The tea kettle Marius had set in Chaz's office was almost at a boil. Every now and then he would turn around to glance at the old tin can and the burner it sad above. Not yet, Marius thought. He went back to his work. His work, which had consumed him. Perhaps some tea would settle him. But for now, he was back to turning pages.
To many, the soft sound of pages turning would bring a certain comfort. Memories of late nights tucked under a blanket reading way past bedtime with nothing but the LED glow of book light, or even thinking back to simpler times in school where one was still learning all about this wonderful world of ours. Paired with a strong coffee, this would, to most, be delightful.
For Marius, however, the sound of pages turning had become painful — even torturous as of late. With each soft schliff of the page separating from the last as he flipped through the Ambrose Restaurants logbooks, he found more and more holes in everything Ambrose Restaurants related, especially after the deal with the Foundation. It was all falling apart, and he had a front row seat to the main event.
Schliff.
"What do you mean you can't get that shipment of sugar from Little Havana?" Chaz bellowed on the phone a few yards away from Marius, pacing around the office in heated discussion.
Ambrose Transylvania wants to drop the 'Ambrose' franchise location from its name. They believe that the brand is doing more harm than good to their reputation. This is all my fault. I let him make the choice alone.
The whispers of the tea pot barely became audible, like a distant whistle.
Schliff.
"I don't care, Marco! When I say I want Little Havana sugar, I mean I want Little Havana sugar. I'm not going to use god damn Domino brand sugar. Do you even know the difference between cane and granulated sugar?"
Ambrose Little Havana is experiencing troubles getting things in and out of the nexus because of the blockade of Cuba and PENTAGRAM posturing in the Calle Ocho exit over in Miami. I should have told Chaz to reject the Foundation's offer. Dealing with them is like dealing with Satan, except Satan at least has a code of honor.
The kettle's whistle grew louder, the boiling water within forcing steam out of the holes in the spout cover like some sort of furious snorting bull.
Schliff.
"We already paid for it! We paid for it two weeks ago! Do you really think you can afford to lose me as a client? Especially with everything going on right now?"
Ambrose Gloucester wants to cut ties with Ambrose, just like Transylvania. Something about wanting to go full avant garde and being held back by the fact that at the end of the day, they must still serve edible food. Who even deals with the Foundation? I know he was desperate, but…
The roaring boil of the kettle had come to result in a vociferous, steam-train-like whistle from the old, slightly dented tin can, which was now threatening to spill over onto the range.
Schliff.
"Oh, fuck you, Marco! Ambrose Restaurants is not circling the drain. Fuck you. You know what? I don't even want your damn sugar! I'll buy American! I'll buy from Hala Kahiki Sugar! What? No, it's Hawaiian. Fuck you, Hawaii is in America."
Ambrose NYC isn't making anywhere near enough to justify its rent in Backdoor SoHo. Plus, its still got the rampant ghost problem that doesn't seem to go away no matter what we do. This is the third year in a row it's been in the red. This was more fucked than a 100-man orgy.
Marius rubbed his temples. He couldn't focus. Not with Chaz yapping so close to his workspace, not with the sharp, piercing shriek of the tea kettle— who had even put it on? Oh, right. The man got up from his desk, drawing a deep breath as he walked to the range in the opposite corner of the office and shut off the gas.
"Fuck off, Marco. I want a refund for that Little Havana sugar. And Marius?" Chaz moved the phone away from his ear, turning to face his second in command.
"Hmm?" he didn't turn, too busy muddling the mint leaves in his purple 'kiss the cook' mug his superior had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago.
"See to it that we terminate our contract with El Rey del Azucar. From now on, Ambrose Restaurants is a Hala Kahiki company."
Marius nodded.
"Yes, sir," he sighed, staring down into his drink, keeping his expression as unreadable as ever; tired eyes glazing over the mint tea he had just added honey to.