“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…

you know that I’m not just here

to feign ignorance.

disregard tabloid journalism just as much as the next guy,” he

to say the least. Is it true? Your new

his words. This was exactly what I feared, but I’m not about to lie.

is homeless, but he’s

getting his life back in order. And I’m glad to serve

stone for him in that

a moment, clearly moved by my little speech.

something

is very sweet, Abby,” he says. “But also a liability. I hope you know

“How so?”

sighs. “You’re a finalist for the competition, which puts

not just on you,

all I can do is

also over

thankfully hasn’t

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