Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, flashing like a neon sign. Chef Leo stared at it, the screen blurring. The critic’s words were like shards of glass, piercing his carefully constructed facade of self-assurance. He was supposed to be the best. The review had said otherwise.

He slammed his fist on the desk. He felt a tremor run through his body. He opened a drawer and poured himself a shot of whiskey, even though it was only 10 in the morning. He usually didn't drink.

He considered cancelling all his reservations for the day. Instead, he went to the butcher shop to get more ingredients. He threw himself into the preparations for the evening service, moving through the kitchen with a tense energy.