11. Scarlett
11
SCARLETT
The letter trembled in my hands.
NOTICE OF HEALTH INSPECTION – IMMEDIATE REVIEW REQUIRED
The words blurred together as I read them over and over, willing them to change. But they didn’t.
I sucked in a slow, steadying breath, my fingers tightening around the paper. My restaurant, my life’s work, was under threat. Again.
It didn’t make sense. I ran Amélie with precision, prided myself on the highest standards. How the hell did this happen?
My stomach twisted, and for the first time that day, I couldn’t tell if it was stress or something more.
I’d been feeling… off lately. Dizzy spells. A few waves of nausea. Fatigue that hit me harder than usual.
I closed my eyes.
No. I couldn’t think about that right now.
There was too much at stake.
I took another breath and shoved the letter into my bag. I had to focus.
I needed to get ahead of this inspection before it turned into something worse.
But as I turned to head back into the kitchen, I nearly crashed into Christian.
He caught me before I could stumble, his strong hands firm on my arms.
“Easy,” he murmured, his sharp eyes scanning my face.
Damn it. I didn’t have the energy to fake calm.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.
I forced a nod. “Fine. Just… busy.”
Christian frowned, not buying it for a second. He never did.
“I got a call from Eric,” he said, watching me closely. “He said there are rumors spreading about a possible health code violation.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse kicking up. “So it’s already out there.”
Christian’s jaw ticked. “Looks that way.”
He didn’t ask if it was true—he knew better. Instead, he took a step closer, lowering his voice. “What’s going on, Scarlett?”
I hesitated. My first instinct was to downplay it. To handle it on my own.
But that wasn’t working, was it?
I sighed and pulled out the letter, handing it to him. He unfolded it and scanned the contents, his expression darkening with every word.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. His fingers flexed around the paper before he forced himself to relax.
“I’ll deal with it,” I said quickly. “I have nothing to hide. Amélie runs a tight kitchen.”
Christian didn’t look convinced. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.”
I bristled. “I can handle my own damn restaurant, Christian.”
His gaze flicked to mine, something unreadable in his expression. “I know you can.” He exhaled. “But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
I bit my lip, my chest tightening at his words.
It would be so easy to lean into him, to let him take some of the weight off my shoulders.
But then what? I was already dangerously close to falling for him.
And if I really was… pregnant…?
I swallowed against the lump in my throat.
I couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.
Christian tilted his head. “Scarlett.”
I blinked up at him, realizing I’d drifted off in my thoughts. “What?”
His frown deepened. “You’ve been off all night. Are you feeling okay?”
I forced a smile. “Just tired.”
Lies.
Christian studied me for another second before sighing. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“To sit down. Eat something. Breathe . ” His tone softened. “Let me take care of you for five minutes, and then you can go back to running yourself into the ground.”
I almost told him no. Almost reminded him that I could take care of myself.
But my stomach chose that moment to twist again, sending another wave of unease through me.
I sighed. “Fine. Five minutes.”
Christian gave me a knowing look but didn’t push it.
As we sat in the private corner of the restaurant, I watched him quietly. He was always so steady, so in control.
And for the first time, I wondered—what if I told him?
Would he panic? Would he run?
Or would he do what he was doing now?
Stay.
Be exactly the kind of man I was afraid I could fall for.
The health inspector arrived just as the dinner rush started, wearing a crisp, no-nonsense expression that made my stomach drop.
I had expected the inspection, but not so soon. Not with this level of scrutiny.
"Ms. Lane?” His voice was sharp, professional.
I wiped my hands on my apron and forced a steady breath. "That’s me."
"I'm Inspector Reynolds. We received a report that Amélie may not be meeting health and safety standards."
I narrowed my eyes. "A report?"
He barely reacted, flipping open his clipboard. "We'll be conducting a thorough review."
Something about the way he said thorough made my skin prickle.
I swallowed hard, nodding. "Of course. Follow me."
The kitchen was running like a well-oiled machine, my chefs moving in a practiced rhythm.
The air was thick with the scent of butter, seared meat, and fresh herbs. Everything was pristine—as it always was.
But as Inspector Reynolds moved through each station, his eyes seemed too sharp, his questions too specific, as if he already knew what he was looking for.
My pulse quickened. Someone had tipped him off.
I clenched my jaw, watching as he ran a gloved finger over surfaces, checked temperatures, examined every corner as if expecting to find something damning.
And then he stopped at the dry storage.
I moved to follow, but before I could take a step, one of my chefs, Leah, grabbed my arm.
"Scarlett," she whispered urgently. "You need to see this."
I turned, my stomach knotting as she led me toward one of the lower shelves.
My blood ran cold.
There, tucked behind the neatly organized containers of flour and sugar, was a small, unlabeled bag of something.
My hands shook as I reached for it, unzipping the seal. A bitter, chemical scent filled my nose.
What the hell is this?
Heart pounding, I turned just as the inspector walked in.
"What do we have here?" he asked, eyes narrowing at the bag in my hand.
I forced my expression to remain calm. "I have no idea."
His brow arched. "You’re saying this isn’t yours?"
I set my jaw. "I run a tight kitchen, Inspector. This wasn’t here before today."
He studied me, then the bag, before sealing it in a plastic evidence pouch. "We’ll be testing this. If it’s anything that violates food safety regulations, Amélie could face temporary closure."
Ice flooded my veins. "You can’t be serious."
His expression didn’t change. "We’ll see."
He left, and I stood frozen, my heart racing.
Then I turned to Leah. "Get Christian on the phone."
Fifteen minutes later, Christian stormed into the kitchen.
His presence alone seemed to quiet the chaotic energy buzzing through my veins.
"What happened?" he asked, voice sharp.
I exhaled shakily. "Someone planted something in my storage, Christian. Planted it."
His jaw clenched. "Let me guess—right before the inspection?"
I nodded. "Whoever did this wanted me to fail."
Christian’s expression darkened. "This was a setup."
His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it before cursing under his breath. "Eric’s looking into the inspector’s report. But if this goes public?—”
I cut him off. "I won’t let that happen."
His gaze flicked to mine. "Then let me help you."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I could fix this myself.
But I was so damn tired.
And scared.
Not just for the restaurant.
For the other secret I was keeping.
I hadn't taken a test yet, but I knew. I knew .
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "What do we do?"
Christian’s eyes softened just a fraction. "We prove that you run this place cleaner than any Michelin-starred restaurant in the country. We counter their claims before they even gain traction."
I nodded, forcing a breath. "Then let's get to work."
For the next few hours, we went over everything—the inspector’s notes, the ingredient logs, even the security footage.
Christian had his team working behind the scenes, pulling strings, making calls, ensuring that this fabricated scandal didn’t ruin me.
By the time we finished, exhaustion weighed heavy on me. But the panic had started to ease.
And it was because of Christian.
He watched me across the table, his expression unreadable. "You should get some rest."
I huffed out a laugh. "You sound like you actually think I’ll sleep after all this."
Christian smirked. "Stubborn as always."
His smirk faded as he studied me closer. "Are you okay?"
I hesitated. My fingers curled against my lap. Do I tell him?
Not yet.
I managed a small smile. "I will be."
Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached across the table, taking my hand.
The warmth of his skin sent a shiver up my spine.
"We’ll get through this," he murmured.
I held his gaze. "I know."
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, and for a moment, the chaos of the night faded into the background.
I wasn’t just fighting for my restaurant.
I was fighting for us.
Later that night, after Christian had gone, I sat in my office, staring at the unopened pregnancy test in front of me.
I already knew the answer.
But seeing it in writing would make it real.
I took a shaky breath, then picked it up.
A few minutes later, the result appeared.
Positive.
Tears burned my eyes, a swirl of emotions crashing through me. Fear. Joy. Panic.
I placed a hand over my stomach, exhaling slowly.
Not yet, Christian. But soon.
Just as I was about to turn off the light, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I frowned, swiping to read the message.
Step back, Scarlett. Or you’ll lose more than your restaurant.
My blood turned to ice.
I stared at the words, dread curling in my gut.
Whoever wanted me to fail wasn’t done with me.
And this time, they were making it personal.