Remember Mario's?

“He doesn’t even care!” he thought, watching Mr. Watts shake parting hands with the delivery driver.

Had he not been in his kitchen he would have spit on right on the ground before his feet –

“This will really bring the food costs down,” Mr. Watts explained, flashing his incredibly well manicured smile, “How different can flours be anyway?” he stated more so than asked.

Mario shrugged as if he hadn’t really taken notice, “food costs are high,” he lulled dully, rolling his dough and avoiding eye contact.

“They sure are!” Mr. Watts agreed enthusiastically, before walking away to sabotage something else.

“The customers will taste the difference!” Mario muttered to himself, “they’re going to know the second they bite in – and then they’ll never come back. And they’ll tell all their friends:

‘Hey remember Mario’s? It used to be the absolute best bakery in the entire city, but not anymore. Their pastries and bland and hard. They must’ve changed flours.’

And they’ll laugh me out of town!

I hired him to help and look at what he’s doing! He doesn’t care one iota about pastries – the man probably doesn’t even know the difference between a cannoli and a danish!”

He knew Mr. Watts was sent to bring him down. But by who?

Was it Dominic’s down the street, knowing their sourdough is sweet and Mario’s almost made you pucker?

Or was it that trendy, new French bakery on the corner trying to steal his customers, knowing their croissants barely flake and his did, enough to make you brush off your lap afterwards?

He wasn’t sure, but one thing was clear; Mr. Watts was trying to take him down. He didn’t know exactly why, but now he knew exactly how – by compromising the pastries.