The new workweek began as usual. Everything followed its normal course—except the weather, which was far from pleasing. The rains had dragged on. Warm cardigans and trousers returned from the far shelves of the wardrobe. By the time I reached work, I was already sniffing lightly. The air outside was too damp and humid.
Dropping my things in my office, I immediately rushed to the kitchen, seized by an unbearable desire to drink some hot tea. The atmosphere there was tense—and it had nothing to do with the hot stove. The cooks and waiters looked at me reproachfully.
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.
“Where did you even find such a difficult chef, Vera Konstantinovna?” the assistant asked.
My gaze immediately fixed on Stas’s back. He was diligently working his magic over the food, com
