<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Lana Faye</span></em></span><br/><br/><strong>10.59 AM</strong><br/><br/>" -- will be mailed to you.  That's all."  The calm words were said with a final, decisive tone as the door to the small office she maintained beside the kitchen opened, first permitting two of Lana's assistants to exit before the Pastry Chef herself emerged, one hand idly buttoning the thigh length, white chef's coat, appropriately covering the sleeveless sheath she wore underneath, that and the trim black heels a statement to her overly fashion conscious self.  Not even the Master Chefs had Le Cordon Bleu had been able to break her of the awful habit, though she never dared to break code and wear, God forbid, peep toes.  Pale blond hair was swept up into a tight, stylish chignon that, Lana taking but a moment to give a glance at a nearby surface to ensure not one strand had slipped free before she gave the barest of glances to the two assistants.<br/><br/>The assistants, both females, looked a little worse for the wear.  The one of the left, one who'd been hired on shortly after Lana's arrival and had been a familiar face, was struggling back tears and kept flexing her hand dangerously close toward the back of her thighs; the female on the right appeared to be in a form of shock, her cheeks stained red and her eyes only slightly damp and swollen.  In her trembling hand she held a piece of paper as if it were the most precious item in the world, almost afraid to hold it and dare even making the slightest of creases.  Neither took their eyes off Lana even as she ignored them as she walked further into the kitchen, her mind already skipping ahead to today's crop of work.  She didn't need to glance at the work to know she'd come out precisely on time.<br/><br/>"Have the notice put into today's evening paper," Lana instructed the assistant on the right.  "I'll see you at four for the dinner shift."  An hour before she had been scheduled to normally work that evening.  Despite only having spoken to one, they both quickly nodded and looked down to the floor before swiftly leaving the kitchen.  Without another word she swept her eyes around the others in the kitchen, the corners of her mouth quirking into what could possibly be taken as a small smile when her gaze drifted over Jamie, Julia and then Alex, before each one was similarly dismissed from mind and she thought of nothing else than the day at hand.  Ah, baking.  Desserts.  A tingle of delight raced down her spine at the mere thoughts of what she'd be whipping up today ... and even how it would be utterly devoured.<br/><br/>There were few others who could match the creative genius of Lana Faye's pastry skills, and what was worse, she knew it.  But when one had been ranked and praised as high as she had been since taking her first steps out into the restaurant world, it was impossible not to step into her slice of the kitchen and known she owned it.  Possessed it.  Without even the barest of glances, she began to pull down various pots and pans, set her lower ovens on to pre-heat, ran a finger along the hanging rows of measuring cups and spoons to ensure each one was in its precise place, and only then, as she was turning for the walk-in coolers, did she look up to Alex as if remembering a minor detail.<br/><br/>"Oh yes.  I'll be hiring a new assistant.  Rita has been let go," stated as a mere after thought as she disappeared behind the corner with a swish of her hips, the cooler door opening with a chilling greeting.  Just another Monday.