Carter wasn’t having fun. He was sitting at Mama Rose, an Italian restaurant that had just opened up downtown, with one of his most profitable clients, an heiress named Maxine McRachel, and her petulant son Lucas.
Maxine had initially hired Carter to handle her third divorce, but she’d been so pleased by his work—and the attention their business dinners had garnered her—that she’d kept him on retainer ever since.
Since then, Carter had seen her through two more divorces, three libel lawsuits, and a property dispute with her neighbor.
He hated her with a passion, and she knew it.
“Sit up straight, Lucas. You’re slouching.” Maxine somehow managed to speak without moving her lips, her pleased smile never leaving her face. “And Mr. Peterson, stop looking like you just swallowed a lemon.”
Carter forced his face into a smile, making Maxine beam at him.
“Much better.” This time Maxine moved her lips when she spoke. “Now tell me why you’ve been ignoring me. I don’t appreciate having my calls forwarded to your little assistants.”
Carter gritted his teeth and forced his smile to stay in place. “They’re not assistants, Maxine. They’re junior partners.”
“They’re not werewolves,” Maxine said, taking a sip of her water. “I pay you because you’re exotic, not because you’re good. Though I will admit to being very pleased with your work.”
Carter wanted to strangle her. He wanted to reach across the table and wring her overly adorned neck.
“God, mom. You’re such a bitch,” Lucas said. Carter shot him a sharp glance.
“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” he said, baring his teeth just a little. Lucas’s eyes widened and he leaned away.
Maxine ignored the exchange, looking across the room and nodding at a couple sitting by the bar.
“You can’t talk to me that way,” Lucas said, with all the certainty of a sixteen year old.
“Of course he can, dear,” Maxine said, still not looking at either one of them. “And if you don’t behave yourself I’ll let him take you over his knee and spank you.”
“Mom, you wouldn’t!” Lucas said, loud enough to catch the attention of several people sitting close to them.
Maxine glared at her son, looking furious. “Oh, but I would.”
Carter didn’t say anything, though the chances of him putting Maxine’s son anywhere near his knee were less than nil.
“I’m going to tell dad on you,” Lucas said, which made Maxine’s mouth go flat in anger.
Carter took a sip of his whiskey, wishing that there was wolfsbane in it. He plastered a smile onto his face and stared at the empty space between mother and son, wishing that time would speed up so that he could get the hell out of there.
It didn’t. Rather, it seemed to slow to a crawl, and by the time Carter was able to say his goodbyes he was exhausted.
He made his way out of the restaurant, Maxine and her son still bickering behind him, and climbed into his car with a sigh.
Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he turned it off silent and checked to see if Owen had called. He’d been waiting for the young witch to get back to him for over a week, and the radio silence was driving him insane.
If there really was a spell that could make Carter attracted to another wolf, he wanted itnow. He even had the wolf picked out. It was Grayson’s son, Elijah. The young man was a known submissive—a fact Grayson had tried and failed to keep hidden—and he’d had a crush on Carter since he was a teenager.
He was perfect.
The screen on Carter’s phone showed no missed calls or messages, making him sigh. He was about to slide the phone back in his pocket, when for the hundredth time that day he found himself thinking about John.
It was getting ridiculous.
Before he knew what he was doing, Carter was typing out a text asking the young human to meet him at Club Thorn. It almost felt like he was watching himself write the message from somewhere over his own body, and when he pressed send there was a flutter of butterflies in his stomach.
A second later his phone beeped, a message notification lighting up the screen as it vibrated briefly in his hand. Carter read the message.
Would love to! But I’m not off work until ten. Is that too late?
