“Come in, ladies, don’t be shy. My daughter-in-law’s restaurant is practically family. Today we are eating like queens, and I am paying for everything!”

My mother-in-law’s booming voice carried across the dining room at 1:30 in the afternoon, just as my restaurant was packed with customers. Behind Beatrice walked thirty-eight perfectly groomed women with expensive handbags, strong perfume, and the confidence of people certain someone else would cover the bill.

Gavin, my head manager, hurried toward me looking panicked.

“Camilla, they do not have a reservation, and every single table is completely occupied. Should I tell them that we cannot accommodate such a large group right now?”

I glanced toward Beatrice, who was already pulling a “reserved” sign from a large table and directing the busboys to push several chairs together.

“No, Gavin,” I replied calmly. “Take care of them.”

Gavin stared at me in disbelief.

“To all thirty-nine of them?”

“To all of them, and make sure you give them exactly what they ask for.”

He clearly didn’t understand my choice, and neither did anyone else in the building. But I knew that this would be the last day Beatrice walked into my restaurant believing she owned something she had never helped create.