“Here we are,” I announce, gesturing at the controlled chaos around me.

Mr. Thompson steps in, his eyes moving critically from the prep stations to the line cooks and finally to

Anton, who is still engrossed in his soup. His gaze lingers on the French chef for a few moments,

hesitating, before landing on me. “Busy today, huh?”

“Yes, very,” I respond. “Business has been good, and we aim to keep it that way.”

“I see cleanliness is a priority as always,” he observes, his gaze lingering on Anton once more.

I can’t shake the feeling that I—or rather, Anton—am being tested, but I plaster a smile on my face and

nod. “Of course, Mr. Thompson. We always get top ratings on our health reports.”

After a few more moments of looking around, Mr. Thompson nods in a satisfied manner and follows me to

the door. But once we’re in the hallway, alone, his facade seems to drop ever so slightly.

Enter title…

know that I’m not just here for

to

sighs. “Listen, I disregard tabloid journalism just as much as the next guy,”

the pot, to say the least. Is it true?

was exactly what

is homeless, but he’s an

the kitchen, but about getting his life back in order. And I’m glad to serve

stone for him in that

moment, clearly moved by my

something

“But

“How so?”

which puts

not just on you, but

stomach lurch, but all I can do is keep holding my

be disqualified, not just over Anton, but also over the

hasn’t mentioned

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