Page 8 of Possessive Greek Chef

“Okay,” I nod as another woman in a white coat steps forward to take my place on the line.

“Anya will take over for you. Freshen up and meet me at the bar. I made dinner for you,” Atticus adds.

The girl Anya looks me up and down and offers me a half smile, so I step out of her way quickly. I don’t know if it’s me that she has an issue with, but I’m not going to stick around to find out.

Atticus is waiting for me at the bar with two plates and two glasses of white wine. He’s speaking with the bartender who looks at me as I approach and smiles. I feel my confidence shrink a bit as I wonder what they might be talking about.

Did he tell him all about my spanking last night? Is that why he’s smiling? I know these thoughts are coming from my insecurity, so I try to push them away. Atticus doesn’t seem like the type of man who would spank and tell.

He sees me, steps off his barstool, and places his hand on the small of my back as I take my seat. The first three buttons of his shirt are undone, and I can’t help but stare at his exposed chest. His photo shoot in the Culinary Times featured a spread of him topless on the beach behind his house. He’s as muscular today as he was when he was a fitness model. All of a sudden, I’m hungry for something other than food.

“I whipped up a little something for us,” he says, handing me a fork.

“You don’t eat off the menu?” I ask as the first bite sends my taste buds into overdrive.

“Too much fat on the menu. If I ate it every day…” he holds his arms out and puffs out his cheeks.

“Well, this is amazing. You should add it to the menu,” I tell him.

He hands me my wine glass and taps his against it, “To your first shift. Welcome to Andromeda.”

We’re seated close and he places his hand on my thigh, sending bolts of lightning straight through to my core. I do my best to control my response because I don’t want him to take his hand away, but I can’t help but think that he likes what he does to me. He’s a man that likes to be in control of everything.

The hostess approaches and says, “Excuse me. Sorry, Atticus, but there’s a couple out front who are being unruly. They’ve asked to speak to you .”

“Was there a problem with the food?” he spins on the stool to face her.

“No. They don’t have a reservation, and we don’t have an opening for several hours,” she replies.

“Okay, I’m on my way,” he tells her. She nods and returns to her post.

“I have to take care of this but don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a minute,” he squeezes my hand.

I see the angry couple straining their necks to look at the bar, so I watch to see how Atticus handles them. He’s all smiles when he greets them, but within seconds, things take a dramatic turn. His face contorts into something I’ve never seen and would not have expected. He looks like an angry beast set on devouring his adversary. He grabs the man by the collar and tosses him out the front door. The woman, shouting, follows behind them. I disobey his order to stay put and head toward the altercation. From the hostess's desk, I can hear them shouting on the other side of the glass door.

“What happened?” I ask the hostess.

“They were very rude,” she answers.

“But he must have to deal with rude people all the time. What did they say to make him so angry?”

She sighs and answers, “Don’t tell him that I told you. The man said that if Atticus spent more time cooking and less time trying to get in your pants, they wouldn’t have to wait so long to be seated.”

“That made him snap like that?” I ask.

“Well, the man called you ‘that whore’. That’s what set him off. One thing about Atticus, he doesn’t condone disrespect toward women. Especially not women he cares about.”

Atticus bows up his chest, and I watch as the man’s attitude changes. He holds out his hands and speaks to Atticus as if he’s trying to convince him not to kill him. Atticus turns his back on him and the couple rushes away. Atticus sees me through the glass and comes back inside.

“Let’s go,” he tells me, grabbing my arm.

“Where are we going? My shift?” I stutter.

“Your shift is over. Let’s go,” he commands.

He pulls me to his car and opens the door. I get in and he slams it behind me.

“Are you upset with me?” I ask him.

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