“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…

just here for a visit,” he says,

to feign

disregard tabloid journalism just as much

that article… Well, it’s stirring the pot, to say

little at his words. This was exactly what I

he’s an

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

him in

a moment, clearly moved by my little

eyes, something that smacks of

“But also a liability. I hope you

“How so?”

finalist for the competition, which puts you

just on you, but on the

lurch, but all I can do is keep holding

won’t be disqualified, not just over Anton, but also over the emails

thankfully hasn’t

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