Stirring Up Trouble (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (9 page)

CHAPTER 11

Why, this is very midsummer madness.

William Shakespeare
, Twelfth Night,
act 3, scene 4

Braden reclined in his office chair, his feet up on the desk and a pencil in his hand. Nothing could take his mind off Lola, not even work. By giving her the time to accept this chemistry between them, he’d screwed up all the progress he’d made with her in the last couple of weeks.

After she’d stormed out of the kitchen, Christopher had returned, keeping his opinions to himself, but occasionally glancing at Braden with a shake of his head. Then, in his typical fashion, he barked orders at the junior chefs, who listened without complaint and prepared for the afternoon dinner rush. When the chaos died down, Braden retreated to his office for a few hours to return phone calls and catch up on paperwork he’d neglected this past week, but the dreams and questions about why Lola feared his bed continuously plagued him.

Each night his dreams offered him another clue into the mystery. Braden might not believe in Muses, but his subconscious obviously did, and every morning, Demetrius’s need to protect and care for Euterpe bled into Braden’s modern-day reality, shaking him to the core.

He’d given Lola space to examine her feelings toward him so she could see that she wanted this thing between them as strongly as he did, never thinking for a second she’d change her mind and pull away from him. How could she not feel the same magnetic tug? At the same time, he’d tried to distance himself, but found it impossible. Her passion for life lit up the room the instant she entered it. She made him laugh. She made him think. She made him feel. And in the dark hours of the night when he denied himself the pleasures her body could bring, he filled endless pages of his notebook with lyrics about her. Words about wants and desires.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her, that much was clear, but something had frightened her. How could he convince her to abandon her fear when he himself shared it?

After reviewing the same spreadsheet for an hour without comprehending it, he finally gave up on the tedious office work and stretched his legs in the dining room with the excuse of inventorying the bar.

True to her word, Lola had avoided him, practicing with her band then spending the rest of her afternoon nose-deep in a book.

“Here,” he motioned to Christopher with a wave of his hand. “Serve Lola’s
moussaka
for the next batch of orders.” As one of the restaurant’s most popular dishes due to its authentic Greek flavor, they sold more pieces of the dish than any other on their expansive menu.

“Sure, boss. No problem,” his chef answered with a twinkle in his eye and a knowing grin as he accepted the tray and cut the
moussaka
into large square pieces.

Hearing his personal phone ringing in his office, he left the kitchen to answer it.

He spent the next hour with his dairy supplier arguing about the increasing prices which would force him to switch companies. After negotiating an extension of their contract and an additional thirty days credit, both parties ended the call satisfied. Another disaster averted.

A knock pounded on his door. “Hey, Braden, we have an emergency in the dining room. The customers are going crazy out there,” called Jenny, his head waitress.

Were they stripping again?

He stormed out of his office and followed her to the dining room. Lola and her band were playing their first set. He stifled a grin as he recognized the song as Heart’s “These Dreams.” As he headed to the front, he was completely mesmerized by her low, sultry voice. Were the words she sang about living another life in her dreams directed at him? She appeared tense, tugging at her skirt and glancing at her band members every few seconds.

Suddenly, a multitude of other voices shattered the spell Lola had unknowingly weaved on him. Angry voices. Couples around the restaurant argued with one another, fists slamming their tables, hands waving in the air.

“Wow, this is better than an MMA event. You should sell tickets,” Ryan said from behind him.

“What is going on in here? Did I miss something?” Braden asked.

“No. Portia and I brought her mom for dinner and to hear Lola’s first set. About ten minutes ago, that couple over there,” he pointed out a couple Braden knew as regulars, “started arguing over where to go on vacation. When Jenny asked them to keep it down, they yelled at her. Then it started happening all over the restaurant.”

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Both times Lola had cooked, the patrons of the restaurant had bizarre reactions. “I need to speak with Reina,” Braden said.

Ryan’s eyebrows raised. “Okay. She’s over there.” The two men walked to the table where Reina smiled brightly.

“Interesting energy in this room,” Reina commented.

Braden took a seat next to Lola’s mother. “Is it possible to transfer emotions into food?”

Reina nodded. “Of course. If the preparer is gifted in the art of pheromone manipulation.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, trying to block out the noise of his shouting customers.

“It means Viola—” She paused and tilted her head. “—I’m assuming that is whom you are referencing, has tapped into one of her abilities as a Muse. Feelings aren’t only subjective, but objective as well, and Viola is able to manifest her emotions into the tangible. We all emit pheromones, a chemical factor which affects others in our species. Most people have heard of sex pheromones which we secrete to attract members of the opposite sex, but there are several different types. In this case, I’d say you must have made my daughter pretty angry when she cooked up something in the kitchen.” With a sly grin on her face, she waited for him to confirm.

“The
moussaka.
”

“Darn,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I couldn’t decide between that and the
pastitsio.
Oh, well. Better luck next time, right?”

Portia rested her hands on the table. “Mom, are you saying the people who ate the
moussaka
are angry because Viola was angry when she cooked it?”

Reina touched a finger to her nose. “Bingo.”

“That’s crazy,” Portia said.

Her mother laughed. “This from a woman whose own crazy experiences helped her accept she’s a Muse descended from Zeus? How could you doubt it after all you’ve learned from your time with Ryan?”

Something about the mention of Zeus raised the hairs on the back of Braden’s neck and reminded him of his dream.

Ryan jabbed his chin in the direction of the table behind them. “Uh, Braden. You’d better get those people out of here before they start a riot. Or a food fight.”

He realized Ryan was right. The shouting had intensified. Braden stood to help his worn-out staff and caught Jon strolling through the front door. Damn, what was he doing here?

Braden hurried to meet him by the doors to prevent him from entering any further, but judging by the sneer on his competition’s face, he’d seen and heard enough to know something was off in here. That fact should’ve probably bothered Braden more than it did. He didn’t mind Jon lording this over him, but he didn’t want the man anywhere near Lola.

“Nice ambiance you’ve got going on here, Angelopoulos,” Jon said, puffing his chest out like a waddling penguin. “Guess they finally realized you’re overcharging them for substandard fare and lousy service.” He slipped his iPhone from his pocket and poised to dial. “Maybe I should make a call to our local men in blue to come and help you contain these people.”

Braden held his anger in check. The last thing he wanted to do was give the idiot any ammunition to use against him with Lola. “Put your phone away, Jon,” he said calmly. “It’s all a simple misunderstanding.” From the corner of his eye, he saw a woman throw a piece of pita bread at her dinner companion. “Will you excuse me?”

There was only one way to calm the patrons. They had to eat something else prepared by Lola. Something she could cook quickly. Something no one would refuse to eat. He had the just the dish.

He stalked to the stage and up the stairs then pulled the plugs out of the speakers, cutting off the sound. Lola twirled around, eyes blazing with fury. “What the heck, Braden? We’re trying to soothe everyone.”

He grabbed her arm. “I need your help. Come to the kitchen.”

She sighed. “Fine, but let go of me.”

He released his grip and led her to the kitchen where he took a double-boiler from the shelf, lit a burner, and added cream to the pot. “Did you know that chocolate is made from the seeds of the cacao tree? In Greek, it’s called
theobroma
, which means food of the gods.”

She gave him a sarcastic smile. “Interesting. You want to tell me why we’re in here while your customers are going fist-over-hand crazy out there?”

He added a pinch of salt to the cream and went into the pantry to find his favorite chocolate. “I love how you mix up your idioms and clichés. Have I ever told you that?”

She stared at him with her hands on her hips.

He handed her the chocolate. “Add this to the pot.”

She hesitated, probably wanting to question him, but she followed his directive without complaint.

He pulled a whisk off the wall and gave it to her. “Now I need you to constantly stir so it doesn’t burn.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She dunked the whisk into the mixture, stirring rather than whisking.

He covered her hand with his own and helped her with the proper motion. “I’m sorry about before. I should have told you how I felt about you rather than take a step back. I can see why you got the wrong idea. If you’re not comfortable with our arrangement, tell me how I can make it better for you.”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “The apology is a great start. I never thought I’d hear those words come from your lips.”

He stepped behind her. “So you accept my apology?”

“Yes, of course.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged them. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” she said softly. “What’s this about?”

“No time to explain.” He plucked the whisk from Lola’s hand and moved her aside, calling for his chef. “Christopher, I need you to spoon the chocolate fondue into small bowls and give it to all of our guests, especially those who ate the
moussaka
. Offer it as a complimentary dessert and plate it with some fresh fruit and angel food cake.”

The chef turned from plating the dinners, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Braden faced Lola again and took her hand. “Can I talk to you in the office?”

She shrugged, but allowed him to take her down the hall to his private space. She entered the room and sat on the edge of his desk.

His cock hardened as he remembered his fantasy of bending her over that desk and making love to her. He took a deep breath and wiped the thought from his mind, moving to stand directly in front of her. “Just be honest with me. Have you had any dreams lately in which you’re sitting on a rock in the ocean and I’m swimming to you? Or how about the one in which Demetrius and Euterpe are to meet on the beach and he—I—show up beaten and bloody, warning you about your father?”

Her face gave away nothing, set as if in stone. Could he have been wrong? She glanced at the floor and swallowed hard. He moved even closer and set his hands on her thighs. “You have, haven’t you?”

She held him off with her warm palms on his chest. “It’s not possible. Because if it is, my mother isn’t crazy and everything I believe to be true is a lie. And if that dream is real then you need to stay as far away from me as you can or something bad will happen.”

“That’s not true.” He cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t even have a father in this life.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you accept the dreams as true then you have to also accept they’re a warning.”

He couldn’t help from sweeping his thumbs over her lips, missing their softness. “Lola, that’s the fear talking. That’s why you started that argument, isn’t it? You were trying to push me away.”

“No—yes—maybe.” She looked up at him. “I don’t know. You did something to me when you distanced yourself the last couple of days. It . . . hurt inside. I’m not used to that. I don’t feel things, Braden, or if I do, I can’t identify them. Your rejection of me felt like you plunged your fist into my chest, and you squeezed my heart so it couldn’t beat. It was painful until I made the decision to cut it off at the kneecaps and stop it dead on the moose tracks.”

He could tell from her smile she’d mixed up those sayings on purpose to make him laugh. But the idea he’d hurt her like that tore him to shreds. “Let me fix it for you. We were good before I messed everything up.”

“Can you promise not to hurt me again?” she whispered.

He wanted to make that promise, but his ex-wife’s tearful eyes flashed in his mind. He shook his head. “No. I can’t make those kind of guarantees. No one can. Can you?”

“No, and most times, I don’t worry about it.” She raised her hand as if she was going to touch his face, but she dropped it back to her side. “But you’re different.”

He saw the pulse in her neck fluttering and wanted to scrape his teeth over it then suck on the fleshy groove between her neck and shoulder. “Come home with me. Right now. Let Jenny close the restaurant tonight and tell your band you’re done for the night.”

She stilled, not even taking a breath. He read the indecision in her eyes. “I—” she started.

The office door flew open and Lola jumped away from him. Jon strolled in as if he owned the place. When he looked at the two of them, his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Lola, are you okay?”

“Jon, what are you doing here?” she asked, turning her back to Braden.

Jon put on a wide smile. “I’ve missed you, so I thought I’d come hear you sing.”

What a crock. He was here to dig up information to use to close
Acropolis
down. Why couldn’t Lola see it?

“That’s so sweet. I missed you, too,” she purred in her fake sweet voice.