The kitchen was plagued by a series of unfortunate mistakes that couldn’t be traced to a source: an extra dash of nutmeg, an overly vigorous squeeze of lemon, a lukewarm serving of soup.
One night, at the end of Cam’s shift, she watched as the head chef stormed out of the kitchen.
“Good luck, sweetheart,” he growled.
His apron landed in a pile at Cam’s feet. She didn’t care that he barely looked at her as he stormed past, despite the fact that they’d worked together for months.
After all, Cam understood that all idols must be toppled. (Post-study, of course.)