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“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.
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“Abby, I’m sure you know that I’m not just here for a visit,” he says, his voice low.”
I swallow, deciding to feign ignorance. “Oh?”
Mr. Thompson sighs. “Listen, I disregard tabloid journalism just as much as the next guy,” he says
gently.
“But that article… Well, it’s stirring the pot, to say the least. Is it true? Your new chef is homeless?”
My heart sinks a little at his words. This was exactly what I feared, but I’m not about to lie. “Yes,” I say,
holding my chin up. “Anton is homeless, but he’s an excellent chef. We’re happy to have him. He’s
passionate, not just about the kitchen, but about getting his life back in order. And I’m glad to serve as
a
stepping stone for him in that regard.”
Mr. Thompson pauses for a moment, clearly moved by my little speech. But there’s also something
else
behind his eyes, something that smacks of duty.
“That is very sweet, Abby,” he says. “But also a liability. I hope you know that.”
“How so?”
He sighs. “You’re a finalist for the competition, which puts you under our brand. An incident like this
reflects not just on you, but on the competition itself.”
His words make my stomach lurch, but all I can do is keep holding my chin high and hope for the best:
that I won’t be disqualified, not just over Anton, but also over the emails that I was privy to, which Mr.
Thompson thankfully hasn’t mentioned yet.
“I understand that, Mr. Thompson.”
“So you see why it’s crucial for you to maintain not just a clean kitchen, but a clean image. I
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you publish an article to clear the air. Make a statement before anything else can escalate.”
“I’ve been considering that,” I admit. “It’s just—”
“Just what?”
“Well, the situation is delicate, Mr. Thompson. I’m afraid that a journalist might portray it as something
that
it’s not.”
“The complications of fame,” he says, smiling wryly. “You wanted success, and all the challenges that
come with it. This is one such challenge.”
“I understand, Mr. Thompson, and I”ll address it.”
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