By the time Erlin finished savoring her cake, both Zane and Shelby had also wrapped up their feast.
The table was now a battlefield — piled high with small mountains of bones.
"Zavier, your food is always a luxury," Shelby said, rising from his seat. "We've spent enough time here. Where's our bill?"
Chef Zavier beamed, smiling from ear to ear at the praise.
"Consider this one on the house," he said.
The hall fell into an uproar of silent chaos. Patrons, still chewing their expensive meals, had wild thoughts racing through their minds.
We paid a fortune for this meal, and those bums walk in, devour half the kitchen, and leave without paying a single coin?
Where's the justice?
Who the hell are they to get such privileges?!
Shelby, of course, didn't give a damn about their displeasure.
But he did shoot a sharp glare at Zavier. "You might know me, Chef, but clearly you don't know me well."
He slammed his hand down on the table. "I don't like freebies. I pay for what I eat."
