Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

“Ha! I've a better driver than the President does. I’m not giving him up.”

  While Sam might be aggravating as hell, he refused to fire him. He’d promised his father to keep him on, and his word meant something.

  Coco gripped his arm. “Trent! Are you even listening to me?”

  “Have we moved to a new topic?”

  Her eyes rounded. “No.”

  “Well, try that, and see if it helps.”

  A frightening intensity gathered in her expressive and very angry eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “Carrie’s discovered if I don’t like a topic, I stop listening, but she can regain my attention if she’s changes to another topic.” The mention of his beloved EA reminded him she resided in a jail, no doubt underdressed for even its occupants. If only Coco hadn’t spent the morning sharpening her claws on his EA, she wouldn’t have lagged behind and got herself arrested. He forced a smile to his lips and glanced at the angry she-cat. “Carrie probably has a ton of these helpful hints if you would curl in your claws and work with her.”

  Coco’s mouth opened, but blessedly, no words came forth…for thirty seconds. Then she recovered.

  “God! I now remember why I broke up with you.”

  Trent smiled at the happy memory. He’d been at his very worst for months before she broke it off. As time neared their planned wedding date, he’d feared she might tolerate him past the day of no survival.

  “If you want to quit, I’ll understand.”

  “No. Dan’s right. I am the only person who could endure you.”

  “Carrie’s managed for two years,” he muttered.

  “And your inexplicable attachment to the girl probably accounts for half your staff problems! She lacks the skills of a proper EA. God! Did you even check her qualifications before hiring her?”

  “Didn’t need to. She’d never think of lying on her resume.”

  “Oh God, Trent. Wake up! I seriously doubt the girl even attended college. She’s probably an underage teen.”

  He pushed the privacy button to lower the window. “Sam, how old is Carrie?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “You told me?”

  “Bullshit! How do you really know?”

  “I may have glanced at her passport.”

  Coco snorted. “Those are faked more often than not.”

  Sam stared at her through the rearview mirror. “You must run with an interesting group of people, because the average American wouldn’t have a clue how to get a fake passport.”

  Coco glared at Trent and whispered in what sounded like a cat hiss, “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

  “Don’t engage him if you don’t want him to talk back,” Trent replied.

  “Am I really needed for this conversation, sir?” Sam asked.

  “No. Sorry I bothered you.”

  Sam initiated the privacy window from his dashboard.

  “For God’s sake, Trent! You let your servants run all over you! Structure! Employees are like children and dogs. They need structure.”

  “I think my father may have had the same philosophy.”

  She huffed. “I’m sure he did.”

  “He would snap his fingers at me and bark ‘sit.’”

  Coco glared at him.

  “Come to think of it, the first words I learned were ‘no,’ ‘leave it,’ ‘sit,’ and ‘quiet.’”

  “Please! You are not the only person with parental issues. Everyone has them. My father bought me a BMW sedan for my sixteenth birthday party.”

  Trent failed to see the abuse.

  “A sedan!” She threw her hands up in outrage. “I specifically asked for a convertible.”

  “Maybe he thought a convertible couldn’t keep you alive. If I recall, you had several car accidents before you turned sixteen.”

  Her eyes narrowed, evidently, not liking his excellent memory. “None of which I caused. I have police reports to prove it.”

  He restrained from asking how much those had cost her father.

  Finally, Sam pulled to the curb, and opened the door. “We have arrived, Master Trent.”

  “Too little, too late,” Coco muttered as she left the car and hurried into the building.

  Trent got out and fussed with his suit until the Viper disappeared inside. The moment the door closed behind her, he ceased removing invisible lint and faced Sam. “Will you try to find out where they’ve taken Carrie?”

  “Already done.”

  “Good job. Where is she?”

  “She’ll soon be on her way to New Jersey.”

  “No! I need her here!” He needed to apologize for the horrible way Coco treated her this morning and tell her his plans on how they could obtain good employees while keeping her safely away from the Devil of HR.

  “Sir, perhaps it would better for all if you just let her find a new job.”

  “I may have to endure this shit from Coco, but I’m not taking it from you. I need Carrie. She is the heart—”

  “And soul of the company. I've heard.”

  “She saved my company from bankruptcy!” Why was he the only one who could see her value?

  “And you’re driving her into bankruptcy, so it evens out.”

  “What do you mean?” While he knew she was overextended on her credit cards, this was the first he’d ever heard of bankruptcy.

  “She has something like forty thousand in bills from the Taiwan trip and all the clothes you made her buy.”

  Trent slammed his fist on the hood of the car. “Damn it all, I’ve dealt with this. Only the investigator hasn’t called me back. Why can’t anyone do their job?” The only person who could make people do their job was Carrie, and he could hardly give her this task.

  Sam sighed heavily. “Just let her find a normal job where she works nine to five and actually gets paid.”

  Trent had a great desire to knock his driver to the ground. “You can join forces with Coco if you want, but I’ll never give up Carrie. As to the money issues, I’m aware of the problem, although I didn’t realize I owed her so much. With three phone calls, I will put an end to any bankruptcy.”

  He first called Mars—the other one. “Give me the name and number of the investigator again.”

  After receiving the information, he called the worthless son of a bitch. The man had barely stated his name, when Trent yelled, “You have to rank as the worst investigator on the face of the earth. I give you one simple task and you take a lifetime to do it.”

  “Mr. Lancaster,” the man stated in a long slow manner, as if he basked in the sun by a pool. “Good to hear from you.”

  “Yes, but it should have been me hearing from you!”

  “I called your number and talked to a most interesting fellow.”

  Trent grimaced, now realizing why he hadn’t heard back from the guy. “You spoke to the Diggereedo fellow? He didn’t offer to sell you anything did he?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did.”

  “Well, under no circumstances indulge yourself while you work my case. Now do you have the account number or not?”

  “I do. Where can we meet?”

  “Meet? I don’t want to meet you. I just want the number over the phone right now.”

  “I need to get paid.”

  “I’ll send you a check, but give me the number now.” When the man balked, Trent added. “Or I’ll find a new investigator.”

  The man read off the numbers. Trent snapped his fingers and repeated them to Sam, who just stared at him.

  God! He missed Carrie. She always wrote down the numbers he called off. Sam became a statue with attitude.

  “Hold on.” He glared at his driver. “Sam, get something to write on and take this down.”

  “Who are you talking to?” the investigator asked.

  “No one, just my driver.”

  “So he’s in on this too?”

  “No, he happens to have a pen and paper in the car. Don’t worry.
He’s no idea what you’ve done.”

  “What I’ve done? By hiring me you’re just as culpable as I am.”

  “Right, now just read the numbers slowly.”

  Sam wrote them down and pressed the Post-It to Trent’s jacket lapel.

  Yanking it off, Trent glared at his driver then stormed inside and searched the lobby for Coco.

  He saw no one except a guard, whom he approached. “If a short brunette, cute-as-a-button young woman comes in here, let her in, no matter how badly she’s dressed, understood?” To strengthen his request, he slipped the man a hundred. He wanted to ensure when Carrie returned from New Jersey, no door guard would toss her out like trash again.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Do you happen to know which floor a tall lanky blonde went to?”

  “Forty-eighth floor, sir.”

  Trent handed the guy his card. “I expect to have a lot of openings in my company in the near future. If you would like to work in a place where people are positive and act as a team, give me a call. We’ll need a new lobby guard.”

  “What’s happened to your current one?”

  “He’s over ninety and my HR manager intends to retire him.” Trent frowned. “It’s possible he’ll still show up for work, but you’ll be in charge.”

  The man smiled. “I’ll give it serious consideration, Mr. Lancaster.”

  * * * *

  Trent found Coco in a dreadful office done in black shiny shit and chrome metal. Suddenly, he longed for Carrie’s purple chair.

  The thought of Carrie, days until bankruptcy, redirected his thoughts. “Where’s my office.”

  “You’re standing in it.”

  Gad, she had horrible taste! “I have a private call to make.”

  She sat at the desk, staring at him as if the hint didn’t register. He knew she understood him; she just wanted to challenge him for dominance.

  “You look exhausted.” He motioned beneath his eyes. “Almost like a raccoon—”

  Jumping up in a panic, Coco rushed out, no doubt headed to the bathroom to repair her makeup. Carrie would have high-fived him for his brilliant move. He turned the lock on the door and sat down at the ugly black desk. Using Carrie’s phone, he called his banker.

  “Tom, Trent. I want to wire…” He wanted to make sure he didn’t shortchange her. If he overpaid her, he knew she’d return it. However, if he sent too little, she’d never tell him. Sam said forty, so he doubled it. “I want to wire eighty-thousand to this account number at once.”

  The banker assured him he’d see to the matter personally.

  “Thank you, Tom. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. May I ask what the money is for?”

  Trent frowned. “Why do you need to know that?”

  “Oh, new bank regulations…” His voice wandered off, just like Trent’s did when he lied.

  “It’s to pay for a child I’m planning to adopt.”

  “What?” the man squeaked.

  “Cute thing little about four-foot six inches tall.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No. I made it up, just like you made up your reason for being so damned nosey.” He hung up and smiled. With one call, he’d saved Carrie, both financially and emotionally. While he’d go through hell here on the East coast, Carrie would be far away enjoying the California sun and learning a new skill. He smiled at the thought. She loved learning new skills.

  Chapter 30

  Carrie jumped when a hand rested on her forehead.

  God what a nightmare she’d just had.

  She opened her eyes and took in the sparse room with its green curtains, then stared up at Detective Pascal. His brow furrowed.

  Her horrible week was real and continued. “Do you need to arrest me for something?”

  “No.” He knelt down beside her. “Although I wanted to arrest your former boss.”

  Pain surged through her body. Former boss. Somehow, in her week from hell, she’d lost her job. Nor could she blame him for firing her. Despite her best efforts, nothing would work for her. Honestly, she couldn’t have been more of a disaster if she’d intentionally tried to wreak havoc and chaos on the world.

  “What’d he do?”

  “Tried to prevent me from taking your property from his penthouse.”

  Carrie sat up. She would have expected Trent to be happy to get her possessions out his place. “Why?” Was it possible he still cared? Yeah, he liked her so much he had the lobby guard call the cops. The answer came to her and she collapsed back against the recliner. “Oh, I know. His lawyer’s taught him never to cooperate with police.”

  “Well, he almost needed his lawyer,” Joey grumbled.

  She rolled to her side so she faced him. “I really appreciate you retrieving my stuff. And sending Jenson to save me. Otherwise--” She recalled Bad Boss waiting outside for her. “Things would have gone badly.”

  With a calloused hand, Joey brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I'd planned to drive you home, but I’m not comfortable leaving you alone. I’m afraid you’ll starve to death before you get over this setback.”

  “I probably will since I’ll be homeless soon, but I really want to see my garden. It soothes my soul.”

  “Do you have friends who can look in on you?”

  She nodded, which was a lie. When had she time to make friends with anyone? She spent all her waking hours trying to save Trent’s business.

  I’ll have plenty of time to make friends now. Only who wants to befriend a homeless person?

  On the long drive home, Joey insisted on knowing what she meant by being homeless. Reluctantly, she explained the whole stupid mess. “Since I’m fired, no one will process my expense report and I’ll never get paid.” She pressed her head against the window. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Yes, but before we change topics, you should know it takes far more than one late payment to take away a person’s home. In fact, in today’s market, some people live in their homes for years after they stop making payments.”

  Finally, a ray of hope. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “So I might actually have time to get a new job before I lose my house?”

  “I am very confident you will. I’d hire you if I needed an EA.”

  Carrie smiled and clung to this one parcel of hope. She had time to recover.

  When they pulled into her driveway, she stared at her garden in shock. She’d resigned herself to the possibility she’d have a cremated garden, given the lack of rain during the last week. Never in her wildest imagination had she expected her garden to flourish in her absence.

  What magic dust had Trent’s gardener used on her flowers?

  Opening the car door, she walked down the garden path, taking in its wild exuberance. Not a weed anywhere due to the newly laid cedar mulch. Even the height of the plants had taken on an orderly turn with the tallest plants in the back and the shorter ones up front.

  She knelt beside her favorite rose bush, breathing in its sweet fragrance.

  “I see why you wanted to come home. This really can heal a soul.”

  Tears of happiness filled her eyes. Finally, she’d made it home, and she’d keep her home because she’d get another job.

  God, she couldn’t thank Officer Pascal enough. He’d sent Jenson to rescue her from a life of true hell then personally retrieved her stuff and brought her home. She needed to do something for him in exchange. “Would you like something to drink? I don’t have any perishable food, but we could crack a jar of peanut butter.

  He chuckled. “Sure.”

  She grabbed her laptop and purse while Joey carried in her suitcase.

  The moment he stepped inside, he smiled. “This is a really nice place you have. Soothing and comfortable.”

  “You haven’t even sat on anything yet, how can you call it comfortable?”

  “A couch can’t look so soft and not be easy on the body.”

  Since she thought it
so, she ceased to argue. He followed her upstairs, carrying the luggage to her bedroom. Normally, she’d feel nervous about allowing a man into her inner sanctum, but she trusted Joey.

  He’d come to her rescue several times now.

  When they entered her bedroom she thanked God Sam had packed the sex toy she’d left on the bed stand. Saved Officer Pascal and her from an embarrassing moment. Guys never liked to meet their competition.

  Joey stared up at the skylight over the bed. “How do you sleep in the daytime?”

  She chuckled. “I don’t. But I can see why a policeman wouldn’t like it.”

  “Makes the room bright and cheery.” He sighed with happiness. “I’m glad you’re back here. The penthouse had to be pure poison for your soul.”

  Could she blame her week from hell on the penthouse? Had the place sucked all her good luck away? Or had being with Trent twenty-four-seven caused it? Always before, she’d had de-tox time on the train then come home to her garden and fish pond.

  “Oh, my fish!” She hurried downstairs and ran into the back garden. To her amazement, it looked even better than the front. Relieved to discover the pond still had water and the pump still worked, she focused on her well-beloved, low maintenance fish and frogs.

  Joey came up behind her and took in the view over her head. “How many fish do you have?”

  “Not sure. I can see some babies in the nursery.” She pointed to the section segregated from the remainder of the pond.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “They’re basically invisible until they get older, when most obtain color, then spend the rest of their lives changing their colors to match the new fashion.”

  Joey chuckled and placed his hand on her shoulder. Since she blamed spooning with her boss for getting her fired, she couldn’t risk her only friend by making the same mistake twice. She knelt down, so Joey’s hand no longer touched her, and pointed to a two-inch frog. “I named the frog Pewter. She has no feet.”

  “A frog with no feet? Sounds like the start of joke. What do you call a swimmer with no hands or legs? Bob.”

  She’d heard variations of the joke a million times, so it only warranted a smile. “Pewter has legs and can jump when she needs to escape something, but early in her life, something ate her feet. One to the ankle and the other to the knee. I thought she’d die from her injuries, but they healed over and, living in this protected environment, she seems to do fine.”