Tempted

Why is he trying to help me, when, in truth, I should be fired? Nothing makes sense. Unless . . .

“He wants to train me as his assistant,” I whisper, afraid of the reaction I’ll receive.

“Assist him with what exactly?” I can see the amusement in Carter’s smug face.

“Accounting?”

“Is that a question? Are you an accountant?” Carter asks.

“No, I don’t know anything about accounting.” I reach for a rag and start absentmindedly wiping down the counter. I need to keep my hands busy, or they’ll shake from the energy coursing through my body.

“Oh, I see. Interesting.” The dimple in his cheek deepens as the left side of his lip quirks up.

“What do you mean, interesting?” Placing the rag down, I furrow my brow at him.

“Well, first, he appoints you as the new bottle server, and now, he wants you as his assistant. An assistant for a skill you have no knowledge of. That’s interesting,” he replies.

“It’s really no big deal.” Even as I say the words, I don’t believe them. It’s a huge deal.

Not wanting Carter to continue this conversation, I turn my back and get my stuff. As much as I love Carter, I don’t need him to continue his inquisition. Not because I’m nervous that he’ll spill, but these walls have ears, and the last thing I need is a bunch of bullshit rumors circulating about me. Oh, there will be rumors.

I notice Carter is still staring at me, a massive grin on his face. I want to smack it right off.

“Where’re you going?” The teasing nature of the question has my hackles rising.

“Home.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been replaced so that I can prepare for my new role.”

He snorts. “Of course. Because being Drew’s assistant needs preparation.”

“You’re an ass,” I tell him with little conviction.

“Someone wants a piece of yours.” Carter is clearly amused.

I roll my eyes. “Lame, and totally not accurate. I have skills, and he wants to put them to work.” I cringe once I’ve finished that sentence. I’m really not helping myself.

“Oh, I have no doubt he wants to know all about those skills. Not just know them, but test them, too. He has never once needed an assistant before you walked in the door. Drew wants you.”

At that, I grab my stuff and head out the door. I won’t feed into Carter’s prying. My sister’s warning—and Carter’s too—comes to mind, and I start to panic.

I need this job. No matter how intriguing Drew Lawson may be, this job means more to me, and I can’t let my hormones screw things up. This line of thinking makes me crave things I shouldn’t be craving.

This is dangerous.

I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the pitch-black room. The chime from an incoming text pulls me from sleep. When I’m just awake enough to grab my phone, I see it’s from Carter. He’s never texted me. Mostly because at this time of night, we’re typically together.

I type in the code, unlocking the screen to view his words.

Fuck.

Based on the near incoherent garble, I know he’s in bad shape. The question is, where is he? Glancing at the clock, I see it’s 5:00 a.m. Well past closing. I quickly hit send, calling him.

“B-Bae,” he slurs, sounding even worse than his text would’ve displayed.

“Carter, where are you?” I ask, trying not to sound angry.

That wouldn’t help in this situation. If he’s reaching out to me in this kind of shape, he’s obviously looking for support. Having been in his shoes too many times, I’m more than willing to be that person for him. He’s come to mean a lot to me in a short time, and if I can help pull him from his addictions, I’ll do everything I can.

“A building. Work . . . tired.” His words are spoken in staccato, hardly making sense, but having been an addict, it’s somehow easier for me to decipher. Probably from years of reviewing my own text.

“Stay put. I’m coming for you,” I say before ending the call and jumping from bed.

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, grabbing my keys and shoes on my way. I’m practically hopping on one foot as I put my tennis shoe on while shutting the door behind me. From what I could gather, he’s somewhere close to work, and he’s likely outside.

I hail the first taxi I can, which takes damn near ten minutes. My legs are bouncing as the adrenaline pumps through my system. The fact he could speak any words gives me some measure of relief, but I’m still nervous for my friend.

The taxi driver is none too thrilled that I am on a wild goose hunt, but when I continue to throw five-dollar bills at him, that’s enough for him to comply.

“There,” I say, pointing at Silver, where Carter sits hunched against the building.