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The next day, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window of the Big House, casting beams across the wooden table where an inspection report lay before me like an unwelcome guest. My hands shook slightly as I picked it up, reading the grade that might as well have been etched into my skin.
FAIL.
“Improper cleaning procedures?” I muttered to myself, my cheeks flushing with indignation. “How can that be possible?”
Evan chose that moment to walk in, his footsteps quiet on the tiled floor. After the inspection, he’d still been up, and I’d taken a moment to fill him in. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing the verdict isn’t good.”
“Look at this!” I thrust the report toward him. “Marjorie gave us a fail. It’s ludicrous.”
He sat next to me and took the report, his blue eyes scanning the contents before meeting my gaze. “We all know you run a tight ship, Stella. But we can’t ignore this. Especially not when our reputation is on the line.”
“Of course we can’t,” I snapped, more at the situation than at Evan. “She’s doing this out of spite.” I told him about my history with Marjorie.
Evan’s expression softened, but his voice remained firm. “Maybe. But we also can’t dismiss this outright. If there’s even a kernel of truth to these claims, we need to address it.”
“Deanna just forgot to wipe down that counter. She would have done it within half an hour. Are you doubting how I run my kitchen?” The question hung between us, charged and heavy.
“No,” he replied quickly. “But we need to be thorough. You’re great at what you do, Stella, but sometimes…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes you become very single-minded. You get so focused on the trees that you miss the forest.”
“What forest? Evan, I?—”
“Look, we’ll get to the bottom of this, okay?” He offered a supportive smile, which I returned half-heartedly. “Start by investigating each infraction she found.”
My mind was already racing with plans to rectify the situation. I wasn’t about to let Marjorie question my competence. My half smile fell as heat rose in my cheeks. “We need to tackle this head-on, Evan. I want to call Marjorie out on some of these minor infractions. A potholder too close to an open flame? Really?”
“Whoa. Hold up.” He pressed his hand out like a traffic cop as his voice took on his General Manager tone. “Accusing her won’t help. We don’t want to make enemies with the health department.”
“Enemies?” I echoed, incredulous. “She made herself an enemy the moment she walked through my door with a vendetta.”
“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong about the inspector.” Evan turned in his chair to face me. “But right now, our focus needs to be on getting everything up to code—whether or not the allegations are true.”
“Fine,” I muttered, knowing he was right. My pride hurt more than anything, but Orchid couldn’t afford the scandal of a shutdown. Especially with a new head chef. And that made a hollow, twisting feeling roll through me. What if Evan was right, and I couldn’t see deficiencies that were right in front of me?
What if this was a sign I wasn’t meant to head up Orchid?
My brother was already scrolling through his phone calendar to schedule a meeting. “Let’s start by going over procedures again with the staff. We’ll document everything, every step of the way.”
“Sure,” I said, though my hands wanted to do more than just defensive maneuvers. They itched to wring Marjorie’s little chicken neck.
My phone vibrated on the table, lighting up with Aiden’s name. I glanced at the screen—a missed call and a string of texts asking if I was all right. If there was anything he could do. My chest tightened with guilt. He’d been nothing but supportive, and here I was, burying myself in work. I’d been too worn out to text last night, and after getting the emailed report, now I was too despondent.
“Everything okay?” Evan asked, noting my distraction.
“Everything will be soon,” I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue as I shoved the phone aside. Aiden would have to wait. For now, Orchid needed the iron-willed chef, not the woman who might just be falling for her ex-boyfriend again. I pushed my chair back and stood. “Let’s get to work.”
The scent of fresh orchids clung to my bedroom, a mocking reminder of the date night that never happened. I’d run home for a quick shower to hopefully wash off some of the surreal haze that had enveloped me during a day of planning with Evan. I put Luis in charge tonight, just so I could focus on our response. But above all, one sentence kept running through my head like a banner at the bottom of a television screen.
How could this have happened?
I dressed in fresh pants and a clean polo shirt. After pulling out my phone, I crossed the room and dropped onto my bed. I’d avoided this call all day, and the weight of the phone felt like an anchor in my palm. Aiden’s name still glowed on the missed calls list. With a deep breath that did little to steady my racing heart, I tapped on his number.
“Stella?” His voice was like a warm blanket I desperately wanted to wrap myself in, but I knew better than to linger in its comfort.
“Hey. Look, I’m sorry about not getting back to you.” Each word felt like pulling teeth, hard and painful. “The health inspection didn’t go well, and I’ve spent all day cleaning up the fallout.”
“Of course. I get it.” His tone was supportive yet laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of disappointment. “Why don’t I come over and we can talk about it over a bottle of wine?”
His genuine, kind offer was so tempting. But my old, familiar adversary—fear—had dogged me all day, whispering about my doubts and insecurities. I couldn’t fit in romance right now. “Thanks, but I don’t have time. I need to handle this problem myself.”
