Page 87 of Beneficial Misfortune

What does the new generation call them again?

“How about you mind your own damn business?” he spits, his lips curling in disgust.

Oh, right. A gym bro, yeah, that’s definitely what this guy is.

“I like to make things my business when assholes take advantage of people. Especially people who can’t defend themselves.” Desmond keeps his voice even, but I can see the tic in his jaw. I know how bad he’s itching for a fight, and funny enough, it’s not with the asshole he’s talking to. Though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind knocking him around a bit, too.

“Fellas,” Carter stands, lifting his hands to try and pacify the two currently staring daggers at one another. All he actually succeeds in doing is giving the poor girl a chance to slip away and turning Desmond’s hate-filled eyes to him. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”

Carter takes a moment to look each of us over, and I see the recognition in his eyes.

Smart.

“What do you say? Come, pull up a chair and let me buy you a round, and we can all get better acquainted,” he offers with a smile that I’m sure usually has people eating out of the palm of his hand.

Too bad for him, I helped raise Desmond and now Addison, and he doesn’t have shit on either of them.

Before Desmond can tell him to shove his invitation up his ass, like I know he wants to, I decide to step in. Not that this isn’t fun and all, but I’ve seen enough of Carter’s face already.

Besides, the faster we handle business here, the faster we get to go home back to Kat, and that’s really why we’re here. To give Kat peace of mind and ensure this kind of thing doesn’t happen ever again.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time for that, as we do have business to attend to.” Desmond turns his glare to me, but I ignore him. I know the only thing that’s going to help his attitude right now, and while I can’t give him that, I can give him the next best thing.

“A shame, well next time—”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Excuse me?” Carter’s eyes narrow, and the easy smile he’s held in place this whole time finally slips.

Yes, I know assholes like him. I’ve been around them for years now, the type of man who measures his success based on how far his reach is. He seems nice enough, so long as you can further his success or agenda.

“Yes, I know how rude of me for not explaining.” Pushing up from the table, I make my way to stand next to Desmond, who, thankfully, has managed to hold back so far.

“You see, your behavior with the staff is unacceptable, and as such, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Nobody says a word, but I see his eyes narrow, and I know I’m close to seeing the real Carter.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, and his friendly tone from only a moment ago is gone.

I’d pretend I’m shocked, but not as shocked as he’s about to be.

Walking around the table, I slowly approach him from his left while Vince moves around the table to the right, and Desmond stays where he is at the head of it.

“Actually, I do.”

One of his friends stands, looking at me as if I’d somehow offended him. Before he can get further, Carter waves him off, and once again, I get a glimpse of who he really is.

I’d bet these men aren’t so much his friends and, more likely, his muscle, probably hired. But that’s okay, I came prepared.

“You’re Carter Wilmont, twenty-seven years old. You went to Deering High School and graduated from Bowdoin College. You're the only child of Marge and Robert, and you have a small penis.”

His face goes red at my last comment, and he balls his hands into fists, no doubt wanting to hit me, but his buddy to his right cracks a smile, and I take that as a win. I don’t actually know if it’s true. It’s not as if I asked Kat, nor do I really care, but with guys like him, his pride is the best place to hit him, and that certainly seems to have done the trick.

“Whoopie shit, you can use Google. Every stalker can do that,” Carter snaps, trying to make light of what I said. He’s right; most of that probably could be found in a basic search, but I can tell it’s shaken him. “So why don’t you take your stalker ass and get lost before I call the police?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Vincent here would be happy to escort you out.” I gesture to Vince, who still stands opposite me,and Carter follows my movement, looking him up and down. He can act as hard as he wants, but I know the kind of picture Vince paints, and it’s not a nice happy one, at least not for him it won’t be.

“I’m not the one who needs to leave,” Carter seethes, moving away from the table and stomping toward me.

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