CHAPTER FOUR
Parker
Her jaw clamped shut the moment she stopped talking. God, she hated every second of that, and I fucking loved it.
I studied her a moment before talking. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail high on her head, and her bangs swept smoothly across her forehead, just touching her eyebrows. Her bright-red lips were pursed in annoyance--at herself--and her white knuckles gave away how tight she was holding her water bottle.
“Then start talking,” I told her, sitting back in the chair and getting comfortable.
If she wanted to be awkward and not spit it right out, I’d play her game. I didn’t particularly want to work for her. It would be hell on fucking Earth to take orders from her. I have no idea why I told her to call me if her interview went wrong, but I’d been regretting it all day long. I was only here because I knew Ryan was feeling guilty that he hadn’t thought to call Raven before getting his summer job.
I was here as a favor to him, not her.
We’d be lucky if we got through the summer without killing each other.
“It would be on a super temporary basis,” Raven started, releasing the water bottle and resting one hand over the other on the desk. Her bright blue eyes locked onto mine. “I’ll continue searching for kitchen staff while you’re working here until I find someone suitable. If, at the end of the summer, I haven’t found anyone, we’ll close the kitchen until Spring Break next year.”
She didn’t look particularly happy about that, either. That same, pursed-lip expression was still on her face. She looked a lot like she was sucking on a sour gummy treat that never stopped.
“Menu control?” I questioned.
“Final approval is mine,” she replied. “Otherwise, control is yours.”
“Work hours?”
“Full-time? Two through nine, Wednesday through Sunday.”
“Twelve through nine-thirty, Tuesday through Sunday,” I countered. “Seven days until the other staff are comfortable with my menu.”
Raven swallowed. “Okay, but how much is that going to cost me?”
I hadn’t thought about that side of it. “How much were you offering in your advert?”
“Um.” A light flush raised up her cheeks. “It was negotiable by experience. Most of the people who applied at first didn’t have much experience and I realized pretty quick I couldn’t pay them the going rate if they didn’t really know what they were doing.”
She was smart. Smarter than I’d given her credit for.
I took the small pad of paper from next to the keyboard and took a pen from the mug that said, “This is probably vodka.” My lips twitched into a smile as I read it, and I caught Raven’s tiny smile as I clicked the pen and wrote down a figure.
Sliding her the paper, I said, “That’s my figure.”
Her throat bobbed, and she cast her eyes down to the sheet I’d put in front of her. “I can’t pay you that.”
“Sure you can.”
“That’s not enough for what you can do.” She pushed it back to me. “I’d be taking advantage of your skills. You might piss me off at every turn, but I’m not going to do that.”
“Raven, listen to me.” I put the pen down and leaned forward. “I don’t need or want your money. I could not work for five years living here. You wouldn’t be paying Ryan if he were here, and the only reason I’ve put fucking anything on that paper is because I know your pride won’t accept paying me nothing.”
Her hard blink told me I’d hit the nail on the head.
“I won’t take anymore money than the number that’s written on that bit of paper. So, do yourself a favor, and accept my offer. Use your money to find decent sous chefs who won’t take forever to pick up what I’m going to need to teach them.”
“There are probably a couple who weren’t suitable for the executive job,” she admitted, toying with the paper. She curled the end of it right up. “I still don’t feel comfortable with this.”
“Four thousand a month is hardly a small amount of money.”
“It’s a tenth of what you could earn if you went to Miami.”
“I don’t care about that. I just told you—that’s my number. Take it or leave it.”
Her entire body heaved and then sagged as she exhaled. “Fine. But I want it on record that I was forced into this arrangement at your insistence.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t have to force anyone into anything, much less of the opposite gender.”
“Then you know delusional women.” Raven wheeled back to a filing cabinet.
I winced as the squeaking of a drawer opened bounced off the walls. “Usually, they’re more intelligent than delusional.”
“Of course, they are. That’s why you’re single now.” She offered me a thin-lipped smile and slid back over on her chair. “Here’s the contract my legal team drew up. Obviously, the times need changing, but I have the files to edit it. Read those tonight and call me if you have any questions. I’ll print out some new ones for you to sign in the morning. How long will it take you to get a menu together?”
“Tomorrow morning.” I took the contract from her. “Is there a clause in here about not murdering your boss?”
“Of course. I chose to leave out the employee one, though.”
Of course, she did.
“All right, hotshot,” I said to her. “Call those guys you think are good enough and have them in here at eight-thirty tomorrow.”
“Morning?” Her eyebrows shot up.
I stood up and looked down at her. “No, evening. I plan to interview them into the small hours of the morning.”
She flipped me the bird. “Until you sign a contract, I can’t do that.”
I swallowed a laugh. This was going to fuck up so damn bad. “Bring those guys in so I can interview them in the kitchen. Be ready to accept my menu, too. I’ll be placing an order before I get here in the morning.”
Raven stood up and hit me with a hard gaze. “That’s not how this works, Parker. You don’t demand shit of me. Make sure you’re here at seven with your menu and your order ready to go. You make your order when I say so.” She picked up her phone and glanced pointedly toward the door. “I’ll make sure you have interviews tomorrow. Show up ready to sign a contract or I’ll shove it up your ass and face some Mediterranean wrath instead.”
Smirking, I walked back toward the door with a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her angry stare didn’t diminish in the slightest.
Two thoughts followed me out of the building.
She was goddamn hot when she took the reins.
This was going to be an issue.
***
“These guys.” I slapped two resumes onto the desk in front of Raven.
It was eleven a.m. She’d managed to schedule me all her second choices, and while they weren’t bad, they weren’t earth-shattering either. I chose to focus on the fact they weren’t total fucking disasters.
Silver linings and all that shit.
Slowly, Raven slid her blue gaze from the resumes to my face. “So, call them.”
That was an order, not an idea.
“You’re the boss,” I replied.
“Your kitchen,” she said simply, looking back down at her computer screen. “Your staff. I don’t know who’s a good fit for you, Parker. Bring them back for a double interview today.”
“And if they can’t?”
“Call someone else.” Her tone was flat and emotionless. “It’s not my problem. The fact that some crazy Greeks are about to descend onto my relatively quiet little Key are. Staff your kitchen. You signed the contract.”
Shit, flat and emotionless was an understatement. Her response was robotic.
But, she was right. I’d signed her contract. It stated that the kitchen staff were ultimately my responsibility. In all honesty, I’d already decided that the two I’d put in front of her were right. I only did it out of courtesy.
“Then pass me the fucking phone, because I have two calls to make.”
“Settle down, Gordan Ramsay. This isn’t Hell’s Kitchen.” She plucked the main phone from its dock and handed it to me anyway. “And wash your mouth out with soap before you speak to me again.”
I raised an eyebrow, but I backed out of the office before saying anything else. I still had yet to show her the menu, and I knew she was going to hate every second of it. The only reason I hadn’t shown her it yet was because she hadn’t asked—and I wanted her to have as little time as possible to rebuke my suggestions.
She was gonna make me pay for the Greek and seafood menu, but the annoyance she’d feel would be worth every second of paying for it.
I sat up at the bar and dialed the first number. He didn’t answer, so I left him a message asking if he could come back at one o’clock. The second call was much more successful, and he agreed to come back.
Raven was so damn last minute it was ridiculous. I didn’t know why she didn’t just tell her grandmother she wasn’t open yet. Granted, I knew her grandmother and that she was crazier than a room full of cats on catnip with a ping pong ball, but still. It was the easy selection.
I still didn’t know why I’d fucking offered to work for her. It was going to be nothing short of pure hell for as long as I was here.
It was a damn good thing I wasn’t so good at relaxing.
“Did you do it?” Raven walked into the bar carrying a crate full of beer bottles. “They coming back?”
“One is. One I’m waiting to hear back from. You need a hand?” I nodded toward the crate in her arms.
She set it down on the end of the bar. “Not as heavy as it looks. There are two more in the cellar if you want to be useful, though.”
She was a fucking delight.
“Where’s the cellar?”
“Out the back, take a left at my office, past the bathrooms and into the door marked staff only. The door’s open.” She pulled the crate down to the floor and knelt in front of the fridge.
I saluted her—only because she wasn’t looking—and headed down to the cellar. The door was propped open using a rubber doorstop, and the two, black crates were stacked on top of each other just a few feet away.
I picked them both up and carried them out to the bar. Raven glanced up and rolled her eyes the moment she saw I had both crates.
How was that for appreciation?
This was going to be worse than a nightmare.
“Anything else you need doing?” I asked, smirking as I set the crates down.
“Yep. I need to see your menu.” Glass bottles clinked in her grip. “Read it to me while I restock.”
I’d barely gotten through the first two appetizers when she stopped me.
She slammed the fridge door shut. Her foot slammed into the side of the crate, kicking it with such force that it skidded across the floor and bounced off the corner of the bar into the wall. “Give me that goddamn menu.” Her nimble fingers snatched it from my hand with a flash of scarlet red nail polish.
I leaned against the edge of the bar and folded my arms. A light pink flushed up her neck and crept onto her face, moving a little further up each time her eyes flicked across the page. Slowly, her expression became pinched, from the hard purse of her lips to the quick drawing together of her curved eyebrows.
If there were any doubt left in my mind that Raven Archer was pissed off, the cutting glare of her bright blue eyes as her gaze slammed into mine was the final nail in the coffin.
“This is Greek food.” Each word was perfectly formed and articulated in a voice so sharp diamond would shatter if it came into contact with it. “One thing, Parker. I wanted one thing.”
“Listen to me—”
“One. Thing.” She slapped the paper down onto the top of the bar and pinched her nose.
“Why won’t you just embrace your fucking heritage?” The words snapped out of me before I could stop them. “Jesus, Raven, it’s like you’re ashamed of who you are.”
“The last two Greek restaurants on the Key went out of business.” Her voice was softer than a moment ago and punctuated with a sigh, but the edge of annoyance was still present. “One lasted six months and the other even less than that. Greek food is simple, but not easy to get right. It’s not a matter of being ashamed of my heritage—it’s a matter of respecting it and not wanting to screw it up.”
Well, fucking hell. Why didn’t she just say that in the first damn place?
“Do you trust me?” I asked her after a moment.
She tucked her dark hair behind her ear and looked at me. “I’d rather trust a crab to flick my clit.”
Jesus.
“There’s an image I never thought I’d have in my mind.” Coughing into my hand, I shook my head. “Raven, your mom taught me and Ryan to cook. I can do anything on this menu to perfection or I wouldn’t have given it to you. You might be a pain my damn ass, but I don’t want to be the person who ruins your business.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her tongue flicked out across her red lower lip. “I have control issues, all right?”
“You don’t say.”
“You’re not doing good in convincing me to let you cook this.” She paused. “And it’s not about trusting you to cook it. But, when this menu is out, it has to stay pretty much this menu even when you leave. It’s being able to find someone else who can cook this food to a good enough standard, because Ryan isn’t exactly going to come and work for me, is he?”
No. And I was starting to understand why he wouldn’t.
“You know I’m on extended leave—”
“You mean you quit.”
“—From my job,” I continued, twitching at her word ‘quit.’ How the hell did she figure it out? “So, if you need me to, I’ll train whoever you hire for real. I won’t leave until they know how to cook this stuff as well as me.”
She arched one eyebrow in a silent, “Really?”
All right, so that wasn’t gonna happen, but still. “As well as they can,” I amended.
“Do you swear?”
“On my life.”
“That means that if you bail, I get to kill you. Slowly and painfully.”
It took everything I had to fight the grin that was creeping onto my face. “Understood.”
“But, before I agree,” Raven went on, sliding the menu back to her. Her gaze briefly dropped to it. “I want you to cook me some of this stuff. I want to know if you’re as good as you say you are.”
“Tonight?”
“No, next week.” With a snort, she continued, “Yes, tonight. For me, Lani, Camille, and Ryan.”
“No pressure, then.”
“I’ll let you place your order.” An evil glint flickered in her eyes. “You either cook for me, or you cook for Yia-Yia and her opinion.”
Hell fucking no. Cooking for Aleta Karras’ opinion was like standing in front of a firing squad at your own execution and asking them not to shoot. I’d made the mistake of that once before, when I was fourteen. I was still fucking scarred from her verbal beat down.
I also had to remember to thank her. Without her fifteen-minute tirade of how I’d never cook more than a bowl of cereal, I probably wouldn’t be where I was.
“All right, hotshot. I’ll cook for you tonight.” I snatched up the menu and folded it in two. “You make the drinks and I’ll make the food.”
“Aw, cute. Our first dinner party.” She paused. “Don’t wear white. I’m prone to throwing drinks at assholes.”
I looked her up and down. “How aren’t you permanently covered in your own drinks?”
“Get the hell out of here before I spray you with soda.” Her hand inched closer to the soda tap. “Seven-thirty. I want food in that kitchen, or I’m feeding you to Yia-Yia.”
I’d never left a bar so fucking fast in my life—and I doubted I ever would again.