The man's face flushed red at Phoebe's blunt question. Several nearby diners gasped audibly at her words. The accusation hung in the air like a sword.
"That's not what I meant at all," he stammered, his polished demeanor cracking. "My young master simply wanted to show his appreciation for your company."
"By treating us like merchandise," Evelyn said coldly, pushing the checks back toward him. "Take your money and your young master's invitation and leave."
I remained seated, watching the interaction with mild interest. This was far from the first time someone had approached Evelyn inappropriately. It wouldn't be the last.
The man's jaw tightened. "Perhaps you don't understand who you're refusing."
"Perhaps you don't understand that we don't care," Phoebe shot back.
At this, the young man across the room stood up. He was tall and lean, wearing clothes that probably cost more than most cars. His entourage of friends watched eagerly as he approached our table.
