“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Bain turned to look at her. “Ganymede dropped in a little while ago to see how things were going. On the way through the kitchen he hopped onto a counter and stole a pork chop. Chef Phil got all bent out of shape. Guess he was worried about the Board of Health or something.” Bain seemed to reconsider. “No, I guess it’s just because Chef Phil is a cranky shithead.”

Cinn didn’t see what that had to do with her, so she headed for the door.

“Anyway, Chef Phil chased Ganymede in here. He was so pissed off he didn’t even stop to put down the bowl of meatballs he was holding. He followed Ganymede all the way down to where your supersized Venus flytrap is.”

Uh-oh.

Bain grinned. “That plant just dipped down and scooped those meatballs right out of the bowl. Scared the crap out of Chef Phil. In between the running and the screaming and the cursing, I think I heard the chef say he quit. So I don’t think you’ll find a bunch of happy people inside the kitchen right now.”

Cinn wasn’t sure what to say about that. “Oh, God, I’ll have to apologize to everyone for Carla.”

“I think the chef already left the building, but I’m sure there’re plenty of other people who’d like to see you do a little groveling.”

“Thanks for your support.” She didn’t try to tone down the acid content of her comment. “I guess no one thought about warning the chef to stay away from the weed warriors.”

He looked puzzled. “Why would I warn him when he was so much fun to watch? Broke up the monotony.”

She wanted to pound on his gorgeous head. “Don’t you have any sense of right and wrong?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Wrong is usually a lot more fun.”

With a hiss of frustration, she left the greenhouse and strode into the kitchen. This was about the only time she felt safe without a guard tagging along. During restaurant hours there were always people around. Airmid would keep her distance.

But this afternoon the busy worker ants looked as though someone had stepped on their hill. Kitchen staff were running in every direction and bumping into each other more often than not. And above all of the din, a voice shouted.

“I need cream. Where’s the cream? I asked for the potatoes an hour ago. Someone turn that burner off.”

Sparkle? Cinn made her way to the center of the frenzy. Sparkle stood at her command post in front of one of the commercial stoves. She wore mile-high strappy platforms, skintight black pants, a sparkly gold top, and a cropped black leather jacket. To top everything off, she wore a diamond stickpin in her chef’s hat. Chef Phil had never looked this good.