Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

  Maybe she should invest in roller-skates. Then she could just roll along beside him, no matter how fast he walked. Instead, she had to run a full-out sprint to keep up.

  She gasped for breath as he flagged a taxi and impatiently pushed her inside, climbing in after her.

  “You’re out breath,” he complained. “You aren’t getting sick are you? We don’t have time for any more hospital visits.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He started to pet her hair, but pulled back a second before impact and rubbed her arm. “You certainly are.”

  Voila! An unexpected act of kindness arrived without fanfare just before she declared Trent the biggest jerk in the world. She patted his arm in return. “The worst is over, and from here it’s going to get better.”

  He nodded then yelled at the taxi driver for taking the wrong road. “You do this for a living. Why do I have to tell you how to do your job?”

  The cab slowed to a crawl for no apparent reason. At this speed, they wouldn’t reach the office for an hour.

  Trent evidently realized the same thing. “Pull over. We’ll find a cabbie who wants to do his job.”

  The man ignored him as the cab crawled down the road. Carrie prayed her boss wouldn’t decide they should jump out of a moving car.

  Trent pulled out her phone and cursed. “Where’s my phone?”

  She stared at him woefully. How quickly he forgot his stupid actions, while holding onto hers forever. By his grimace, recall had just returned.

  “Not my old phone. I meant my new phone. But you need to do something to stop some drug dealer named Digson from selling cocaine to all our customers.”

  She ignored the latter comment and focused on his question. “Your new phone should have arrived this morning. If you’ll return my phone I’ll tell them to deliver yours to the office.”

  “Later. I need to do something now.” He punched the phone with excessive force, still believing if he bludgeoned the buttons, they’d worked better.

  “Mars, give me my lawyer’s number.” He snapped his fingers at Carrie. “Write this down. 212-388-2664.”

  Write with what?

  She put the number to memory using a play on words: Three ate eight, too sick, sick for words.

  “You aren’t writing. Why aren’t you writing?”

  “I don’t have pen or paper. It’s in my memory. Let Mars get back to work and I’ll dial it for you.”

  He hung up the phone without thanking Mars, but his rudeness didn’t surprise her. During these last two days, his manners had hit rock bottom. Clearly, Trent did not handle stress well.

  She paused after pressing 212, struggling to remember her mnemonic device.

  God, stress has eaten her memory!

  “You’ve forgotten it, haven’t you?”

  Finally, the image of starving people stuck in an elevator came back. “Three ate eight. Too sick, sick for words.”

  “You’ve mucked it up. The last thing you muttered didn’t even sound like a number.”

  She ignored him and punched the numbers into her cell phone. “What’s your lawyer’s name?”

  “Don’t bother. Give me the phone and I’ll call Mars back.”

  Carrie pressed talk.

  “David Sedita,” a low and professional voice spoke.

  “Hold for Trent Lancaster, please.”

  Passing him her phone, she smiled at Trent. “David Sedita awaits you.”

  His eyes rounded in surprise as he returned her smile. He placed the phone to his ear and grew stern. “David, Trent. A sorry excuse for a driver has taken us hostage in a cab going five miles an hour….No traffic. He’s driving this slow to run up the meter and piss me off. …Yeah, it’s posted.”

  As Trent read off the man’s operator license number, the car miraculously picked up speed. “Never mind, it appears the man has decided to do his job after all. Sorry to bother you…but keep the number just in case he has a relapse.” Trent hung up the phone, clearly pleased with himself.

  Carrie patted his arm. He managed to resolve a problem without bellowing once. While a slow process, she did see improvement in Trent.

  As she relaxed and closed her eyes, her memory replayed his words about Digson selling cocaine to their customers.

  “Who exactly is Digson?” she asked without opening her eyes.

  “A drug dealer who evidently has my phone. My useless driver told me he called the number and this Digson offered him cocaine.”

  Carrie’s temper flared. She’d asked the service provider to disconnect the phone last night when she reported it stolen and ordered a new one.

  Maybe this happened before her request.

  She called Trent’s number and got an angry voice message. “This is Digger. D I G G E R. Don't leave any messages for Trent, Master Trent, or Mr. Lancaster. This is my phone now.”

  Carrie hung up and called the provider.

  They checked their records and assured her they’d disconnected the service. After arguing with the woman for five minutes, she asked for a supervisor. The supervisor also insisted they had disconnected the phone. So Carrie asked for a manager.

  “What service do we have?” Trent asked.

  When she told him, he smiled. “Ask to speak to Charles Bradford.”

  When they refused to escalate matters to the CEO, she hung up and pondered how to get Charles Bradford’s number—Trent would accept nothing less. The name sounded familiar. “Is he a customer of ours?”

  Trent nodded.

  She had all their customers listed in her phone. She found and activated the number. After a brief moment with the secretary, Mr. Bradford picked up his line. She explained the problem. “You can call the number yourself and you’ll see it’s not been disconnected.”

  Mr. Bradford put her on hold. A moment later, he returned, apologizing profusely. “I’ll get the phone disconnected if I have to go down and do it myself. I’m guessing Trent doesn’t know about this yet.”

  “Actually, he does.”

  A heavy sigh came over the phone. “Well, thank him for letting you deal with this. Please explain to him he’s not the only person who has to deal with people who can’t do their jobs.”

  “I will. It might cheer him up.”

  She thanked him again and hung up, smiling at Trent.

  “Is it fixed yet?”

  “He promised it will be even if he has to go down there and disconnect it himself.”

  “Call him back and warn him not to go after Digget. I don’t want him killed.”

  “No. He means he’ll go down to wherever his little people work and do their job for them.”

  “Ah.” Trent leaned back and smiled. “He doesn’t have a great EA who can do it for him. Poor fellow.”

  She gripped Trent’s hand and squeezed. “You are taking things very well today.”

  He shrugged and relaxed. “I think you’re rubbing off on me. It’s less stressful to actually solve the problem than just to bellow and bark about it.”

  Her grip tightened. He truly showed improvement. Once they fixed their horrible employees, he could easily be become the best boss in the world.

  Chapter 28

  Carrie noticed the spectacularly well-dressed woman the moment they climbed out of the taxi. She stood out like a diamond among coal. Her blond hair, cut to the current short fashion, emphasized her high cheekbones and long neck. The tailored suit showcased her slender hourglass figure. The silk blouse beneath the jacket provided sufficient cleavage to attract, but not so much to detract from the pure professionalism the high quality suit boldly declared. Her makeup appeared understated but, unless her skin had actually turned into porcelain cream then something had to cover the blemishes and tiny potholes normal people possessed.

  The moment Trent and the woman locked eyes, like two of a superior species, they recognized each other. Her already perfect posture seemed to grow yet straighter and she tilted her head in an elegant fashion, reminding Carrie of Katharine Hepburn.<
br />
  To her dismay, her boss’s broad shoulders squared up and he grew two inches. Great, maybe they’ll circle each other and sniff butts next.

  “Coco,” he said in a voice she’d never heard him use before. It sounded almost British with upper-crust rounded vowels.

  The woman smiled in return and her teeth couldn’t have been whiter if someone had colored them with whiteout. “Trent. So good to see you.”

  They kissed each other on the cheeks, not once but twice.

  “You look fabulous.” He cupped her elbow with his hand.

  Her soft laugh sounded like chimes in the wind. “And you, handsome as ever.” She eyed the peach-colored tape on his nose. “Did you have work done?”

  Trent stared at her in confusion until she tapped her nose.

  A short bark of embarrassed laughter erupted from him. “No. I broke it while saving an employee’s life.”

  His response infuriated Carrie on several accounts. First, he broke it running into a glass door his horrid employees had sabotaged. Second, the employee, he claimed to have sacrificed his nose for stood right here. He could at least name and introduce her!

  She tried to control her rage with a lecture. You aren’t angry with Trent. You’re upset because a female of his species struts before him like an Arabian pony, which exposes the stupidity of your dreams. You and Trent will never become partners in life, neither professionally, nor personally.

  Her lecture to herself only made her angrier. Carrie stormed to the door intending to unlock it, only she didn’t have her purse or keys.

  I am never fainting again. Never! Men cannot be trusted to bring along a woman’s basic necessities.

  She returned her focus to the mating ritual of the rich and beautiful.

  Trent moved closer to the woman. “I’m surprised to see you standing out here. I didn’t think you’d walk beyond Madison Avenue.”

  The woman glanced at the people about her with disgust, her gaze stopping on Carrie. “Well, if you wish to relocate to Park Avenue, I will applaud your decision. Otherwise, I go where I’m needed.”

  Trent frowned. “Pardon?”

  She did the fake chime laugh again and settled her hand on his arm. “Dan Marshal asked me to help you out.”

  “Help how?”

  Carrie wanted to know the same thing. Oh God, don’t let this be the HR person.

  “Surely you remember my expertise is in human resources.”

  “Yes, of course,” he stated in a weak voice, meaning he hadn’t remembered any such thing.

  “Well, normally I wouldn’t have considered a job this small and at such a location, but Dan insisted no one but I could save this hopeless employer. He then showed me the video of your employees rioting yesterday, and I understood why you needed me. But honestly, I still refused to take the job until he told me the hopeless employer’s name.”

  “He’s not hopeless,” Carrie muttered beneath her breath.

  The woman glanced her way then leaned into Trent. “Shall we go inside? The natives seem a bit restless.”

  Trent smiled at her as if in some sort of trance, unable to answer until she touched him.

  “Yes, of course.” He took her arm and led her to the glass door, which remained closed, even though he stood before it.

  “Damn it, Carrie. I thought you had the door fixed.”

  The woman, now realizing the restless native worked for Trent, stared at her with a new level of disgust as she catalogued Carrie’s oily hair, baggy sweats, and tennis shoes.

  Carrie didn’t know which pissed her off more: the woman’s visual assessment of her value based on her unprofessional appearance, or Trent cursing at her, which made her sound like one of his incompetent employees. Rallying her spirit, she smiled up at her boss. Or at least showed her teeth. Given the rage inside her, she doubted it came off as a smile.

  “The door is fixed. All you have to do is locate the key on your key chain, place it in the lock, and turn it to the left.”

  “Where’s your key?”

  “In your penthouse, in my purse.” She glared at Coco the Perfect. Make what you want out of that, bitch.

  The woman’s brow rose and her eyes rounded in amusement. She glanced at Trent as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Carrie’s my EA. She worked out of my house yesterday,” Trent explained.

  The woman relaxed and returned her focus to Carrie. “From where did you get your graduate degree?”

  With a jut of her chin, Carrie glared at Trent, ignoring the woman entirely. “I really don’t wish to re-interview for my job on the street. Will you please reach into your pocket and retrieve your keys. I’ll take over from there.”

  The moment he pulled the keys from his pocket, she snatched them out of his hand, found the correct key, and unlocked the door. She tossed the assortment of metal back to him, only his gaze remained on Coco, so they hit him in the chest and fell to the sidewalk with a clank. Both of the superior creatures turned and stared at her in shock.

  “Not intentional,” she muttered as she stormed to the elevator, punched it, and stared at the light, willing it to hurry.

  “I see why I’m needed,” Coco whispered.

  “Carrie’s not my problem. In fact, she’s the best employee I’ve got.”

  “Oh, Trent, you should have called me before it got this bad.”

  “I seem to recall you telling me never to speak to you again or you’d claw my eyes out,” Trent replied, not bothering to whisper.

  Didn’t matter, Carrie could hear them either way. Just because she had her back to them didn’t mean her ears had stopped working.

  The fake chime laugh burst out again. God, fingernails on a chalkboard would be less grating!

  “That was years ago, and personal. This is now and business. Besides, I’m sure we’ve both improved since then.”

  “I think I have,” Trent stated. “I have a lot more patience since Carrie came to work for me.”

  “Yes, well, I imagine so.”

  Carrie abandoned the elevator and headed to the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Trent demanded.

  “I need exercise,” she snapped and entered the stairwell.

  She so didn’t need exercise. She managed to make it to the second floor before she had to sit down, weak, winded, and weepy.

  Her life sucked! She’d expected today to be the first of better days. Together, she and Trent would rebuild his staff into a happy, team-working, high performance group. Unfortunately, this Coco creature had come, and Carrie knew the social butterfly would focus exclusively on making the middle-class girl’s life pure hell.

  Nor could Carrie stop her. This horrid woman of Trent's own species had besotted him.

  She didn’t care. Let them rut like bunnies. Didn’t matter to her. She still remained the best EA he'd ever have.

  Dressed in sweats and tennis shoes, with oily hair.

  Glancing at her watch, a new possibility arose. Actual business hours hadn’t begun yet. Maybe she should break into the penthouse and take a real shower, dress, and return looking professional so she could go head-to-head with the bitch.

  Great idea, except for one small issue: she couldn’t break into the penthouse. She’d need a key.

  If only she hadn’t returned Trent’s keys to him. Now she’d have to go upstairs, somehow trick him into giving her his keys again then leave without him noticing.

  Normally, going anywhere without Trent would require Tall and Tiny’s magical assistance, but Mistress Coco had turned Carrie invisible.

  Concluding walking up three more flights beyond her, she walked down two flights and took the elevator up.

  When the elevator doors opened onto the fifth floor, Trent and Coco stood in the lobby as if afraid to go further.

  Trent turned and threw his hands up at her. “I thought you fixed the office up last night? This place is a shambles.”

  She didn’t even bother to get out of the elevator. She couldn’t do this
. She’d go to Penn Station and beg for money to get home.

  “Carrie?” Trent voice softened. “Are you okay?”

  With a shake of her head, she pinched the bridge of her nose, refusing to cry in front of the bitch.

  Trent stepped into the elevator with her, and Coco followed. “I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sure you did the best you could. We should have called in professionals.”

  “Tall, Juan, and Jose helped me turn over the desks and put the drawers back in,” she stated softly. “Tiny and Mr. Bergman picked up ledgers and papers. But we didn’t know what desks they belonged to, so we placed them in piles so the employees could sort through them today.”

  He shook his head as if he didn’t understand her. “I have boards instead of windows, no chair, and no telephone. How am I supposed to work?”

  If she pinched her nose any harder, she might permanently crush the cartilage. Trying to stave off unintended facial reconstruction, she released her nose, breathed in deeply, and stayed focused on Trent.

  “When I said I got the office good enough for the employees to return, I just meant them. Your office requires a total makeover. Mr. Bergman placed wood over the broken out windows so the pigeons won’t enter and nest, but we’ll need to hire…” She sighed with exhaustion. “Honestly, I don’t know who we need to hire.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, patting her back. “Coco is in charge of hiring. She’ll figure it out. Right now, I need you to call whoever your friend is in the police department and get him to untape my penthouse like he did the office.”

  Carrie nodded just to get him to leave her alone. The man in charge of bomb threats had no interest in Trent’s apartment. Fortunately, she knew who might have authority to remove the tape.

  When they exited the building, the two long-legged, beautiful people outpaced her small-striding, dejected, demoralized self. Soon they disappeared down the crowded street and finally Carrie could breathe.

  She called Detective Pascal.

  “Joseph Pascal.” He sounded so happy and full of good spirits. Maybe she should become a policewoman. She wanted to be happy again.

  “Detective Pascal, this is Carrie Hanson.” Her voice quivered. She would not burst into tears, she would not!