Mixed Up(19)

Parker's lips twitched. "I don't know if that's awful or brilliant. Slightly inclined to lean toward brilliant."

"Brett Walker." Brett stuck out his hand.

"Lani's boyfriend, right? Parker Hamilton."

They shook.

"He's my kitchen bitch," I told Brett before he could speak.





CHAPTER SIX

Parker





Kitchen bitch?

That was a new one.

"I don't know how to respond to that," I admitted. "That's the first time anyone has ever called me their bitch, much less their kitchen bitch."

"Then you've been hanging around the wrong people." Raven's tone was matter-of-fact.

Wrong people? That depended how quickly or easily I wanted my dick sucked, I guessed.

Like, right now? Raven was the wrong people.

Not that I'd trust her mouth anywhere my dick. She'd probably use her teeth a little too enthusiastically.

Raven grabbed a cloth and wrapped her hand around one of the taps. "Don't either of you have something to do?"

I blinked and dragged my eyes away from her hand. That was the wrong thing for her to do when I'd just been thinking about my cock. "Did my delivery get here?"

"Five minutes ago. I was going to call you to see where you were. Wes got here just before the delivery and I told him to make sure all the dishes from last night were put away correctly"



       
         
       
        

I gave her a thumbs up and headed back to the kitchen. After greeting Wes, the twenty-one-year-old recent graduate we'd selected as the best prospect to be the third chef, I headed for the walk-in fridge where he said he'd put the order.

Two hours later, we were done and I sent Wes for his lunch. The dark-haired kid who was all limbs ambled out of the kitchen, inadvertently knocking over a pot of pens on the side table by the door. The sharp clatters of them as they hit the floor reverberated around the kitchen, bouncing off each shiny surface until I winced.

"Sorry, Chef," he muttered, picking them up and putting them back where they belonged. He disappeared before I could reassure him that it was okay, but I couldn't lie-if he couldn't even leave the kitchen without messing something up, would he be able to handle it when it got busy?

It was too late to have those doubts. I had to take a chance on the kid now. With any luck, he'd be one of those guys who was a fucking mess generally, but a whiz when he needed to be.

I retrieved the ingredients for hummus and brought them over to the main counter. My phone was plugged into an outlet on the shelf above my head, and I started my most recent Spotify playlist to counteract the quiet of the kitchen. It only needed the slightest bit of volume since it was so empty.

"Hey." Raven's voice came just as the door opened.

I glanced over my shoulder. "What's up?"

"You sent Wes for lunch?" She cocked her thumb over her shoulder, and I nodded. "You're not stopping?"

I grabbed the chickpeas. "Nope. Hummus."

"Yum." She paused, her tongue flicking across her lips. "When will you be stopping?"

"When I have a chance."

"Which is..."

"Raven? I'm busy."

She tutted so loud any disapproving aunt would be impressed. Then, she left. The door slammed behind her, and I shook my head as I threw a few other ingredients in with the chickpeas. The sound of the blending whirring to life with my push of the button drowned out any lingering echo from her annoyed tut.

The last time I'd heard a tut like that was when my grandmother discovered I was going into cooking instead of pursuing what she insisted was a promising football career.

I didn't count having a two-hundred-and-seventy-pound man ram into you several times a week a "promising career." A painful one, but not promising.

I killed the blender and, slowly, separated the hummus into tubs and dated each one. I didn't expect to need a lot, so I hadn't made a lot, but just in case there was some left over, it would be good tomorrow, too.

I didn't know what time Raven thought I had. Granted, in almost every restaurant I'd been in, I'd always been told that I worked hours ahead of where I needed to be. I didn't know how that was such a bad thing-it was how I was so efficient. If I needed something, I knew it would be ready for me, with the exceptions of things like steak that were cooked to order. 

I turned my attention to seasoning. Greek food always tasted better when it was seasoned a couple of hours in advance, at least in my opinion. Plus, it was one less thing I'd need to fuck about with later.

Raven walked back in right as I was cutting the pork into chunks. She came up beside me and looked at my board. "Souvlaki?"