Soon after Zoey left, Quentin returned to work. At least such as his work was; it consisted of little more than responding to the most urgent of letters, schmoozing partners and overseeing operations when he felt particularly proactive. Once he'd settled into scribing a note to a new supplier Zoey slipped temporarily from his mind, only to be remembered when she failed him, or when he wanted her.<br/><br/>Meanwhile the kitchen staff - one large fellow who did all the work and three younger, less bulbous looking men - were eyeing up Zoey with a lust only thinly masked by derisive sneer at her state. The senior chef nodded, dragged his eyes from her gooey chest and clapped his hands to try and catch their attention. "Come on then, Quentin wants his dinner, make yourselves useful. Martin, you peel the potatoes and... And... "<br/><br/>It was at this point that he realised his usual bossing was being duly ignored by the other workers, none of whom really wanted to be there anyway. Instead they were ogling Zoey, and teasing her.<br/><br/>"Why dya reckon she come like this, Marty?"<br/>"Dunno... Either she wants some fun, or the boss wants her to have some."<br/>"I reckon you're right... Gonna come in, young miss, make our work easier?"<br/>"Else your Masters gonna have to wait for his meal, ain't he?"<br/>"That's right, no cookin' til you've done the lot of us!"<br/><br/>For all the head chefs virtues as a cook and loyal servant to the Master, he had little chance of stopping their hormonal rebellion. Indeed he hollered at them to work once more, before throwing his hands up and setting to the task of covering their jobs. "Don't think *he* won't here about this, ye little shits" he grumbled, while leaving them to their fun, and Zoey to her fate.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>