“Abby? What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be at the studio?” I ask, blinking in

confusion. Did I sleep through the whole day or something? Did I miss the cookoff?

She pushes past me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe like a worried

mother as she makes her way into my apartment. “Karl, you’re not sick, are

you? Please, for the love of god, tell me you’re not sick.”

I close the door behind her, my brows knitting in confusion. “Sick? No, I’m just a

bit hungover, but other than that, I’m fine. Why? What are you doing here?”

“You’re sure you’re not sick?” Abby presses, leaning in, her eyes still wide but

now tinged with a sliver of hope.

Enter title…

I throw my hands up in the air. “Would I lie about that? No, I’m not sick, just

hungover, Abby. Now will you tell me why you’re here looking like the world’s

about to end when you’re supposed to be heading to the competition?”

She sighs, the tension leaving her shoulders, but only for a second. “Karl, both

John and Anton have food poisoning. They can’t even stand, let alone be my

for

wide with

from that seafood dish we had at the party last

tinged with a mix of worry and annoyance. “You didn’t

did you?”

like seafood

Of all

happen!”

her, then glance over at my

mess, not at all like the Alpha I’m

do, Abby?” I find myself asking, my gaze sliding

her gaze piercing. “I need a

can think of who might be able to help me

will you be my

A

Abby

go wide as I drop

sous chef today?”

air.

of silence, filled only by

chest, before Karl finally

Absolutely not.

at once, I feel like

last viable option. I can’t show up to the

pull out

Why?” I ask,

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