Page 29 of Thunder

"Load it back up," I order.

"Wait, what?" Maddy asks, confusion etched on her features.

"Load all the food back in the van," I repeat, chuckling at their baffled expressions.

"Marcus, what the hell?" Rook warns, but I can see the curiosity in his eyes. “You got the love of my life hauling boxes for you, so you better have a damn good explanation.”

"Trust me," I say, unable to contain my excitement. "I've got a plan. One that will make it all worth it."

Chapter Twelve

Amelia

I pace the bustling kitchen of the event hall, my heart a panicked animal in my chest. Time is running out and I desperately dial gourmet food distributors, leaving message after message. "I need ingredients for tonight's event. Please, price is not an object," I plead in every voicemail box I reach. My voice trembles with urgency. The stolen food weighs heavily on my mind, and the thought of failing this dinner event makes my stomach churn like it’s been stuck in a centrifuge.

"Damn it!" I curse under my breath, hanging up the phone. Another voicemail, another non-answer, another nail in the coffin of my career.

I glance around the kitchen only to find Chef Vivienne Marcel in the midst of a full-blown tantrum. She's throwing pots and pans across the room, knocking jars of spices around like she wants to make it snow paprika, her face red as she rants and swears like an angry Gordon Ramsay.

"Where the bloody hell is the food?" Chef Marcel screams, her eyes wild as she hurls a saucepan against the wall. “Why the hell am I, Vivienne Marcel, subjected to such pathetic chicanery as being asked to cook a meal without any ingredients? Is this some ridiculous avant-garde art project? Or are you all just utterly incompetent?”

I wince at the metallic clang that reverberates through the air. She’s contracted to be the head chef of the resort once it’s complete, but now, after today, even if everything goes to plan, I doubt she’ll follow through; I've never seen her this upset, and I know that it's all because of me.

"Chef Marcel, I promise I'm doing everything I can to fix this situation," I say, trying to placate her. But my words don't seem to have any effect on her rage.

Instead, she kicks a nearby trash bin, sending it flying across the floor.

"Fix it?" she snarls, glaring at me with pure venom. "You'd better fix it, or we're all screwed. This is an utter embarrassment. What am I to serve tonight? Air? Or, even worse, McDonald’s?"

“I promise, I’ll fix it. We will have everything you need shortly and you will be able to cook tonight,” I say. Swallowing hard, I step away as I continue making calls, frantically searching for a last-minute solution. My hands shake as I dial another number, praying that this time someone will come through for us.

The kitchen door swings open, and my heart drops as I see Mr. Russell, my boss, standing there with a look of utter disbelief on his face. His eyes sweep over the chaotic scene, taking in Chef Marcel's tantrum and the empty counters where the food should be.

"Ms. Harper," he says icily, "what on earth is going on here?"

"Mr. Russell, I swear I'm handling it," I answer hastily, trying to sound confident despite the panic gnawing at my insides. "We had a setback with the food, but I'm working on a solution."

"Working on a solution?" He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "This entire event looks like a disaster waiting to happen. If you can't get this figured out, Lia, I'll have no choice but to let you go."

My stomach churns violently at his words, and I force myself to meet his gaze. "I understand, Mr. Russell. I won't let you down."

"You'd better not," he warns before pivoting on his heel and leaving the kitchen.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I eagerly answer, praying for a miracle.

"I'm really sorry, ma’am, but we just can't fulfill your order on such short notice. I doubt any of the other distributors will be able to help you, either. Like, what you’re asking for, you better get praying, because only a miracle could help you know."

His voice is apologetic, but it's a knife to my already-fragile composure.

"Thank you," I choke out, hanging up and slipping away from the chaos.

I stumble into the walk-in refrigerator, shutting the door behind me and sinking to the cold floor. The icy air bites at my skin, but it's nothing compared to the crushing weight of impending failure.

Tears prick at my eyes as I draw my knees to my chest, my entire world crumbling around me. The job I've worked so hard for is slipping through my fingers, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Desperation and despair claw at my insides, leaving me feeling hollow and broken.

“I’m a failure,” I murmur. “A worthless, pathetic failure.”

Just when I think things couldn't possibly get any worse, the refrigerator door swings open and light spills into the icy darkness. My heart leaps into my throat as Marcus steps inside, his green eyes piercing through me like a lance. He's carrying a large cardboard box, one I recognize from the early morning hours, when he was carrying it from the kitchen into the van.

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