Chapter 0202


    Abby


    It’s halfway to closing time, and my desk is scattered with index cards. Myputer is open to an email


    from Mr. Thompson outlining some of the potential questions I may be asked during the interview. I’ve


    written them down, along with my potential responses on the back of each card, so I can practice.


    I want to be prepared. I have to be prepared. This interview is the beginning of everything; it’s the


    deciding factor behind whether I’ll garner positive or negative attention.


    And although the article went well in the end, I need to y it safe. I’ve already got enough trouble


    when ites to my restaurant’s reputation, and I want to make sure everything runs smoothly.


    Taking a deep breath, I pick one of the index cards up. “What inspired you to be a chef?” it reads.


    I turn to face the mirror hanging on the wall, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.


    “Growing up,” I start, talking to my reflection, “my mother’s kitchen was always the heart of our home…


    No, that’s not right.” I pause, flipping the card over to read my pre-written response. “My mother’s


    kitchen was my favorite room in the—”


    Just then, the door bursts open. I jump, a startled gasp escaping my lips as the index card slips from


    my fingers and flutters to the floor.


    “Abby, I was wondering if you—” Karl stops mid-sentence, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Am I


    interrupting something?”


    Property of N?)(velDr(a)ma.Org.


    A blush instantly colors my cheeks. “No, no, not at all,” I stammer, hurriedly snatching the fallen index


    card from the floor and hiding it behind my back, as if that would somehow make the situation less


    awkward.


    Karl arches an eyebrow, his eyes dropping to my hands, now awkwardly positioned behind me. “Hiding


    something?”


    “Me? Hide something? Never!” I force a chuckle, my face heating up even more.


    For a moment, he just stands there, eyeing me curiously. Then, in one fluid motion, he steps forward,


    snatching the hidden index card from behind my back.


    “Ah,” he says, reading the question out loud. “‘What inspired you to be a chef?’ Preparing for the


    interview, are we?”


    I groan, rolling my eyes dramatically. “Give that back, you thief!”


    He chuckles, holding the card just out of reach, his eyes lighting up with mischief as I try and fail to


    jump and grab it from him. “So, what’s the answer?” he asks. “I’m curious.”


    “Fine,” I huff, my face redder than a beet. “I was practicing, okay? I want to be prepared for all of the


    questions, no matter how trivial.”


    He grins, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh, I see. You’ve always been a perfectionist.”


    “Maybe I am,” I retort, feeling a sense of yfulness wash over my initial embarrassment. “What’s


    wrong with being prepared?”


    Karl finally hands the index card back to me, his eyes softening. “Absolutely nothing. Your


    preparedness is something that I’ve always admired, actually.”


    “Um, thanks,” I murmur, tucking the card back into the pile.


    He leans against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. “Would you like some help


    preparing for this interview? Two heads are better than one, after all.” Content of Drаm??ovels.cоm


    His offer makes my heart race. “How would you even help me?” I find myself asking. “You’re an Alpha,


    not a television interviewer.”