Gemotions

Michael stared at the screen, the blinking cursor a malevolent eye. His brow furrowed, a deep crease etching itself between his eyebrows. He’d poured over these accounts for hours, the figures blurring into a meaningless sea of numbers. His stomach churned with a persistent, gnawing unease. It was the same recipe, he knew it. He had a sixth sense for flavors, for ingredients; it was his culinary gift.

"Chef Antoine's Chocolate Decadence," the dessert being lauded by critics, was just his "Grandma's Chocolate Overload." He recognized the unusual blend of spices, the whisper of coffee, the hint of cardamom. He’d shown the recipe to his friend, Antoine, years ago. The story of Antoine's meteoric rise was a sharp, bitter pill to swallow.

He slammed his fist on the desk, the sound echoing in the empty office. He needed to find a solution. He needed to reclaim his creation, he needed to make it his again.