Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 45: Carter

"And please, can you remember to bring my daughter a new spoon this time?" The mother pushes on the bridge on her glasses so the frame sits more center on her face. "This one has a smudge on it, remember?" She holds the spoon in front of her as if it were a cat just diagnosed with ringworm.

I take the spoon from her hand and stare at the slight smudge on one edge of the rounded metal. Normally, this is easy for me to handle. Normally, I can force a smile and pretend that this person isn't intensely condescending and infuriating at the same time. Normally, I'm not eager to get home so I can check on my girlfriend who was released from the hospital today after life-altering surgery.

At least, Emma should have been released today. I came straight from school to work, and Des picked me up, so I have no idea how she's doing.

"Right away, madame." I put an emphasis on the word, making it slide out of my mouth like a dirty slur, and I see her face pucker with disgust. She doesn't want to be called old. She still thinks that even with a thirteen-year-old daughter and an elementary-sized son that she's young and brilliant.

I walk away from the table. She says something after me, probably something about how I've forgotten to take the rest of their order, but it doesn't matter. These kinds of people order the same thing each and every time. I plug the non-existent order in and head toward the alleyway out back, but stop as I nearly crash into Celia.

Her face is pinched with a scowl, hands on hips and brows narrowed. "What are you doing, Carter?"

I scratch the back of my head, because leave it to Celia to knock me off my not-giving-a-shit horse and bring me right back down into reality. "I need some air."

"You need more than air. Des?"

Des glances up from refilling the soda machine. He has a smudge of cola syrup across his face. "What's up?"

"Take Carter's tables."

"Celia—" I protest.

She holds up her hand. "You can have them back if I'm satisfied. Come with me." Turning on her heels, she marches back through the kitchen. I glance at Des, who shrugs at me with a sheepish smile on his face. I curl my hands into fists and head after her, because I have no other option.

I shouldn't have given that last woman so much attitude, but I couldn't help it. Caring is hard. Why didn't anyone tell me that caring is hard? And why didn't anyone tell me that customer service sucks a million times more when you have other things to worry about?

Because really, who gives a shit about a small smudge on a freaking spoon in an Italian restaurant? Who eats pasta with a spoon?

Celia collapses in the plush office chair and gestures to a hard-backed one next to her. The office is tiny, a nook off the kitchen that was more an afterthought than an actual room. She does most of the paperwork here, but also brings people here to hire or fire them.

While I typically might be worried about losing my job, I can't bring myself to care today. My foot taps against the ground the second that I sit down, and Celia presses her hand on my knee. I still myself.

"Can you chill? What's up with you?" She shuts the door. "And I don't want you to give me some stupid bro-ed out version like you give to Des."

I sigh and lean back in the chair, so far back that my head hits the wall. "Emma got out of the hospital today, and after everything that's happened to her, I just—" I look at her again. "Have you ever noticed how systemically evil most people are? I mean, you give them a little power over someone in a customer service role, and suddenly, they are the biggest dicks on the planet."