Mixed Up(58)

"Hey, Wes. Raven said Alex was outside. Wanna explain?"

"Chef. Hey." He glanced over his shoulder. "He used attitude on Raven and she didn't exactly like it."

That told me everything I needed to know.

I sighed. "He's definitely still outside?"

"As far as I know."

I put two fingers up in thanks and headed for the back door that lead to the back seating area. Two steps outside told me that Alex wasn't here. The fact his jacket was on the table was further confirmation of the thing I'd suspected-he'd quit. He wasn't cut out for this job. I'd known it the first time we'd worked together alone, and this wasn't surprising to me at the least.

I was equal parts pissed and happy. Pissed because this was my day off and now I'd have to work, but happy because it meant I didn't have to deal with a mediocre member of staff any longer.

I grabbed his jacket from the table. The material silently crumpled in my hand. I didn't know what annoyed me more-the fact I'd hired someone who was apparently useless, or that he didn't have the balls to say he was quitting. That was all I expected. A note, a text, whatever. Just the information straight from the horse's mouth.

I slammed his jacket onto the side in the kitchen and pulled my phone from my pocket. Wes startled at my hard slam, but he said nothing as I lifted the phone to my ear.

"Shit the-" Raven poked her head inside one of the kitchen doors. She trailed off when she took sight of me with the phone. The call ticked over to voicemail after ringing several times, and that was the thing that pushed me over the edge.

"Alex, if you're quitting, at least have the decency to say so instead of leaving your jacket in the garden seating area. If you can't take the heat, I'm glad you've gotten the fuck out of my kitchen. In case you didn't understand, in the absence of your resignation, you're fired." I hung up and stuffed the phone back into my pocket.

Wes caught the jacket when I threw it at him. "Wash it, Chef?"

I nodded once, sharply.

Raven cleared her throat.

I turned to her. She was standing half in the kitchen, half out, and she was hugging the edge of the door. Her bright, red fingernails stood out against the light wood. "Can I help you?" I asked, much calmer than I felt.

"I came to see if you're okay, but now I'd like to talk to you. Privately."

Wes froze.

Raven smiled at him, one that reached her eyes and made them sparkle. "Don't worry. I promise, this is personal. My brother just called."

That last part was a lie. Her right eyebrow twitched, and I knew that was her tell. It was definitely personal what she wanted to talk about, but while Ryan probably had something to do with it, he wasn't the reason for it.

"Are you good to continue prep for a while?" I turned to Wes. "I shouldn't be long."

"All good, Chef," he answered, heading for the back door that lead to the small washer-dryer area Raven had for our chef's stuff. "Take all the time you need."

That wasn't the answer I wanted.

Raven nodded toward the door. I followed her through the back part of the restaurant and out to the hall that lead to her office, cellar, and apartment. She stuffed a key into the one door I'd never been inside and twisted.

One door separated her apartment and bar. How did I feel about that? I wasn't sure. That didn't seem like a lot of space at all...Never mind the deadbolt on the other side of the door that I noticed as I closed it.

"Throw the bolt through," Raven threw over her shoulder. "It'll stop anyone interrupting us. They can call me on extension one if they need me."



       
         
       
        

I clicked the bolt through and walked up the solid wood stairs. "I didn't know anyone could call you."

She held the vodka bottle tight in her grip in her kitchen area. "I never told you my extension."

"Your management skills need some work."

She rolled her eyes as she added whiskey to both glasses.

"Vodka and whiskey? What are you making this time?"

"Winging it." She pulled pineapple juice from her fridge and poured some into both glasses.

"Whiskey and pineapple juice?"

"White wine." She grabbed a green-tinged bottle and poured a splash into each glass. "I told you, I'm winging it. And I feel like alcohol is needed here."

She wasn't wrong.

"I trust you," I said. "I think."

I left her in the kitchen and walked through the hall to the front room. It wasn't big by any means, and she had all kinds of girlie clutter all over the place. Magazines and books littered the wooden coffee table that sat perfectly in front of the L-shaped sofa. Something that looked a lot like an e-reader was balanced on the arm of the brown, suede sofa, and a pair of-hopefully-clean socks lay on the top of a cushion.