Mixed Up(15)

"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.





CHAPTER FIVE

Raven





Every single conversation I had with Parker only reinforced to me that I was making mistake after mistake.

The first mistake was going to my parents.'

The second was not biting the bullet and canceling the food for the summer until I actually had my shit together.



       
         
       
        

The third was hiring him.

The fourth was letting him cook for me.

I didn't want to not serve Greek food at Dirty because I was ashamed of my heritage. I wasn't lying when I told him that-In fact, I was more than proud of it. I loved every bit of who I was and who my family was.

Most days.

I was scared. For whatever reason, Whiskey Key had never been able to hold down a Greek restaurant. I didn't know why-I'd never been to the others simply because I knew my mother could cook better than they could. Hell, I could cook good Greek food. I'd been raised on it, and if I couldn't cook Greek, my mom insisted she wouldn't teach me to cook at all.

Which is great...Unless you want to live with your parents forever.

I was lucky. I had the cocktail side to fall back on, and that was always the plan. If it all went ass up, I knew I could rip out the kitchen and use that area for more seating or something. Sure, it would be a cash drain, but there were always options.

I wanted the food to succeed, though. Badly. I wanted to have something fun and unique that made people want to come back.

Now, I had more fear. What if Parker was so good that nobody would ever come close to his standard? Of course, that was a slightly irrational thought, but from what I could remember, the man could cook his way out of a death sentence. A sharp decline in quality when he eventually left would be more than I could handle.

I was a control freak with my business. I knew it. Telling Parker to get his own damn kitchen staff was a battle in itself-I wanted to vet and interrogate the people he was calling, but I couldn't. The kitchen was his domain, and the people hired to help him had to be his choice. It's like having a mini-manager.

The only reason I was okay with leaving the bar completely in Sienna's hands was because I knew I wouldn't be leaving the building and because, well, I wouldn't be leaving the building. I was there if an issue arose and I could deal with it.

I had issues.

Dirty was my baby, and also my-not crazy-grandmother's legacy. There was a reason she'd left me money when she'd died. The reason was this bar and her love of a good cocktail.

I didn't want anything destroying that.

Even hiring Parker was a leap of faith. Maybe telling him that I'd rather have a crab flick my clit than trust him was a step too far. The guy wasn't going to poison me. He wouldn't want my family's wrath. Not even he hated me enough to risk it.

The big problem that kept smacking me in the face was the fact I did trust Parker...With food.

Nothing else.

I didn't even trust him to flip me off correctly.

I also didn't trust myself. He was the ultimate thorn in my side, the biggest pain in the ass I'd ever have. He was more annoying than stepping on a Lego. Stubbing my toe paled in comparison to the frustration of being around him on a regular basis. 

But, dear god, I was attracted to him.

I was attracted to him and his dark hair, his full, smirking lips, and his deep, cocky voice.

I didn't know how to stop it, and it only made me hate him more. How dare he be so hot? What right did he have to be so goddamn handsome? His looks didn't match his personality-not to me, anyway.