Not close enough.
Then his phone goes off. Mine, too.
Both at the same time.
Luis in the group chat:Second vehicle flagged. Black sedan. Same pattern.
Filepe:Confirmed. Possible coordinated watch. Recommend advance-only pickups until pattern breaks.
Marco’s expression goes cold. Billionaire-security mode.
“Go home,” he says quietly. “Jag will take you. Tomorrow we adjust everything.”
I nod. Grab my bag. Head for the door.
But I pause in the hallway. Look back.
He’s standing in his office doorway. Watching me leave. That same tension in his shoulders that’s been there since the studio, and has only seemed to increase since the kiss.
And I realize with a sinking feeling that Marlowe’s video might actually be the least of our problems.
24
Marco
The email from Gianna my COO lands in my inbox at nine thirty in the morning while I’m reviewing the new seasonal menu with Matteo.
Subject: Ledger hit piece (live)
I tap the link.The Metropolitan Ledger. Calder Kells’s byline. A headline that makes me want to put my fist through something.
Behind the Shine: Former Staff Question Fiore Hospitality’s “Family First” Brand
Fucking parasite.
I scan the article. It’s exactly what I expected and somehow worse. Three pull quotes from former employees. Each one calculated to make me look like a tyrant hiding behind PR spin.
First up: Jeremy Costa, former line cook who quit after we caught him stealing prep time to vape in the walk-in. His quote reads like amateur hour character assassination.
“He times bathroom breaks like tickets. You’re running tothe restroom during service and you can feel him counting the seconds. It’s not about excellence. It’s about workplace tyranny.”
I almost laugh. Costa couldn’t work a clean station if his life depended on it. Cross contamination. Sloppy knife work. The kind of cook who treats a Michelin kitchen like a dive bar with better lighting.
But Kells doesn’t mention any of that. Just frames me as some control freak who won’t let people piss in peace.
Second quote: Alicia Brennan, former pastry sous who walked out mid-service after we wouldn’t let her use vanilla extract that had oxidized. She’s apparently found her calling as a freelance philosopher.
“Since his wife’s died he’s become a tyrannical perfectionist. He thinks grief tempers like sugar or something. He moves through the kitchen without feeling. Everything has to be perfectly in place. No mess. He’s got this cold perfection thing about him that makes you wonder if he’s actually human.”
Cold perfection thing. Right.
Because running a restaurant group that employs two hundred people means I should fall apart during service and let standards slip. Because grief gives you a pass on food safety and consistency.
Fuck that.
But the third quote is the one that actually lands. The one I didn’t see coming.
Matilda Reeves. Former nanny. The one who bailed on Ben to chase some travel-the-world dream that apparently didn’t pan out.
