Chapter 3: Pride and the Price Tag

Caleb fiddled with his napkin, voice shaky but determined. "It’s not about who’s willing. The women here make good money too. Even if you want to treat, they might not let you."

He looked over at the women, who nodded or shrugged. Nobody wanted to feel like they owed anyone for a meal.

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes. "You just don’t get it. There’s no woman who doesn’t want a man to treat. My ex never even brought her wallet. Men should spoil women. For this meal, I say: guys split, girls eat free."

He sat back, arms folded, like he’d just dropped some ancient wisdom. Some folks looked unimpressed; others just sighed, tired of hearing it.

A few female colleagues quickly spoke up: "No need, no need—we agreed to split."

They weren’t trying to make a scene—just wanted to keep things simple.

One girl grinned, nudging her friend. "Wow, Derek is so generous."

The sarcasm was thick, but Derek missed it. He looked to Aubrey, practically beaming with hope.

Aubrey, the new hire with movie-star looks, sat poised and quiet, watching him like she was waiting for him to self-destruct. She lifted her eyelids, gave Derek a deliberate thumbs up—deadpan as could be.

I caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She wasn’t just shutting Derek down—she was letting the rest of us know she was in on the joke.

Derek, thinking he’d scored, downed his beer in one go, glass slamming onto the table. The others watched, half-incredulous.

Perfectly missed—because the next second, Aubrey’s thumb spun downward. The subtle, silent verdict made a few people snort into their drinks. Even Derek blinked, confused for a split second before recovering.

He doubled down, voice swelling. "Honestly, I planned to treat everyone. But the guys are men too—they need some pride. We’re a team, gotta let them save some dignity. So it’s settled: guys split, girls eat free."

He sounded like he was announcing NFL rules. People shifted, watching for what would happen next.

He leaned back, scanning the men with a look that dared anyone to challenge him. Silence hung, broken only by the hum of the restaurant.

Inside, I rolled my eyes. This guy was determined to play the hero to the end.

Caleb sat up, voice steady: "Derek, don’t break the rules. We’ve always split the bill."

It was about more than money—it was about not letting one guy rewrite the rules. A couple folks nodded in agreement.

Derek slammed his glass down, jabbing a finger at Caleb. "Stop talking nonsense. Just say it—can you afford it or not?"

He sounded like a cop in a bad TV drama. Caleb bristled, jaw set, but fell silent after I shot him a warning look. Sometimes you have to pick your battles.

I did the math in my head—lobster, king crab, four bottles of wine. The total was at least $1,800. For six guys and eight girls, each guy’s $300 bonus wasn’t even close. The younger guys looked like they’d just been told their rent had doubled.

No one wanted to look cheap, but nobody wanted to go broke. Derek wanted to be the hero, but only if it was on everyone else’s dime.

I tried to give him a quiet out. I leaned in, kept my voice low: "Aren’t you drinking a bit much?"

He shrugged me off so hard my watch banged the table, my wrist throbbing. He turned, breath sour with beer and seafood, and got right in my face.

"Marcus, I really look down on you. You’re the team lead, your bonus is the highest, but you’re stingy. Can’t even treat a girl to a meal?"

He said my name like it was a curse. My jaw clenched so tight I thought I’d crack a molar, but I forced myself to keep smiling.

Then he spat out, "Man, you’re really something else. No wonder you never get invited out."

For a moment, I wanted to toss my drink in his face. But I kept my cool, took a deep breath, and let it slide.

I’d wanted to treat everyone, but not like this—not to reward Derek’s act. Instead, I made my decision.

I raised my voice just enough: "How about this—I’ll pay for all the guys."

Heads snapped up. The younger guys looked like I’d just handed them a winning lottery ticket.

It reminded me of late nights in college, buying pizza for the dorm. For a second, I felt that old camaraderie flicker again.

Derek blinked, like the ground had shifted. "What do you mean? Treat the guys but not the girls?"

I met his eyes. "It’s not that I won’t treat the girls. I just don’t want to steal your thunder. You want the guys to split so you can look generous in front of the girls—using our money to win favor. Since you’re so generous, and you’ve never let women pay, you cover all the girls’ share."

The table froze, forks suspended. Out of the corner of my eye, everyone was watching Derek, waiting for the fireworks.

He went pale, then flushed, glancing at the dishes like he was seeing dollar signs. "That’s not good. I have to give the guys…"

Caleb jumped in, too cheerful: "No need to give us a chance—this is your moment, Derek. We won’t steal your thunder. I think what Marcus said is great—let’s do it."

He stood up, stretching, jacket in hand. "Are we going somewhere else? Ladies, if not, I’m heading home."

The women quickly gathered their things, voices light with relief. I called for the bill, calculated the guys’ share, and sent it to Derek via Venmo. "I’ve paid for the guys—including you. You cover the girls and settle up. Oh, and don’t be late tomorrow."

As I turned to leave, I didn’t miss the way Derek’s face kept cycling through shades of red and green. His pride had cost him—and the whole table knew it.