable. Put in my new order. And don’t you dare charge me for that.”

Mr. Norris’s eyes flashed. Before Jodie could kneel, he was already bending down, napkin in hand.

“Sir, you don’t have to—” she began.

“I insist,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

She looked at him, confused.

“That’s her job,” the woman said sharply. “You’re here to interview me, not play janitor.”

“It’s called being decent,” he replied.

Jodie cleaned up the rest quickly, then hurried away. She’d barely reached the service station when she heard furious typing.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice tired.

“Leaving a review,” the woman said, not looking up. “A zero-star review. This restaurant deserves it. Your service has been awful, and people deserve to know.”

“Please,” Jodie said, heart lurching. “Please don’t do that. I need this job. My brother—”

“I told you already,” the woman said coldly. “No one cares about your story. Least of all me.”

Something in Jodie’s chest snapped, but she held it together, retreating to the kitchen as her eyes burned.

At the table, Mr. Norris sat back, folding his hands.

“I have never met anyone as rude as you,” he said finally.

She laughed lightly. “Rude? I call it direct. And you, William, need someone like me. I read about your company. You’ve rejected every engineering manager candidate so far. The board is breathing down your neck. You need this position filled before next week. You don’t have time to be picky. And I’m the only one honest enough to tell you how to fix things.”

“You may be right about my timeline,” he said. “But you’re wrong about something else.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“That I need you,” he said. “Because I don’t.”

He stood.

“What do you mean?” she demanded. “Do I have the job or not?”

“No,” he said simply. “You don’t. You couldn’t pay me to put you in charge of a team.”

“You’re making a mistake,” she said. “I’m firm. I’m efficient. I don’t tolerate failure—”

“You humiliate people for accidents,” he cut in. “You belittle service workers. You think leadership means intimidation. That’s not what I want in my company. Not in Los Angeles, not anywhere.”

He turned and looked toward the service station.

“Jodie?” he called.

She startled, wiping her eyes quickly and stepping forward.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to offer you a job,” he said.

She blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”

“A real one,” he said, smiling. “Engineering manager. Twelve-person team. Six-figure salary, benefits, stock options. We can figure out the logistics with your brother. I’m sure we can make remote work or daycare support happen. If you want it.”

The world tilted.

“You can’t hire her,” the candidate spluttered. “She’s a waitress.”

“She’s also trained in the field,” he said calmly. “She knows her stuff. And more importantly, she leads with compassion. She notices people. She supports them. That’s the kind of culture that builds success.”

Jodie stared at him, shaking. “What if I’m not good enough?” she whispered. “What if I mess it up?”

“From what I’ve seen tonight,” he said, “you’re the most qualified person I’ve met.”

Her eyes filled. “You have no idea what this means to me,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”

He handed her a card. “We’ll talk details after your shift,” he said. “Take your time. Think about it.”

The other woman stood up so fast her chair toppled. “I have never been so humiliated,” she snapped. On her way out, she bumped into a waiter and snapped at him too.

No one rushed to hold the door.

Jodie watched her leave, then looked down at the business card in her hand. San Francisco tech money, right here in Los Angeles. A doorway she’d thought had closed forever was suddenly cracked open again.

She smiled, dizzy, as the restaurant buzzed on around her — servers hustling, plates clattering, couples talking, the city pulsing just beyond the doors.

Somewhere across town, Will and Emma sat in a booth with cracked vinyl seats, sharing fries and laughing over a bad movie on his phone.

Somewhere else, under another patch of American sky, Britney scrolled through her old photos with Luke and quietly deleted every one.

On a sidewalk in Beverly Grove, Zoe checked her bank app and winced at the negative balance from a bill she never expected to pay.

And in a modest apartment in a quiet LA neighborhood, a boy on the spectrum lined up his toy cars in a perfect row, humming to himself, unaware that his sister’s whole life — and his — had just changed over spilled water and a job interview.

In a city obsessed with looks, height, status, and shiny things, the night had handed out a few rare, honest wins:

For a man who finally chose self-respect over approval.

For a woman who realized she’d been chasing the wrong kind of “perfect.”

For a waitress whose kindness turned out to be the most valuable qualification in the room.

And for anyone still learning that in the loud, glittering chaos of American life, the most important thing about a person is still the one thing you can’t capture in a photo or price on a menu:

What they’re really like when nobody important is watching.