“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 for a visit,” he says,

swallow, deciding to

journalism just as much as the

Well, it’s stirring the pot, to say the least. Is it true? Your

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

he’s an excellent chef. We’re happy to

not just about the kitchen, but about getting his life back in order. And I’m glad to

stone for him in that

pauses for a moment, clearly moved by my little

eyes, something that smacks

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

“How so?”

which puts you under our brand. An incident

on you, but on the competition

do is keep holding my chin

but also over the emails that I was

thankfully hasn’t

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