Company Ink (new title TBD)

Company Ink

     Ben Preston was less than a hundred feet from the front door of the most popular bakery
in New York City when he caught a sharp elbow to his side; he yelped and jerked around to find
the source of the assault to his ribs.

     "Back of the line, loser!"

     He looked down and into the sour expression of an angry senior lady, standing in what he
realized was a line that stretched from the entrance to Wynne's Kitchen all the way down Sixth
Avenue to the marquee leading to NBC Studios and Rockefeller Center.

     "I'm sorry, what?"

     She held his stare with an air of defiance. "You heard me, no cutting!"

     Flabbergasted, he started, "No, I'm not cut..."

     "Mr. Preston!"

     Ben's attention turned to the front door, where another woman with a much friendlier
expression waved and motioned for him to come over. Wynne Lansing, owner of the fastest
growing bakeshop in the last ten years, he told himself, more excited than he realized. He
excused himself by way of muttered words even he wasn't sure about and jog-walked toward the door.

     "I'm Wynne," the woman at the door stated, holding her hand out, "Sorry about all of
this."

     He took her hand and shook it firmly. "Thanks for rescuing me, I think she was ready to
chew my face off."

     Wynne chuckled. "I hate that we have to lock the door for crowd control, but the fire
marshal's been on my ass for weeks now."

     Ben examined the line, and then the inside of the bakery – filled to near bursting with
customers – before raising an eyebrow in Wynne's direction. "Is this normal volume?"

     Wynne gave him a sly smile. "I thought you were used to high volume?"

     His eyes widened and his head bopped from side to side in response. Fast-paced was
practically Ben's middle name, especially during his heyday in fine dining management. But
this? This is insanity, he thought.

     "I mean, I'm no slouch in that department obviously, but this is impressive."

     Ben stepped in and Wynne closed the door, locking it behind her. He made his way
toward the registers, where at least a little bit of space existed between the cashiers and the back counter. Behind him, he heard Wynne call to a counterperson to man the door and control the crowd. The buzz in the bakery was palpable; between the sound of customers ordering cupcakes, scones, and muffins to the cashiers ringing up said customers' decadent purchases, this was easily the most organized chaos he'd ever seen.

     Getting a good look at the entire sales floor from behind the registers, he spotted Wynne
wading through the crowd, greeting customers and wishing each she encountered with a pleasant 'Bon Appetit'. She was all sophistication, even in street clothes and an apron, with a bandana tied around her auburn hair. She looked as if she was ready to throw down in the kitchen with the rest of the bakers, and it was this clear desire to set the example for her employees that he respected immediately.

     As he continued to scan the floor, he focused on the counter staff. Men and women in
matching graphic tee shirts and caps emblazoned with the Wynne's Kitchen logo grabbed and
bagged amazing looking treats as fast as they could, managing to do so with smiles on their faces and even eliciting laughter from the customers as they made their way down the counter and over to the register. All this for cupcakes and pastries? At least this place could provide a much needed distraction from his pending divorce, and the challenge he needed to remind himself that he was still the "go-to" GM that knew how to skyrocket a store's success.