Framed at My Cousin's Club
Maroon Cypress
I was treating some friends to dinner at the private club my cousin owned. When we wrapped up, I waved over a server. "Just put it on Nick's tab."
The server nodded, but a manager I'd never seen stepped in to block her.
Wearing a smile that never reached her eyes, she said, "Sir, Bosco is a members-only establishment. We don't offer tabs."
I felt a flicker of irritation. "I'm the owner's cousin. Just let him know."
She let out a sharp, mocking laugh and slapped a bill onto the table. Eighty-eight thousand.
Exclusive suite atmosphere maintenance fee, ten thousand. High‑end social network filtration fee, twenty thousand. Spontaneous entertainment ambience enhancement fee, fifteen thousand. And a mess of other miscellaneous charges.
Since when did Nick's place dare to bleed customers dry like this?
"What's wrong? Can't pay and now you're trying to name‑drop?" She looked me up and down with an arrogant tilt of her chin. "I've seen plenty of our boss's relatives. Not one of them is as broke, pretentious, and shameless as you."
Right in front of her, I dialed Nick and put the call on speaker.
"Ten minutes," I said. "Make sure she disappears from my sight. Otherwise, I'm revoking your authorization for this club."