The neon lights of South Beach cast purple-blue shadows across Ocean Drive as Marcus Jenkins stepped into The Tidal Wave, one of Miami's newest upscale lounges. Fresh from closing a seven-figure real estate deal, his tailored Tom Ford suit and diamond-encrusted watch announced his status before he said a word.
His eyes swept across the dimly lit space, taking in the sleek décor and customers. That's when he noticed her—a striking Black woman sitting alone at a corner table, dressed elegantly in white, her attention focused on a tablet in front of her.
Something about her irritated him. While everyone else seemed properly impressed by his entrance, she hadn't even looked up.
Marcus approached the wooden-topped bar and slapped his platinum card down. "Bartender!" he called out, loud enough so the entire room could hear. "I'm buying a round of drinks for everyone in this place." He paused, pointing toward the corner. "Except for that woman over there."
The bartender, a tall woman with tattoos running down both arms, raised an eyebrow but took his card. "Whatever you say, sir."
As premium cocktails circulated through the bar, they raised their glasses in Marcus's direction with appreciative nods. The woman in white finally looked up from her tablet. Instead of appearing offended, she smiled warmly and called out, "Thank you!"
Her response drew confused glances—and a few chuckles—from nearby tables. Marcus felt embarrassed and quickly turned to anger.
"You think that's funny?" he mumbled. He called for the bartender again. "Now I'm buying appetizers for the whole bar. Seafood, truffle fries, everything you've got." He deliberately looked toward the corner. "Still nothing for her."
As platters of food made their way around the room, creating a buzz of excitement, the woman in white continued to observe the scene with calm amusement. When she caught Marcus glaring at her, she simply nodded and called out, "Thank you again!"
Marcus slammed his glass down. "What is wrong with this woman?" he asked the bartender. "I'm deliberately excluding her, and she's thanking me?"
The bartender wiped down the counter with a knowing smile. "That's Elise Washington. She owns this place—and three others buildings along Ocean Drive."
"What?" Marcus yelled.
"Yeah," the bartender continued. "Actually, tonight's our light reopening after renovations. We weren't planning on a full house, but thanks to your generosity, word spread fast that something special was happening at The Tidal Wave." She nodded toward the entrance, where a line had formed outside. "Social media's lighting up. Best publicity we could ask for."
Marcus stood frozen as Elise approached the bar. Up close, he could see the subtle details of her custom jewelry and the confidence in her eyes.
"Mr. Jenkins, isn't it?" she said. "I recognized you from the business journal. I appreciate you creating such a memorable opening night for my establishment." She extended her hand. "Your money's no good here. Tonight's on the house."
As she walked away to greet new arrivals, Marcus couldn't help but notice the small logo pinned to her blouse—the same logo that appeared on the deed to the office building he'd just purchased.
"By the way," the bartender added, leaning in confidentially, "she's also your new landlord to the office building you just rented."
Sometimes the universe delivers lessons in the most expensive ways possible.