“Good.” I check my watch. “Anything else?”
Gianna hesitates. “Filepe flagged something. Kells tried another walk-through yesterday.Fioretta. Walked past the host stand and headed straight for the kitchen.”
My jaw tightens. “And?”
“Matteo turned him around. But Filepe thinks he’s going to try again. Maybe atOsteriaduring peak time.”
“Tell Filepe to escort him off property the second he shows his face. I don’t care if he’s mid-order. I don’t care if he’s already seated. He’s banned from all locations effective immediately.”
“That’ll give him more content,” Valentina warns.
“Let him have it.” I stand. Move to the window overlooking the test kitchen. “He can write about being kicked out of a restaurant. That’s a story abouthimbeing an asshole. Not us.”
The call wraps. I pocket my phone and try to focus on the menu revisions Matteo left on the counter.
But all I can think about is Matilda’s quote.
I hired her because she had solid references and Ben needed stability after Isotta died. She lasted eight months. Long enough to learn Ben’s routines and favorite foods. Long enough that Ben started calling her Matilda instead of Miss Reeves.
And then she bailed. Stayed for three days after I begged her not to leave immediately, and spent the time mentally checked out. By the timeshe left, Ben had regressed to the same anxious mess she’d been right after the funeral.
But sure.I’mthe asshole.I’mthe one who treats my daughter like an employee.
My phone buzzes. Text from Jess.
Saw the article. You okay?
I stare at those two words.You okay.
Like she’s asking about the weather. Like former employees calling me a control freak in a major publication is just another day.
Except it kind of is.
And she knows it.
I’m fine,I type back.Standard media bullshit.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Ben asked if you’re coming to pickup today. Even though it’s not Thurs or Fri, she wants to show you her snail drawing.
Something in my chest eases. Just slightly.
I’ll be there,I reply.
Because that’s the thing about all of this. Kells can write whatever narrative he wants. Former staff can air grievances to anyone who’ll listen. But at the end of the day, Ben is happy. Sleeping through the night. Learning to manage her anxiety with techniques that actually work.
And Jess made that happen.
Not Matilda. Not any of the other candidates I interviewed. Jess.
Who reorganizes mudrooms at dawn. Who teaches breathing methods that I now use in board calls. Who makes my daughter laugh and doesn’t need a fucking Instagram story to prove it mattered.
Yes, Kells can write whatever the hell he wants.
Because I know thetruenarrative.
And that’s all that fucking matters.
