“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,”

to feign

just

that article… Well, it’s stirring the pot, to say the least. Is it true?

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

chin up. “Anton is homeless, but he’s an excellent chef. We’re happy to have

getting his life

stone for him

Thompson pauses for a moment, clearly moved by my little speech. But

something

he says. “But

“How so?”

“You’re a finalist for the competition, which puts you under our brand.

not just on you, but

my stomach lurch, but all I can do is

but also over the emails that I was privy to, which

thankfully hasn’t

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