CHAPTER ONE
Raven
Life would be so much better if it were acceptable to drink something stronger than a mimosa for breakfast.
Seriously.
That was the only thing that stood any kind of chance at getting me through having a family reunion at the start of summer. There was absolutely nothing good that could come from my crazy, Greek family descending on Whiskey Key in five days’ time.
Because why would they go to where my parents actually lived on Key West? No, no. Let’s go to Raven, they said. Let’s take over her corner of the Florida Keys, because it it wouldn’t be wild enough at the start of summer. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone in my family that I was going to be slammed and that closing my cocktail bar for their freaking party wasn’t going to happen.
There was no way I was going to be the host for the clusterfuck that would be that reunion. Nothing good happened when the Archers and the Karras’ came together.
Nothing.
Last time, my uncle on my father’s side had his moustache burned off by a firework. Marginally funny for us—not so much for his face. Or the two years he’d spent growing it until he’d gotten it right.
Two years before that, my great-aunt on my mother’s side—the wacky Greek side—got arrested. Apparently, carrying baby powder in clear, plastic baggies was grounds for arrest.
In the Whiskey Key PD’s defense, they didn’t know it was baby powder.
It was easy to see why hosting the family reunion wasn’t at the top of my priority list. It was sure to be nothing short of an absolute shitshow, and I had enough of that crap on my hands trying to find a chef for the bar.
The more I thought about it, the more I was coming to realize it was a bad fucking idea. I didn’t have much of a choice, though. The kitchen was bought, paid for, and installed. There was no way I was going to lose a few thousand bucks just because the best person I’d interviewed so far was responsible for the burger on the cafe sign downtown.
I called bullshit on that, but I couldn’t prove it, so I couldn’t do anything except not hire the dude.
Unfortunately for me, chefs were slim pickings in Whiskey Key. It was stupid because we were a tourist hotspot, even if most people did pass through on their way to Key West. We were still enough of a draw to be the final destination for some, and given the success of my bar, Dirty, I didn’t think finding anyone to put food out would be hard.
How naive I was. Poor, naive, little Raven.
No. Let me rephrase: I didn’t think finding anyone good enough to put food out would be hard.
It was the curse of having a brother for a chef—who was refusing to help me.
“Come on, Ryan,” I begged, leaning over the bar and pressing my hands together in a prayer stance. “I’m actually begging you. Help me out, please?”
“I can’t, Ray. I told you, I already have a job for the summer.” He grimaced, his dark-blue eyes shining with guilt. “I can’t back out of it just because you asked me to.”
“But it would be so fun.” I slumped right forward. A thud rang out through the quiet room as my hands hit the solid wood top of the bar. “I would give you so much credit. It would be so cute. Brother and sister running a bar and restaurant together. Come on. Please?”
He held his hands up. The air filled with the cringing sound of wood scraping as he scooted his stool back away from me. “If I could, I would, but I already agreed to help out at Porto’s.”
“Ugh! That’s where you’re working? You know they’re all assholes, right?”
“Just because Callum dumped you when you were fifteen doesn’t make the whole family assholes.”
“Sure, it does. Assholes by default.” I sniffed and grabbed the cloth I was cleaning the bar down with before he showed up. “You’re a traitor.”
My brother rolled his eyes. “How do you run a business with those dramatics?”
“Not with the support of my brother, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll help you, I told you that, but I can’t work for you. Not to mention that telling people my baby sister is my boss is fucking ridiculous.” He scratched the side of his head. “Let me see your menu.”
With a sigh, I reached beneath the counter and handed him the notebook I’d been scribbling on. “Camille and Lani helped me,” I said, referring to my best friends.
“Helped you do what?” Ryan asked, his thick, dark eyebrows pulling together into a frown. “Ensure nobody will cook this shit?” He threw the notebook down in front of me with a thwack. “I thought you wanted a restaurant, not a sports bar.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing! I mix drinks, damn it. That’s what I’m good at.”
“Evidently.” He stood up and tucked the stool back in. “Ray, this menu isn’t right for your bar. Why don’t you leave the menu to someone you hire?”
“Because I can’t find anyone to hire,” I reminded him with another sigh. “That’s why I’m begging you.”
He grinned. “The last time you begged me was when I had you in an armlock.”
“My shoulder still hurts.”
“You deserved it. You shouldn’t have told Mom you found used condom wrappers in our bathroom.”
“You shouldn’t have put them there.” I poked out my tongue, suddenly fifteen again. “Do you know anyone who can help me?”
His grin went lopsided. “I do, but you’d burn the place down if he set foot in here.”
I shook my head so fast that I was surprised it didn’t fall right off my neck. “Nope. And if he does set foot in my bar, I’m going to kick his ass right out.”
“He’s one of the best chefs I know. You should consider it. He’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Mom practically put on a Broadway production with the song and dance she made when she found out.” I paused. “I don’t care if Parker Hamilton is Michelin-starred or has a fast-track to Heaven. He’s not working for me. I’m not that desperate.”
And I never would be.
I’d rather lose the money I’d put into the kitchen than hire my brother’s asshole best friend.
Ryan held his hands up, a stance he took often with me. There was a chance I was, like the rest of the women on my mother’s side, in possession of the stereotypical Mediterranean...flamboyancy.
See: loud, slightly hot temper.
“I’m just saying,” he said after a few moments. “I know you don’t get along, but the option is there. Isn’t hiring Parker better than losing your money?”
“No.” I wiped down the handle of the beer tap nearest to me. “I can safely say I would rather gamble my entire life on the entire population of California’s porn industry being STD-free.”
“That’s not a betting tip I would give you.”
“It’s not one I’d entertain, which tells you how vehemently against hiring him I am.”
“Whatever. I don’t get it. Think about what I said about that menu, though. Consider asking your interviewees what they’d put on your menu.” He rapped his knuckles against the bar. “I’ve gotta go see Mom. She wants me to put a menu together for the reunion.” His eyes sparkled as he said it.
“Sure,” I called after him. “You’ll help her.”
“It’s self-preservation!” He threw his hand up over his shoulder in a wave and let himself out of the bar.
I shook my head as I continued cleaning.
I wanted to say that my feelings toward my brother’s best friend weren’t personal, but they were. I didn’t have a reason, I just didn’t like him. We’d never, ever gotten along, and there was a reason that every time we were together, we were separated like freaking toddlers.
Sure, I’d once thrown a hunk of pork at him, but that was an accident.
Kind of.
We were opposite people. We made chalk and cheese look like best friends. There wasn’t a specific thing I could put my finger on, and whenever either of us were asked why we couldn’t be friends, we didn’t have an answer. It was just a general kind of mutual hatred.
Funnily enough, the times that everyone accepted we simply despised each other were the times we got along almost like friends.
But, I hadn’t seen him for three-and-a-half-years. This was the first time he’d come anywhere near home since he landed a job in some fancy New York City restaurant five years ago. That was where he’d gotten his three Michelin stars just before Christmas.
Now, the gossip line—AKA, my mother—said he’d taken “extended leave” for some downtime after achieving his goal at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
Extended leave my left tit. He’d quit, and that was something I’d put money on.
I had no doubt that despite the time passed, when I eventually saw Parker again, he’d be the same asshole he’d always been to me. I certainly had no plans to be anything but the sassy little shit I’d always been to him.
In fact, sassy little shit was my default personality. This mouth was made for sassin’.
A huff escaped me as I finish cleaning the taps. I would take my brother’s advice on the menu, but I wasn’t going to hire Parker Hamilton to work in my kitchen.
***
There were few things I really loved about my life. The freedom with my business, the fact I lived right on top of my business, and my friends were the top three.
On the other hand, there were also things I really didn’t love about my life. Like last-minute corralling into dinner because my grandfather arrived a few days early and my dad wanted a nice peaceful dinner before the Karras tornado lands. All fifteen of them.
The last-minute dinner meant I had to leave the bar in the hands of my very capable bartender, Sienna. I didn’t like doing it, but I was learning to trust her. She could mix almost as well as I could, save for a few drinks she couldn’t get quite right. Luckily, they were the ones not usually ordered on a Monday evening.
Still, I would have rather been there than here at my parents’ in Key West. Not that their beachfront home wasn’t gorgeous bliss, but because the Hamiltons lived right next door. My conversation with my brother had been playing in my mind all day, and the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally run into him.
Or walk into my parents’ house and find that they’d been invited to dinner, too. That was the problem of having your mom be best friends with your mortal enemy’s mom.
Alright, mortal enemy is an exaggeration, but what’s life without a little extra oomph?
Probably a damn lot more peaceful.
My palms got sweaty when I turned onto my parents’ street. The sleepy, idyllic street was days away from being turned into a big, fat, Greek street party, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the neighbors who’d have to put up with it. All things considered, it was preferable to a wedding. That was when shit really went down.
If I didn’t know it was tradition, I’d tell you that my grandmother had a real thing for smashing plates.
Actually, she probably did. She was a little too passionate—if we got through this reunion without smashing anything, I’d call it a win.
Until then, I was destined to live in a state of temporary fear for the coming disaster and the fact that there was an extra car parked up in the Hamilton’s driveway.
I pulled up behind my Dad’s Chevy truck and waited before I shut off the engine. I still had time to—nope, I didn’t have time to run. Mom already had the front door open and was standing there with an expectant look on her face.
Awesome.
“I have work to be doing, you know,” I told her, getting out of the car. “I have a stack of paperwork as high as my butt in my office, and I need to get this week’s order in.”
“Then you should have done that earlier, shouldn’t you?” she shot back, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“I don’t pencil in surprise dinners, believe it or not.”
“Start.” She kissed my cheek and nudged me through the door. “We have guests.”
“What guests?” I stopped, making sure my voice was low.
Slowly, her lips curved up, making her dark eyes sparkle. “I thought you’d want to catch up with our resident celebrity.”
My nostrils flared as I took a deep breath in. No—she’d given up on that Cupid plan when I was sixteen, hadn’t she? “Mom—”
“Relax. I’m messing with you, Raven. But, you’re not getting out of dinner. He’s your brother’s best friend. You’re mature enough now to tolerate him for two hours.”
That’s what she thought. “I’ll do my best. Although, disclaimer—if you find his body and I’m missing, I’m in Cuba, and I didn’t do it.”
“Understood.” Mom winked. “I’ll give you five minutes. Your father is grilling on the back porch.”
I ran through that freaking house like my ass was on fire. Any break she was willing to give me, I was going to snatch with two hands and run with.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Dad said without turning around. “Your mom told you?”
I mumbled a disgruntled sound and sat on the chair close to the grill. “Is that why you’re grilling steaks?”
“Because I’m outside and her wonderful best friend is inside? Happy coincidence.” The flash of amusement that altered his expression for a brief second gave away his lie.
“Sure. It’s just coincidence I’m outside, too.”
My father and I had always had the same feelings for one member of the Hamiltons. He got on just fine with Craig, Parker’s dad, and he loved Parker like a second son, but he despised Ilsa, Parker’s mom. Whereas my mom couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get along with Parker, Dad understood perfectly. He always said that he’d inherited his mom’s best qualities.
By best, he meant worst. I was hard-pressed to disagree with him. Ilsa Hamilton was stubborn and hard-headed, and so was Parker. Both had the inability to accept being wrong. Ilsa I could understand—I mean, hello, she’s a woman—but Parker? No.
“Where’s Grandpa?” I asked Dad, pulling off my sandals.
“Bathroom.” He paused and looked at me, his bright, blue eyes blinking at me. “Someone should probably go check on him. He’s been up there for thirty minutes.”
“He is old.”
“He’s probably asleep on the toilet.”
“Why don’t I keep an eye on the steaks and you go check on Grandpa?” I jumped up and held out my hand for the flipper-thing.
I loved my grandpa, but I wasn’t going to visit him in the bathroom. No way.
Dad chuckled and handed the utensil to me. “Try not to burn them.”
“I can cook, you know.” Mostly Greek food, but that was neither here nor there. Steak I could manage.
Dad patted my shoulder and left me to it.
I rolled my shoulders and cast my gaze down to the steaks. They were cooking slowly, and from where I was standing, I could hear my mom laughing in the kitchen with Ilsa. They were giggling like a couple of sixteen-year-olds, and I smiled, shaking my head.
I really needed to organize a girls’ night. I had the feeling I’d need it soon enough.
“Well, look who showed up.”
I’d know that voice anywhere.
Parker Hamilton.
“Trust me, if I knew you’d be here, I’d have set off for a colder climate. Like Alaska,” I replied without turning around.
“Damn, and here I was thinking that your lack of clothing was for my benefit.” Laughter twisted his words.
I knew he was doing it to get a rise out of me, and I was determined not to give him what he wanted.
The time that had passed hadn’t changed a thing--it was the same old game with him. Rile up Raven. I used to fall for it, but not anymore.
“I’d rather be hit on by a drunken frat boy than do anything for your benefit, Parker.”
“Then go put some clothes on, because I’m feeling pretty benefited right now.”