Page 1 of Carter
1
Makayla
“This is unacceptable.” Graham, my boss storms up and down the kitchen with a tiny espresso cup in his hand. “The party’s in three days, Makayla, and the garden is a total fucking mess.”
I put on my most soothing voice. Sometimes I have to talk to Graham like he’s a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. Not one of the richest, most powerful men in the state. “The housing committee is kicking up a fuss. We’re waiting for an inspector to come and sign everything off. I’m sure once that’s done, Carter will be able to finish things in time for the party.”
“The housing committee?” Graham slams his tiny little cup down on the marble counter. “Are you kidding me? How much money do I donate to campaigns in this town, and the fucking housing committee is trying to screw me over. Not on my watch. Get me Tracey Everet on the line. I’ll chew her ass out so hard she won’t be able to sit down for a month.”
“I’ve already spoken to Tracey three times,” I remind him. “It’s out of her hands. There’s nothing she can do now the complaint’s been filed.”
“And we still don’t know who the complaint was from?”
He walks to the window looking out at the garden. Puts his hands on his hips. Chews his bottom lip.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I’m working on it.”
“Well, work faster!” He turns around and points his stubby little index finger at me. “I don’t pay you to sit around do nothing all day, Makayla. I expect results. And I expect them fucking yesterday!”
I stand up and clutch my tablet to my chest. When Graham’s like this, it’s best just to let him alone. Once this party’s over, he’ll go back to being a regular asshole, instead of the super-mega-uber asshole that he is now.
It’s probably because he’s turning fifty.
Men like him don’t like to admit they’re not invincible. He’s short and bald and ugly and soon he’s going to be old and irrelevant, too. He’s desperately clutching on to the life he’s built for himself because he’s too scared and too insecure to think about what will happen next. When he’s all alone and nobody cares about him.
“I’ll do what I can,” I say.
“Just get it done.”
He turns back around to face the garden. Huge piles of tiles are stacked up near the wall next to big bags of cement. The contractor is sitting down in the shade. He has his top off, talking on his phone. A glass of OJ in his other hand.
“Is he drinking out of one of my crystal glasses?” Graham takes a step back, putting his hand to his chest. He looks like someone who has just been stabbed in the heart. “Those things are worth a fortune! They were a gift from the King of Spain!”
I squeeze my temples. This is the last thing I need. “I’m not sure,” I say, squinting out into the garden.
“Right!” Graham says. “That’s it! I’ve had enough!”
He pulls the door to the garden open so hard it bangs against the wall and makes a huge noise like a gun going off.
I follow behind him, trying to calm him down. But there’s nothing I can say that will stop him.
He’s like a hurricane. Determined on sucking up everything in its path and causing havoc.
“You!” he says, pointing at Carter. “This is all your fucking fault! It’s my fiftieth birthday party in three days and we’re nowhere near ready and you’re sitting around out here drinking from my crystal glasses relaxing and having a good time. I’ll sue you if this thing isn’t ready in time. You’ll be living under a bridge in a box injecting yourself with fentanyl by the time I’m finished with you. Wishing you were dead.”
Carter barely even moves. Just looks at Graham like he’s a piece of dirt he’s found on the bottom of his shoe.
“You better tell this little asshole to back off,” he says, looking straight at me. Ignoring Graham.
“What did you say!’’ Graham explodes.
A warm fuzzy feeling starts simmering in my belly, and it’s not just because Carter is the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life. I’ve never heard anyone talk to Graham like this. It’s turning me on more than I ever thought possible.
“You heard me, little man,” Carter says, now turning his attention to my boss.
“Do you know who I am!’’ Graham screams. “I’ll ruin you!”
“I don’t care if you’re the second coming of Jesus Christ,” Carter says. “Nobody talks to me like that. Not unless you want to take a trip to the hospital.”
