Page 8 of Boss and Brat

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I told you to.”

Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid it across the table.

Carter input his number and took a picture of himself to add it to contacts. He also added the tracker but hid the icon. Then he sent himself a message, so he’d have Ethan’s number. “When I send a message, answer it within five minutes, or there will be consequences.”

Ethan rolled his eyes again without speaking.

Carter leaned back in the booth. “No one ignores my orders.”

Ethan didn’t flinch. He just lifted his gaze, slow and unimpressed. “What are you gonna do if I do?”

Carter kept his voice even. He’d dealt with wild, defiant colts like this—skittish, proud, ready to bolt at the slightest pressure. “I’ll double your work hours and give you shit jobs.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Did my father pay you to be cruel to me?”

Carter felt the lie before he said it. “No.” He cleared his throat. “I’m here to get you through the debt you owe your father.”

Ethan’s eyes flashed with anger, hurt, something deeper he tried to bury under attitude. “I hate him.”

The words came out sharp, but the way Ethan’s fingers curled around the edge of the table told Carter the truth: the kid didn’t hate him. He hated what the man had done to him.

Carter leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Why? Tell me why.”

Ethan scoffed, but it sounded more like a defense than a dismissal. “Why should I tell you anything? You work for him, so anything I say will go right back to him.”

Carter didn’t push. He just watched him—watched the way Ethan’s shoulders stayed tight, the way he kept his eyes on the table instead of meeting Carter’s. The kid was braced for impact, as if he expected every question to be a trap.

Plates arrived with eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast. Carter thanked the server, but Ethan acknowledged with only a tilted head.

Carter took a sip of his coffee, watching the young man over the rim of the mug, letting the silence stretch and giving Ethan room to breathe. This would not be easy.

Ethan ate as if he hadn’t seen proper food in days—fast, focused, shoulders hunched like he expected someone to snatch the plate away. Carter didn’t comment. He just let him eat, sipping his coffee and watching the way Ethan’s guard stayed welded in place even with a mouth full of bacon.

When Ethan slowed down, Carter leaned an elbow on the table. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said. “Just enough so I know what I’m working with.”

Ethan stabbed at a piece of toast. “I’m not a project.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Carter let that sit. He’d learned a long time ago that silence could be more honest than any speech.

After a moment, he tried again. “Your father said you disappear sometimes. Wander off.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “So what? I like air.”

“Nothing wrong with air,” Carter said. “Just wondering what you’re running from.”

Ethan froze, barely but enough for Carter to catch it. His fork hovered over the plate. His eyes flicked to the window, then back down.

“I’m not running,” Ethan muttered.

“Okay.”

“I’m not.” Ethan spoke louder.