Chapter 0260


    Abby


    As soon as the door opens and Mr. Thompson’s figure appears in the doorway, my heart jumps into my


    throat.


    A palpable wave of embarrassment washes over me; I’m suddenly painfully aware of my disheveled


    appearance.


    My hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few stray locks defiantly escaping, and my clothes are not


    the crisp, chef whites that once defined my professional persona but rather a loose sweater and jeans


    “Mr. Thompson, uh, hello,” I stammer, standing up from my chair so abruptly it screeches against the


    floor.


    “Hello, Abby,” Mr. Thompson says.


    I swallow. What is he doing here? “Please,e in.” I gesture towards the chair opposite my cluttered


    desk, hastily shoving papers into piles to create a semnce of order.


    He steps inside, his gaze sweeping the room—the piles of paperwork, the empty coffee cups, the trash


    can overflowing with discarded papers and junk mail—with an unreadable expression on his face.


    “I hope I’m not interrupting, am I?” he asks, his gaze finally settling on me once more.


    I shake my head vehemently. “No, I…” I pause, clearing my throat as my gaze falls onto a particr


    spot on my desk where I spilled coffee yesterday and never cleaned it up; it’s sticky and sweet-


    smelling, with rings on the papers where I set the cup down. “I was just doing some paperwork.”


    Mr. Thompson holds my gaze for a moment. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, but there’s something


    else there, too. Something that almost borders on regret.


    “Well,” he says, “there’s something I need to speak to you about. It’s actually quite urgent, so I hope


    you don’t mind that I decided toe here in person rather than call or send an email.”


    His seriousness takes me by surprise. Mr. Thompson was always professional, but typically jovial at the


    same time aside from the reporter incident. Now, though, his face is an unreadable mask.


    A twist of anxiety knots in my stomach, and I find myself motioning to the seat again. “Of course.


    Please, sit.”


    He does, and the air between us is charged with a quiet intensity. He’s holding something, I notice: a


    DVD case. It’s unmarked.


    I try to smooth down my sweater, a futile attempt at pulling myself together, as I settle back into my own


    chair. “Is that for me?” I ask, nodding toward the DVD.


    “It is,” he confirms. “There’s something you need to see.”


    My curiosity peaks. “What is it?”


    He hands me the DVD, and I notice that his hands are shaking ever so slightly. “It’s footage from the


    night of thepetition. From the security cameras.”


    There was the argument with Daniel, of course. I almost pped him for his cruel words, but I never


    did. Surely he can’t press charges for that. Co?tent оf Draмa?ovеls.cомAll content is ? N0velDrama.Org.


    Unless… Is it about Karl and Daniel’s sous chef?


    “Should I be worried?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. I’m not entirely sure if I want to know the


    answer.


    “Just watch,” he says, nodding his head toward myputer screen.