Chapter 4: Carter and Clara IV

Sunday afternoon shifts at the diner were a special kind of torture.

The whole place smelled like stale fry grease, spilled maple syrup, and collective Sunday morning hangovers. 

I had been running on zero sleep, three cups of black coffee, and pure blind panic all weekend. My brain was officially fried. 

Between stressing over the ticking clock on my tuition debt and trying not to physically throw up every time I remembered I had less than twenty-four hours left before getting booted out of school, I was a total mess.

And then, to top off my absolute favorite weekend from hell, Carter Graham walked in.

It was about 2:00 PM when the little bell above the door chimed. 

I was balancing three heavy plates of bacon and eggs on my arm, rushing toward a booth in the back, when I caught a glimpse of broad shoulders and a dark tailored coat walking through the door.

My heart did this stupid little panic flip.

Carter didn't sit at a booth or wait for a table. He bypassed the hostess stand entirely and walked straight over to my section. He didn't even look around at the people staring at him.

He slid into a small, sticky two-person booth right by the window. And he didn't pick up a menu. 

He just sat there, slouching slightly against the worn vinyl cushions, and fixed his icy blue eyes directly on me.

For the next two hours, he didn't move.

Seriously. He just sat in my section, taking up a table, watching me run back and forth like a frantic circus animal. He didn't order a single thing. 

Every time I walked past to drop off a check or pick up dirty plates, I could feel his gaze burning a hole right through the back of my cheap apron. It was driving me completely insane.

By 4:00 PM, the Sunday lunch rush was finally dying down, but my last nerve was officially frayed down to a microscopic thread. I was exhausted, my feet felt like they were packed with lead, and I was in no mood to play staring games with Briar University's resident golden boy.

I marched over to his table, slamming a dirty rag down onto the Formica surface right in front of him.

"If you don't order a coffee right now, Graham, I am pouring a pot of boiling water on your lap," 

I hissed, leaning over the table so nobody else could hear.

Carter didn't even flinch. He didn't give me that cocky, infuriating smirk I was used to either. Which honestly, was way more unsettling. 

He looked exhausted. Dark shadows lingered under his eyes, and his jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter.

"My dad is at my apartment, Samantha," 

Carter said, his voice dropping low, totally devoid of its usual arrogant playboy bounce. 

"If I fail this test, my life is over. I am not playing games anymore. Name your terms. Whatever you want... other than money, since you hate my money so much... just help me."

I blinked, taken completely aback by the raw desperation in his tone. 

This wasn't the untouchable hockey captain who laughed off a naked encounter in the locker room. This guy looked cornered. Terrified, even.

"First off, my name is Clara," I snapped back, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"Secondly, you don't even put effort into actually remembering people's names. 

No wonder you can't pass psychology class. And lastly, I am not interested in your problems. I have a lot on my mind."

Before Carter could fire back a sarcastic response, the front door swung open again, and the bell chimed.

A tall, scruffy guy in a faded hoodie walked in, shaking rain off his umbrella.

My blood ran cold. My stomach dropped straight through the floorboards.

"Ohh... my god, he's here," I whispered, panic instantly overtaking every single brain cell I had left.

Carter frowned, turning his head to look at the guy walking toward the counter. "Who, Austin?"

"Justin," I hissed, my voice cracking. "His name is Justin."

"Whatever," Carter muttered, turning his cold stare back to me, clearly annoyed that his pitch was getting interrupted. "So, back to our conversation—"

"We weren't having a conversation," 

I interrupted frantically, keeping my eyes glued to the counter where Justin was talking to Allie. 

"I am not helping you, and that's final."

Carter opened his mouth to argue, but I ignored him completely, because for a split second, I looked closely at his face.

Really looked at him.

The arrogant armor was completely gone. Sitting right across from me wasn't just a spoiled rich kid used to getting his way. 

Underneath the tailored coat and the famous last name, he was trapped. 

He was backed into a corner by a ruthless father and an impossible system, sweating bullets over a future he didn't even fully control.

He was trapped by his family. Just like I was trapped by my poverty.

It was a weird, jarring realization. We were basically standing on opposite sides of the exact same burning building.

For half a second, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that maybe we could help each other. 

Maybe his desperate problem and my impossible debt could cancel each other out.

Then I shook my head, aggressively shoving the thought away. No. 

Absolutely not. My pride was literally the only thing I had left in this miserable world. 

If I gave that up to a guy like Carter Graham, I wouldn't even recognize myself anymore.

"I said no, Graham,"

 I whispered, my voice softening just a fraction, though I tried to keep the ice in it. 

"Find someone else."

Carter let out a harsh, frustrated breath, running a hand down his face. He looked like he wanted to yell, but he just leaned forward, resting his forearms on the sticky table. "Clara, please—"

*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*

My phone started vibrating violently in the front pocket of my apron, cutting him off mid-sentence.

I jumped, pulling the phone out with a shaky hand. 

The screen lit up with a number I recognized instantly. 

My landlord.

A cold wave of dread washed over me. I hadn't answered his calls all weekend.

I swiped the screen and pressed it to my ear, my voice barely above a whisper. "Hello?"

"Clara," my landlord's rough, irritated voice boomed through the speaker, loud enough that I actually winced. 

"I'm calling about the rent check you dropped off on Friday. It bounced. NSF. Non-sufficient funds."

My heart stopped beating. Literally just flatlined in my chest. 

"What? No, that is impossible. I deposited my paycheck—"

"I don't care about your paycheck, kid," he interrupted harshly. 

"Your account came back empty. You owe for this month plus the bounced check f*e, which brings it to twelve hundred bucks."

"Please," I choked out, my voice cracking horribly as the hot sting of tears pricked behind my eyes. 

"Just give me a few days. I can get the money, I just need—"

"No more extensions, Clara," he snapped, completely unmoving. 

"You have until tomorrow morning. 

Monday at 9:00 AM sharp. If that money isn't in my hand, I am throwing your stuff out on the street and changing the locks. You're evicted. Have a nice Sunday."

*Click.*

The line went dead.

I stood frozen in the middle of the aisle, holding the phone against my ear long after the call ended. The entire diner seemed to blur around me. 

The clinking of silverware, the chatter of customers, the hum of the old neon sign on the wall... it all faded into a loud, static ringing in my ears.

Twelve hundred dollars for rent. Eight thousand five hundred dollars for tuition. Due in less than twelve hours.

I was officially, completely, undeniably screwed.

I lowered the phone slowly, my fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped the device onto the floor.

Across the table, Carter was still sitting there. 

He had watched the entire color drain out of my face while I was on the phone. 

The cocky playboy mask was entirely gone, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus.

He didn't say my name wrong this time.

"What happened, Clara?" Carter asked quietly, his voice dropping into a tone so serious it sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I looked at him, totally numb, realizing with terrifying clarity that my stubborn pride had finally run out of road.