Chapter 1: Chaos Is Not an AppetizerIt was Monday afternoon and Split’s dining room was closed to customers.
In the refuge of my office, I stood over my desk, studying the sketches of my next project: A cooking school I hoped to open in Norway.
“Nick?” Looking hungover, Andy stood in the doorway, his sultry black eyes circled with a shadow of purple. Andy hadn’t changed his wild lifestyle since we’d met more than ten years ago, but hungover or not, he was still one of the best bartenders in town. “We, uh, have a slight problem,” he said, leaning his shoulder on the door jamb. Dressed in black, he was looking sleek and maybe a little dangerous.
Of course Andy knew problem was my least favorite word in all languages. Well, right after no. I set my cold blue gaze on him and waited for the
