There was nothing I wanted more than to punch that attraction out of myself, fire him, and pretend I was still in a Parker Hamilton drought. One I'd very much enjoyed for the past few years.
Yes, that was it.
The Parker Hamilton drought had been so enjoyable that, now, I was Parker Hamilton drunk. And not the good drunk-the wheezing, sobbing, over-apologizing for breathing kind of drunk.
There was simply too much of him in too little time.
That wasn't going to get any better, given that he was now my employee. A fact we both loathed. It was evident when he spoke to me this morning. He liked it no more than I did.
I didn't have to be a genius to figure out that he was only working for me out of pity for my brother. I wanted to know how much Ryan was paying him to work for me. He was either paying him or he had dirt on him. Dirt that, if it existed, I wished I could know.
There wasn't dirt. Parker wasn't that kind of guy. He never had been, and I don't think he had that kind of bone in his body. He was the kind of guy who would rather chew his own foot than cheat on a girl. He'd never dream of not holding a door open for a woman, and he would always pay for dinner.
He just wasn't that kind of person to me.
Then again, I was hardly that kind of person to him.
I didn't know how we'd get through however long we had to work together, but I knew it wouldn't be pretty.
***
"If you don't want him," Camille whispered, leaning in toward me, her eyes on Parker, "Can I have him?"
I side-eyed her. "What is he? A kitten I picked out of the parking lot?"
"No, but I kinda wanna pet him like he is."
I jerked my elbow into her side so she sat up straight. "Cut that shit out," I told her. "I'm not listening to you fawn over him like a newborn baby."
"Are his toes that cute?"
Lani leaned forward and looked at Cam. "You're seeing Xavier, remember?"
Cam rocked her head side to side. "So are two other girls, so I'm not thinking we're on the serious side of the line."
I rolled my eyes.
She knew better than to get involved with Xavier Ryan. He went through women the way a public bathroom went through water. I had my money on the fact she was only sleeping with him to piss off her brother, Brett.
"Gee, you think?" Lani drawled. "I thought he was proposing anytime."
Camille punched her.
I took a sip of my drink. "I don't know why you're seeing him."
"He has an eight-inch dick," she responded without missing a beat.
"You can find them on the Internet without baggage," I reminded her.
My brother blinked at me. "I joined this conversation at the wrong time."
I grinned. "Serves you right for eavesdropping. Did he kick you out of his kitchen?"
Ryan's eye twitched. "He's a little uptight in the kitchen. I retreated before we reached rabid, hungry tiger level."
I dropped my eyes and put my straw in my mouth to hide my smile. Dear god, if Parker really was that bad, this entire thing was going to go up in flames.
"At least he's passionate," Lani reasoned.
"So are hungry tigers," Camille added.
"I can hear you, you know," Parker yelled from the kitchen over the sound of things frying and sizzling and cooking. "Shut up!"
Ryan had a point. He even glanced at me with raised eyebrows and a small smile.
I shifted forward in my seat. "What is he doing in there?"
"Cooking," my brother answered. "It's somewhat stressful, you know."
"I'm going in there."
"No, you're not."
"I'm sorry, do you own that kitchen?"
He didn't answer.
I mimed zipping my lips with a smile, much to the amused giggles of my friends, and got up. We were sitting in the back, outdoor area of the bar. I'd closed it off to the public tonight, leaving the side area for anyone who wanted to venture outside or needed to smoke. It was quieter at the back, the only real sound the low hum of the music from the main bar area. It was occasionally broken by the crashing of the waves if they were a little rough, but otherwise, the only hint that we were by the ocean was the gentle breeze that wafted over every now and the light scent of salty sea water it brought with it.
That was a stark contrast to the kitchen. The moment I stepped through the back door into the kitchen, I was hit with the thick heat that even a Floridian summer could only wish to emulate. It was almost as if I'd stepped into one of the deepest levels of hell.
The sound of cooking was stronger here. The sizzles and frying and sssh-zz-whrr-ing noises that made up a busy kitchen buzzed all around the air, bouncing off the plain, white walls until they vibrated across the stainless-steel surfaces.