They said life was a surprise, you could never know what would happen next. That was a philosophy that Quentin McKay lived by, and was proven correct once again. Quentin worked at a small bakery in between a bank and a bar, meaning they could potentially gain revenue because of the bank or lose it to the bar. Thankfully, Quentin, was an excellent cook which brought customers back.

That made it even harder to believe the yellow paper in his hands:

I am sad to inform you that I, the owner, am retiring.

You will get a compensation check, but from here on out you won't have to return to work.

"Damn..." Quentin didn't know what to do. He had gotten his degree in culinary and that bakery had been his only job opportunity. Heaving a sigh, he decided he would go to the bar that night to drink his problems away. That seemed like a good idea...

That night, Quentin finished all the errands for that day (including looking up jobs), and managed to worm his way into the dim-lit bar. It was a pretty popular one, and almost never any problems inside or out. It seemed to be protected.

The inside had black panel walls with a circular bar in the center of the room, then to the back was a small "pit" area with black couches, a table, and red pillows. Probably the V.I.P section.

He sat down at the bar, next to a burly man who had his head in his arms and a drink next to him. Quentin didn't want to focus on the intimidating man much longer, but then the man's stomach growled. He blinked in surprise before he hummed and reached into his messenger bag, pulling out a plastic bag that held a few pastries he had baked prior to coming to the bar. Carefully, he nudged the bag against the man's arm.

Said man looked up, looking he was just waking up, and then saw the bag on the bar counter. He glanced to Quentin with a raised brow, "what's this?" he asked, his deep voice apparent.

Quentin fought back the urge to crawl under the counter, "they're pastries... I thought you might be hungry, and uh, it's not good to drink on an empty stomach..." he explained, hoping he wouldn't get mocked.

Instead, the man opened the bag and popped a croissant-whole-into his mouth. His eyes widened and he looked at Quentin with renewed energy, "these are delicious! Where did ya get these?" He questioned, eating another pastry from the mixed assortment.

The smaller man chuckled, "I actually made them, glad you like them. I tend to stress bake and then end up with too many foods," he answered, his tone sheepish.

"You baked these?"

"Yes."

The man grinned, "do you have a job somewhere? Like a baking one?" He asked, growing more interested in the talk of food.

"Oh..." Quentin let out a sigh, "I'm actually here to drink that away," he leaned against his palm, "my boss retired today and I was laid off."

"Do you have experience in cooking regular foods as well?"

Quentin blinked, slightly in surprise as that question, "yeah, I actually cook better than baking. Got a culinary degree and everything," he replied, sitting up more.

"My name is Carlo Rubio! I would like to hire you!" The man, now known as Carlo proclaimed, hands in the air.

"Eh??" Quentin couldn't believe his ear. It was too good to be true, which caused him to reply with a skeptical tone, "what does this job entail and/or include?"

Carlo laughed, "I like you! Straight to the point!" He clapped his hands together before looking at him, "you will cook three meals a day for my house, you'll have a room as it's a live-in job, and you'll have insurance in case anything goes wrong. Also! You'll get paid weekly, set your own price."

Quentin hummed in thought, putting a finger to his chin, and looked up, "Does two-hundred a week sound good?" He honestly didn't care how that was considered a little bit of money, if he were getting a room and insurance he didn't need to worry about rent or the other stuff, "and do you pay for the ingredients?"

"Only two hundred?" Carlo stared at Quentin for a moment before answering, "you will have a budget and be able to go out and pick them out. No one in the family has allergies so you don't have to worry about that."

"Great! My name is Quentin and I will accept your job offer!"

Carlo grinned, showing off his straight and white teeth, "here's the address, come by tomorrow or any day after with your things and I'll get your room set up," he informed, handing Quentin a piece of paper that held an address and a number.

Quentin took the paper with a smile, putting it in his pocket as Carlo stood up, "thank you."

Carlo just waved him off, "don't mention it," he started to leave, but before he made it to the door and turned his head and said: "by the way, I'm the boss of the gang Chatoyant, nice to meet ya!" With Quentin's dumbstruck expression, he was off.