Downstairs, Ronda walked into the restaurant, where she was greeted by a young waitress who had a warm and genuine smile on her face. "Good afternoon and welcome to Brianna's. I'm Bayley. Take a seat wherever you'd like."

"Good afternoon," Ronda smiled, pleased to see some kind of professionalism at last. She looked around the almost empty restaurant as she walked over to a nearby table and sat down. In total, there were only four other people eating; two couples at different tables. As with the reception area, the decoration and furnishings, although of acceptable quality, were noticeably dark, giving the room an almost claustrophobic feel.

Bayley handed over a menu, which Ronda opened and studied as she spoke. "Bayley, my name's Ronda. I'm here to inspect the hotel, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Yes, ma'am," Bayley confirmed.

"There's no need for that. You can call me Ronda."

"Okay," Bayley smiled again.

"So, I hear that the restaurant loses a lot of money. Looking at the turn out, I can see why. It's lunch time and including me you only have five people eating. That's ridiculous. Is it always like this?"

"I'm afraid so," Bayley said.

"Why is that? What's the problem?"

Bayley hesitated and gave a nervous glance around the restaurant, seeming unsure as to whether she should risk answering the question or not. "Pretty much everything," she admitted. "People complain about the food a lot. The service is slow sometimes. There are arguments, with staff and with customers."

"Christ," Ronda breathed, looking up from the menu. "You mean the staff argue with customers and with each other where customers are able to hear them?"

"Not really staff in general, just Stephanie," Bayley said quietly. "She's the Head Waitress. She hates it when people complain, especially about the food, probably because Hunter is the Head Chef. Hunter is Stephanie's husband."

Shaking her head, Ronda said, "Can't wait to meet them." Her tone conveyed that the opposite was closer to the truth. "I suppose I better try some of the food first though."

"Great," Bayley said. The smile returned again as she pulled out her order pad. "What can I get you?"

Ronda looked back down at the menu. "What's the soup of the day?"

"Today it's meatball soup."

"Meatball soup?" Ronda asked, raising her eyebrows. Bayley nodded. "Okay, I'll try it. Then I'll have the lasagna, followed by the New York Strip, medium rare. I'll order a dessert too; the cheesecake with strawberry topping."

"Okay, thank you. If you need anything, my name's Bayley. Feel free to call me."

Ronda waited until Bayley had walked through the door into the kitchen before speaking to the camera. "Nice girl. I couldn't bring myself to point out that she introduced herself twice. I was just happy to see that at least one person here seems to know how to do their job properly. I'm surprised to hear that people complain about the food so often though, because I was told that Brianna's had an award winning Head Chef. The menu looks okay; it's not over-complicated at it has the right kind of foods I'd expect to find in a place like this. The meatball soup is a strange one, but maybe it'll be good? I guess I'll find out for myself soon enough."

Glancing around the restaurant again, she added, "Who came up with decoration for this place? A restaurant should be welcoming and vibrant. Walking in here makes you want to slash your wrists. What the hell were they thinking?"

In the kitchen, Bayley read out Ronda's order to Hunter and hung up the ticket. "This is for the hotel inspector," she added, "So we need to make sure she sees the best of what we can do."

Hunter gave a dismissive grunt and read the ticket again for himself. A loud, angry female voice demanded, "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

Scrunching her eyes closed, Bayley said, "Stephanie, can we not do this? I'm just saying that we need to..."

A taller woman came storming around the hot plate and almost squared up to Bayley. "Shut up! You don't give the orders around here. Get over there and wash those dishes. I'll serve this inspector woman. If she has a problem with the food, she can tell me about it."

Sheepishly, Bayley headed for the sink and the huge stack of dirty plates and dishes. Meanwhile, Hunter had stepped aside to say a few words to one of the cameras. "I don't care who this hotel inspector is," he began arrogantly. "If she's not an award winning chef like I am, she better not think she can come into my kitchen and criticise my food or how I run my line. My food is the best money can buy in this city, because I'm the best chef in the city, if not the state. I'm just that damn good. You want to talk about students of the game? I am the fucking game!"

"Here's your soup," a different, rather unpleasant voice said to Ronda as a bowl of very watery, uninspiring looking soup crashed down onto the table in front of her.

Almost jumping in surprise, Ronda looked up at the waitress. "Thank you, I guess. Sorry, your name?"

The waitress looked like she found the question offensive somehow. "Stephanie."

"I thought so." Ronda was about to say something more, but Stephanie had already turned and started walking back towards the kitchen.

"Fuck me," Ronda said to the camera. "That's some attitude problem. Do they put something in the water in this place?" Moving onto the soup, she swirled her spoon around in it for a moment and shook her head. "Look at this. Jesus Christ. I don't think I'd serve this to an animal. It's a bowl of water with a few bits of onion and bread and few pieces of grey shit which I assume are supposed to be the meatballs."

She carefully picked out one of the meatballs on her spoon and put in her mouth. Barely had she started to chew before she had to spit it back out into the soup bowl. "Ugh... That's fucking disgusting. It was like chewing a ball of rubber. A cold ball of rubber at that."

Stephanie had gone and stood behind the bar, where she could watch Ronda under the pretense of cleaning some glasses. Seeing Ronda's reaction to the soup, she headed back over there. "Everything okay?"

Ronda swirled her spoon around in the soup again and then looked up at her. "Look at the state of this. It's a bowl of water with a few bits of shit and a handful of cold, rubbery tasting meatballs in it. I honestly wouldn't feed this to my dog. Who made it?"

The expression on Stephanie's face conveyed how offended she was by the remarks. "My husband made it," she said proudly. "He's the Head Chef. He's an award winning chef."

"He certainly didn't win an award for this crap," Ronda replied. "Take it away, please."

It looked like Stephanie was struggling not to pour the soup over Ronda's head as she picked it up and headed for the kitchen. When she walked in there, she reported to her husband. "She says this is shit and cold and the meatballs taste like rubber."

Over by the sink, Bayley said, "That's what happens when you freeze the meatballs. People always say the same thing about the soup. We should make fresh meatballs every morning."

"Shut your mouth!" Stephanie roared at her. "No one is talking to you!"

Hunter had picked up the unwanted bowl of soup. "If she doesn't want it, fuck her. People come from miles around to eat my food. I don't give a fuck what she says." Rather than empty the bowl, he angrily tossed it in the trash.

This time Bayley said nothing, but glanced over at him when he claimed that people came from miles around to eat his food. Shaking her head slightly, she returned to washing the dishes.

"This is your lasagna," Stephanie said, setting it in front of Ronda and walking away before any further conversation could be attempted.

"Not very appetising, is it?" Ronda asked the camera. She pressed her fork down flat on the top of the lasagna, drawing out a rather remarkable amount of grease. After working at it with her fork for a moment she had opened it out and dug out some of the filling. "Place your bets. Hot on the outside, cold in the middle?"

Risking burning her fingers, she picked up some of the beef from the middle of the lasagna. "Stone cold, just like I thought. It's been microwaved. Fine dining at its best, huh? Greasy, microwaved lasagna. And they wonder why no one eats here? People can stay home and cook better than this themselves, for a fraction of the price."

Stephanie appeared again. This time Ronda got in first," Can you ask the chef why he microwaves his lasagna, please? It's cold in the middle."

"It's not microwaved," Stephanie snapped. "It's cooked, and it's fresh."

"It's cold!" Ronda said incredulously, her patience now wearing thin. "I could go out and buy something frozen in a store and cook it better than this! It's cold and it's disgustingly greasy. Take it in the kitchen and have him taste it."

"Right," Stephanie huffed and snatched up the plate.

When she'd gone back into the kitchen, Ronda shook her head and looked at the camera again. "That woman is something else. I don't know who does the hiring and firing around here yet, but they have something to answer for. If Stephanie is like that to all of Brianna's customers, she'd be enough to drive them away without the appalling food."

Stephanie stormed back into the kitchen and slammed the destroyed lasagna on top of the hot plate. "I've just about had enough of that bitch. Too greasy, cold in the middle, she even said you'd microwaved it!" No mention was made of the fact that Ronda had wanted Hunter to taste what he'd been prepared to serve to his customer.

"I did microwave it," Hunter shrugged. "What else am I going to do with a frozen lasagna? I'm not going to fuck around cooking it, am I?"

"We shouldn't even be serving frozen lasagnas," Bayley said, drying her hands on a towel near the sink. "We should be making our own. I've tried to say..."

"Go and clean out the walk-in!" Stephanie screamed at her. "No one asked for your input!"

"I can't do the cleaning and make the desserts. The hotel inspector ordered a cheesecake. I've got to start making that."

"Then do it with your fucking stupid mouth shut," Stephanie huffed.

Hunter had turned his attention to his sous chef. "Kane, I need a New York Strip."

"How do they want it?" Kane asked.

"What difference does it make, with the way you cook?" Stephanie sniped at him.

"The New York Strip," Stephanie announced. This time when she set the plate in front of Ronda she seemed strangely keen to receive comments on it.

"Come on," Ronda groaned, looking at what she'd been presented with. She didn't even bother cutting into it. "I asked for medium rare. This has been fucking incinerated. It's black for God's sake! Look at it!"

"I know," Stephanie sighed, failing to completely hide the fact that she was pleased by the complaint on this occasion. "That's Kane, our so-called sous chef. He basically cooks by setting fire to everything. He's totally useless."

Shaking her head, Ronda announced, "Forget the dessert, I'm done here. I think it's time I met these chefs. Can you go and get Daniel too, please? I'm surprised he's not introduced himself to me yet. I'll wait here."

Stephanie headed out of the restaurant, chuntering under her breath, "Go get Daniel. What do I look like, a fucking bellhop or something? Can't we just get that bitch out of here already? Jesus Christ. At least I know where he's going to be; hiding in the office as usual."

Sure enough, when she barged into the office Daniel was sitting in there, working on the computer, or at least making it seem like he was. "The hotel inspector wants to see you in the restaurant."

"Has she eaten?" Daniel asked, looking at her with a nervous expression on her face. "What did she think of it?"

"Kane burned her steak, or rather obliterated it," Stephanie replied bitterly. "Big surprise that was."

"I'll have to uh... speak to him... or something," Daniel faltered.

Stephanie was already on her way back out of the door, sarcastically muttering, "Yeah, that'll really show him, won't it?"