“The whole thing is just selfies of you. One blurry shot of the food, barely a mention of the atmosphere.”
“And at the end, you wrote: ‘Since it’s me, the owner should give you a discount.’”
“Rachel, you call that promotion?”
“You’re just turning me into the sucker who lets your fans freeload!”
Rachel’s expression soured.
She knew that was her style—always about how good she looked, not how good the restaurant was.
She hadn’t expected me to expose her in public.
“I…”
She faltered, speechless.
Eric quickly tried to smooth things over.
“Sophia, Rachel didn’t mean it that way.”
“She was just trying to help you.”
“Help me?” I sneered. “Was that like in high school, when she stole the design draft I spent three sleepless days on, entered the contest with it, won the prize, and then accused me of plagiarism?”
“Or like in college, when she dumped a whole pack of salt into my coffee before my competition, humiliating me in front of everyone and getting me disqualified?”
I stared at her paling face, a cold smile tugging at my lips.
I had kept track of every one of her dirty tricks.
Eric looked at Rachel, doubt creeping into his eyes.
“Sophia, is… is that true?”
Rachel panicked, clutching his arm.