Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) (13 page)

Trent lowered the
glass panel again. “I appreciate your hard work last night, Sam, so I’m
overlooking the fact you nearly killed us back there.”

A sharp pain
in his shin curtailed his positive words. He glared at Carrie, who glowered in
return.

“You have to
do better than that or we will never get a new staff because no one will send
us anyone to interview.”

He opened his
mouth to argue, then closed it. The headhunters could blacklist a company. He
knew that from his efforts to find a decent EA. He had placed a sign on the
front door because not one agency in New York City or New Jersey would send him
any more people.

Recalling that
sign had brought him Carrie, a new idea came to him. “Maybe we should try
putting an ad in the window. It worked with you.”

She shook her
head. “Fate gets the credit for me. I had graduated from school that very day
and felt I could conquer the world. I doubt an unemployed, highly skilled Human
Resource person would respond the same to your sad little want-ad if they
walked by.”

Due to
traffic, Sam dropped them off a block away from the office. To Trent’s
embarrassment, Carrie insisted on wearing the ugly brown flats with her classy
blue suit. At least she walked fast in the shoes, minimizing the danger of
meeting someone he knew along the way.

Unfortunately,
her power walk came to an abrupt halt a half block from their office as she
stared at a vendor’s ghastly chair.

“Carrie, I
don’t want another purple chair in my office!” he snapped. “Now can we go?”

Instead of
jumping to his command, she stormed around the foldout table piled with office
supplies and reached underneath the seat of the chair. He opened his mouth to
yell at her, but the fury in her eyes silenced him. Thankfully, her rage vented
at the vendor, not him. “Who sold you this chair?”

The young
Chinese man smiled with pride. “I get from Taiwan. They go for six hundred but
I give to you for four.”

Her fists clenched
in anger. “You got this from behind
my
desk and you’ll tell me who sold
it to you or I’m calling the police.”

“You crazy,
lady. I bought this from Taiwan. I got receipt.”

“And you have
a chair with my name engraved on the bottom of the seat.”

Now
understanding what had set her off, Trent stepped up behind her so the vendor
would know he dealt with more than one tiny young woman, although right now Carrie
reminded him of a pint size Amazon warrior.

The vendor
looked at him, eyes rounded with outrage. “I have receipt. I bought this chair
from company in Taiwan.”

“Let’s see
it,” Trent replied, placing his hand on Carrie’s shoulder before she began a
fight to the death over her ugly purple chair.

The young man
frowned clearly not expecting Trent to get involved. “Why you want to see? This
not your business.”

Carrie dialed
a three-digit number, which he guessed was 911. “Ah, Carrie, this isn’t
considered an emergency.”

A moment
later, she spoke into the phone. “Connect me with the New York City Police
Department. I’m not sure.” She looked up at Trent. “Do you know the precinct
number?”

“Not a clue.”

She then
yelled out to the pedestrians who had nothing better to do than stop and watch
Carrie fight with a vendor. “Anyone here know what police precinct works this
area?”

Someone
helpfully yelled back, “Just call 911, lady.”

Meanwhile, the
vendor threw boxes of supplies onto his cart. To Trent’s eye, the fellow would
have to leave the chair and a table’s worth of supplies to make his escape.

He gripped the
boy’s arm. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to tell us where you got the chair than to
abandon half your supplies?”

“I told you—”

Trent flipped
the chair over and smiled at the etched engraving.

Property of

Carrie
Hanson,

Lancaster
Chairs

Not for
Resale

The young man’s
eyes rounded in horror at the sight of it.

“Just give me
the name.”

“I don’t know
name. She bring me stuff cheap.”

“What does she
look like?”

“Old fat woman
with bushy hair and red glasses. Looks like Cat woman mask.”

Miss Schnell
.

Carrie pushed
in beside him and pointed angrily at the engraving. “See, that’s me. I have ID
to prove it. Now let’s see your proof that you bought it.”

“Woman give me
papers so the cops no think me thief. I no steal! I pay good money.”

“Then show me
the invoices.”

He dug into
his pocket and pulled them out.

Carrie grabbed
the pile and handed half to Trent. “These are our invoices!”

 “I pay good
money for stuff,” the vendor muttered.

Outraged with
Miss Schnell, Trent dialed 911. As he waited for someone to do their job and
answer the phone, he stared at the vendor. “Hopefully, these invoices will keep
you from being arrested. If not, I’ll hire you a lawyer as long as you tell the
police the truth.”

The fellow
groaned, and Carrie patted his back. “Since you paid for it and got invoices
for the goods, I think all you’ll be in trouble for is operating a business
without a license.”

Tears welled
in his eyes, making him look very young and helpless now.

“Do we have to
call the police?” she asked Trent.

“Yes, you do,”
a gruff voiced male spoke behind her. Trent pulled her to him so the officer
would know she had his protection. He also hung up on 911 hoping he’d never
require their services in a true emergency.

He succinctly
explained the issue and pointed out Carrie’s name engraved on the bottom of the
chair.

“It has a GPS
marker too,” Carrie added.

The cop
frowned. “How much is this chair worth?”

“It retails
for $600, but I bought it at cost for $200 and spent an extra $50 for the
engraving and GPS,” Carrie replied with clear pride.

“Why?” Both
Trent and the cop asked in unison.

She settled both
hands on her hips. “Because people keep stealing my chairs. I wanted to find
out once and for all what happens to them.”

“Can you prove
this chair is yours?” the policeman asked.

His question
so outraged Carrie she couldn’t speak, only point to her name on the bottom of
the seat. Trent jumped on the moment of silence. “What type of proof do you
want?”

“Well, some
proof she’s Carrie Hanson and works at this place of business for starters.
Hopefully, she can produce an invoice showing she bought it, as well, although
I don’t expect her to have it on her.”

As Carrie
burrowed into her purse and presented him with her company ID, Trent sorted
through the paper. Finding the chair invoice, he pulled it out, and frowned at
the print declaring Susan Schnell as the intended receiver.

“Ah…Carrie….”

She handed her
card to the cop and then looked at the paper in his hand. “This invoice doesn’t
belong to my chair. It’s not even for this type of chair. My invoice is
upstairs. I’ll go get it now.” She ran full speed down the block.

The cop
frowned and gripped the boy’s arm. “Don’t even think about following,” he
warned.

Trent provided
his own identification. “I don’t think the kid knowingly took stolen
merchandise. He evidently required my thieving employee to provide invoices.”

“If you knew that
why did you plan to call the police?”

“My supply
costs shot through the roof this last month, but I had no proof of theft until
we happened to pass this vendor selling a god awful purple chair.”

The cop
chuckled. “It is ugly. Sure the girl didn’t just get tired of it and throw it
out?”

Trent stared
at the miserable boy. “Tell him what you told us.”

“Big woman,
old, with cat glasses sell me stuff. Guy who ran corner before me told me of
her, but she not come until last month. All this come from her.” He waved his
hand indicated both tables of supplies before focusing on the cop. “She have
invoice for all I buy. She say it surplus she don’t need. She say she is owner.
She really old so I believe her.”

The cop pulled
Trent aside. “Look, I can fine the kid for operating without a license, but
even with a public defendant, he’ll get off, and in the meantime, all your
supplies here and the pretty girl’s chair will take up space in our overcrowded
evidence room.”

Trent thought
that a terrible plan. “I don’t want the kid charged. What I want is the woman
upstairs charged unless she agrees to resign and leave.”

The cop
chuckled. “I might be able to help you there.”

He turned back
to the kid. “Those invoices saved your ass. However, this stuff belongs to him,
so don’t hightail it off the moment we go upstairs. You understand?”

The young man
nodded slowly.

Trent didn’t
believe the kid would stick. “If it’s all the same, I’ll take the chair with
me.”

“Why?” the cop
asked.

“Because I’d
rather face a purple eyesore outside my office than a distraught assistant.”

When they
arrived on the fifth floor, the return of the purple chair along with a
policeman had Miss Schnell waddling to the bathroom. Trent ordered her to halt,
but she just waddled faster.

Trent pushed
the chair into his front office then followed the cop to the door of the ladies’
room. The cop pushed the door open. “Susan Schnell, I am a New York City police
officer. You may either step out here so we can talk, or I will enter the lavatory
and take you down to the precinct for resisting arrest.”

When she
didn’t reply, his voice grew angry. “If you do not come out right this minute,
I
will
come in and arrest you. And because you are non-cooperative, I
will
handcuff your hands behind your back, and believe me they
will
cut into
your flesh and hurt like hell since they aren’t made for oversized wrists.”

Still, she
didn’t respond, so Trent tried another method. “Mrs. Shell…” He purposely
mispronounced her name, which had always gotten a big response in the past. “If
you come out now, without further pissing off this fine officer, you will have
the opportunity to resign rather than go to jail. But you have to do it now,
Mrs. Shell.”

The door burst
open and the old woman stormed out. “I am not a Mrs. and my name is Schnell,
not Shell. I have worked for you and your damn father before you all my life.
You’d think even a moron could remember my name!”

“So am I
arresting her?” the cop asked as he pulled out his handcuffs.

“It’s up to
you, Miss Schnell. And just for the record, I know your name. Carrie brought it
to my attention a year and a half ago that I had it wrong. I only called you
that today so you would come out and decide whether you wished to be arrested
for theft and fired, or save me some paper work and resign.”

Her eyes
narrowed behind her red cat glasses giving her a frightening glare. She studied
Trent, evidently trying to figure out if he really meant to have her arrested.

Trent snorted.
“You think I’m bluffing? You’ve probably stolen about a hundred thousand from
me. Do you really think under any circumstances I’d let you continue working
here or give you a package to leave? Seriously? I dislike paperwork, but if you
don’t resign right now, I’ll hire someone to do all the paperwork and ensure
you don’t get a dime. And yes, I will have to take a day off to testify against
you when your day of court arrives, but it will give me great pleasure to
ensure you have a criminal record so no one will ever hire you again.”

Carrie burst
into the hall. “The boy is gone along with my chair!”

The old woman
cackled. “Then you got nothing to hang on me.”

“I put the
chair back in your office,” Trent called out to Carrie.

“And I got the
boy’s statement before I sent him home,” the cop added.

Her look of
triumph melted and seconds later, she burst into tears. “Why are you so awful
to me? I’m just an old woman trying to survive on the pittance of a salary you
pay. And you, with your limo and your servants, begrudge me if I sell the stuff
we don’t need so I can buy food.”

Trent sighed
and looked at the cop. “It’s not pulling my heartstrings, what about yours?”

“Worse violin
playing I’ve ever heard.”

The old woman
cut the tears and gave Trent a sullen glare. “Then I resign.”

She tried to
walk off, but the cop grabbed her arm. “Hold on. He’ll want your resignation in
writing, because a thief’s word ain’t worth shit.”

After Miss
Schnell typed and signed her resignation, she once again tried to leave, but
Carrie objected. “This isn’t her normal signature and she spelled her name
Shell.

The cop lost
his temper and grabbed her hands behind her back.

“I’ll do it
right this time. I promise,” the old woman hissed.

Finally, with
signature and spelling correct, the policeman escorted Miss Schnell from the
room. The moment the door closed behind her, the entire finance department
burst out in cheers and high fives, singing, “Ding Dong! The witch is dead.”

Carrie smiled
up at Trent. “Maybe we can salvage more of the staff than we thought.”

“Everyone, pay
attention,” Trent bellowed.

The
celebratory finance department froze and then slunk back to their desks in
their normal desolate mood. While they never did much work, Carrie guessed
productivity would drop to zero today.

“Perhaps we
should have a meeting in the conference room with all the floors in
attendance,” Carrie whispered.

“I want
everyone in the conference room in five—”

“Fifteen,”
Carrie suggested.

“In fifteen
minutes.” He pointed to a young woman. “You.”

The woman’s
eyes rounded in fear.

“Make sure all
the other floors know to come.”

Carrie pointed
to his office, grabbed her laptop, and followed him in. She sat on his couch,
typing, as she spoke. “You need to tell them taking excess supplies for any
reason is no longer acceptable.”

“I never
thought it acceptable,” he said as he sat at his desk.

“Yes, but you
didn’t fire anyone before today.”

He arched his
eyebrow and smirked. “Technically, I didn’t fire the old bat, either. Had I
done so, she'd sue me for age and disability discrimination.”

“Well, let’s
review what you’re going to say.”

He waved her
off. “I know how to put the fear of God into people.”

She couldn’t
argue with that. “True, but is terror our best strategy?”

“Seems a sound
one to me. Maybe some of the others will quit and save us the trouble and cost of
firing them.”

Two steps
forward, one step back is still progress.
“But if you terrorize everyone,
we run the risk of losing the ones we want to keep.”

“Are we talking
about Jack again?” His eyes darkened dangerously. “Do you have something going
on with him?”

“No!” Why did
he keep focusing on Jack? And when did she have time to have something going on
with anyone? She spent all her time with her crazy boss.

“What about my
driver?”

Trent had a
habit of jumping topics and normally she could keep up with him, but he’d just
lost her. “What about him?”

“Do you have a
thing for him?”

She laughed.
Now he was just being silly. “No.”

He relaxed.
“Just checking. Neither of those guys is good enough for you.”

She
appreciated his odd compliment, but she needed to keep Trent on topic. Sending
off her All Employees email notifying them of the meeting, she sat back. “Can
we return to the topic at hand?”

“No, because
you’re too busy writing emails. And who are you writing to?” He stormed over
and sat beside her, glaring at her email she’d just sent, which showed the
first name on the employee list. “Who is Thomas Thomas?”

“An employee.”
His proximity woke the butterflies in her stomach.

“Since when?”

She grinned. “Possibly
the beginning of time.”

He frowned
then laughed. “Oh! Tom. His last name is Thomas? What kind of moron names his
kid Thomas Thomas?”

She shrugged.

“Why are you
writing him? I doubt he even knows email exists.”

Since Tom
couldn’t identify modern phones, she’d bet money on it. “I don’t think we have
to worry about Tom stealing supplies. He’s from an era when employees wouldn’t
consider such a thing.”

Trent sighed
heavily. “It’s a shame that era is no longer productive.”

“Yeah, the centenarians
tend to sleep a lot,” she muttered.

He ruffled her
hair. “Heard you. Do you really think it’s wise to mutter smart-ass responses,
right now? I’m near the brink, you know.”

She smiled,
despite his warning. “Actually,
I
neared the brink today. I suspect you
wouldn’t have cared in the least if the vendor sold my purple chair.”

He leaned
back. “Wouldn’t have shed a single tear. Any chance you’ll take the ugly
creature home and let me buy you an identical chair in black?”

She shook her head.
“My home office walls are green.”

He shuddered.
“No wonder you took the first job you could find.” His right arm rested on the
back of the couch, as he lightly pulled on a strand of her hair.

It tickled her
scalp and sent chills of pleasure down her spine. Wishing to keep matters
professional at work, she gathered her hair so it fell over her right breast
out of his reach.

 “Can we get
—
Shoot. It’s time to
go.” She stood up.

Trent remained
seated, staring at her with a sulky pout.

God! What a
spoiled child! She held out her hand to him. “You can pull my hair later, but
right now we need to go. And please consider your words, or you’ll scare away
all the good ones we plan to keep.”

He rose and
locked eyes with her as he approached, towering over her. “The only good
employee I have is you.” He emphasized ‘you’ by tugging her hair. In doing so,
his fingers grazed her right breast. The nipple hardened with so much
excitement it woke up the left one, as well.

She rushed to
the outer office and pulled on her jacket, regretting she hadn't the time to
change into her slacks and knit top.

“I hope you’re
planning to change into your blue heels, as well,” Trent said.

She sighed,
wishing for a normal guy who never noticed what a woman wore. Unlocking a
cabinet, she retrieved her blue flats and placed her brown ones into the
cabinet before locking it up.

“Where are the
shoes you bought today?”

“In your car,
I suppose.”

“Aren’t you
afraid Sam is going to steal them? He probably has a fetish or two.”

Honestly, she
didn’t care if she ever saw those shoes again. Walking on spikes would be less
painful.

“Let’s go! We
are five minutes late,” Trent chided as he glared at her low heel comfortable
blue shoes.

When they
arrived, only five people sat in the room.

“Where is everyone?”
Trent demanded of the young woman he'd made responsible for getting everyone
here.

She swallowed
hard, her eyes round as saucers. “Most went out for snacks and something to
drink. They promised to be back on time.”

He glared at
Carrie. “Want to go downstairs and get your shoes? You have time.”

“No, thank
you.”

His annoyance
came out loud-and-clear with the heavy breath of air escaping his chest. The
young woman must have thought his discontent was aimed at her since, a second
later, she scurried from the room.

“Maybe we
should do this by email?” he suggested.

That would
allow her to censor his words. She smiled. “Excellent idea. Let’s go and
compose it now. And you can include a lecture about promptness if you wish.”

He stared at
her in surprise. “But what about Tom? He doesn’t read emails.”

She approached
the tiny old man in the corner. “How are you feeling today, Tom?” she yelled.

The man didn’t
move. “He doesn’t hear either,” she whispered.

“Okay, let’s
go!” Trent looked at the three people actually awake. One worked diligently on
something.

The young man
didn’t pay him the least bit of attention until the guy beside him stopped
playing a game on his cell phone and nudged him.

The young man
looked up, his eyes rounding in worry when he noticed Trent staring at him.
With a hint of desperation, he glanced behind him, no doubt hoping for someone
who might want to talk to the boss.

“Name?” Trent
snapped.

The young man
pulled something from his ear. “Sorry, sir. Did you ask me a question?”

Trent shook his
head. “I intended to compliment you on your work ethics, but I won’t since you
planned to wear ear plugs through this meeting.”

“This has to
be done before I leave today. I would have removed the ear plugs to hear your
lecture.”

“Then, you’re
excused.” He'd barely finished stating ‘excused’ before the fellow had
disappeared from the room. Trent looked to Carrie. “Find out the boy’s name and
give him a raise.”

The mouths of
the other two guys in the room dropped in outrage.

“I’m canceling
the meeting, so the rest of you can go back to work, if you ever actually do
anything,” he said and stormed from the room.

Carrie had no
doubt she’d have to censor out most of his email lecture in his current state.

She knew the
young man’s name but, to date, she hadn’t seen any great work ethics from Chris
Culpepper.

“Carrie.”

She turned to see
Jeff, another guy from finance, storming toward her. “Are you really giving Chris
a raise?”

“That depends
on what he so diligently worked on.”

Jeff snorted.
“Try his homework.”

“He’s in
school?”

“Yeah, full
time.”

That didn’t
sound good. “But he works here full time.”

Jeff rolled
his eyes. “Whatever. Just understand, if you give him a raise, you better give
me a double raise because at least I actually do work for the company.”

Given how
little Jeff worked, his current pride over his superior work ethics put Chris
on shaky productivity grounds. She decided to approach Chris from the backside
of his cubicle, trusting his earplugs would keep her presence a secret.

Gotta love
earplugs.

Chris
Culpepper proved himself a dedicated, hardworking
student.
Turning to
leave, she crashed into a familiar hard chest.

Trent’s arms
went around her to steady her, even though his eyes remained glued on Chris’s
computer monitor. “Any chance our chairs have a virus this dedicated employee
might be trying to cure?”

“It’ll take
him awhile. He’s currently studying a general biology text. If he’s very
dedicated, he might have a cure for your imaginary virus in four years.
However, I expect he’ll quit and take a real job by then.”

“What is he
supposed to be doing?”

“I’ve no idea.
But he’s part of the finance department.”

“How can you
tell?”

“Location of
his cubicle and the Accounting 101 book.”

“We give our
finance staff a primer on accounting?”

“Probably
should. However, I based my presumption on the fact that accounting is not a
required course, thus it must be his major. He’s clearly decided he doesn’t
want to work here long term, but I suspect he does plan to work in finance.
This job fills his resume with relevant experience and enables him to go to
school full time while getting a paycheck.” She sighed. “I almost envy him.”

“Don’t,” Trent
growled.

“Guess he’s
not getting a raise?” she teased.

“Depends—if I
literally kick him out of the building, he might incur a temporary raise.”

She gripped
his arm. “Perhaps we should go to your office, call Dan Marshal, and ask his
advice.”

“I don’t need
his advice.”

“Well, he is a
manager of people, and he’s agreed to help us with our problem.” She then
smiled. “And I’m pretty sure our phone call will put a fire under him to find
us an HR person.”

Trent laughed
and rubbed her back. She tried to ignore her annoying nipples as they woke up
again. Poor things seemed desperate for attention. For good reason. She hadn’t
had sex since she left college and came to work here.

A clock on Chris’s
desk flashed off and on. “Shit!” he yelped. Saving his work, he shut down the
computer, opened a cabinet, and switched out textbooks. However, when he turned
to run out of the cube a large, pissed off boss blocked his exit.

She’d never
seen a person go white before. For a moment he looked like a mannequin—one
going to a house-of-horrors.

Trent could
really bring the terror out in his employees’ eyes
.

Chris removed
his earplugs and opened his mouth, but Trent held up his hand, palm out.

“Not a word.
Sit down and do the work you’re paid to do.”

Chris sat and
looked at Carrie with desperate eyes. “I have a biology test. If I don’t take
it, I’ll get an F and lose my scholarship.”

Having been in
the test or die situation only two years ago, his plea resonated with her.
“When is the test over?”

Perspiration
beaded his forehead. “Three.”

“Will you stay
and work late tonight to make up those two hours?”

Chris nodded
as he glanced at the clock, his panic increasing.

“Then go.”

Before Trent
could object, the boy had disappeared. So he yelled at her instead. “Don’t
countermand my orders!”

She gripped
his arm. “Don’t yell at me in front of the employees,” she growled and led him
to his office. After she closed the door, she turned and faced him. “You can
yell at me now.”

His eyes
rounded and he towered over her. “I can yell anytime and anywhere I want. I’m
the boss, or have you forgotten that?” He glared at her. “You have! Don’t you
dare think I can’t fire you, because I can and will!”

She wished she
could just block out his hateful rant and think of something nice, like Tall
and Tiny’s show when they’d kept insisting the fat clown was her boss.

She didn’t
think him a clown now. More like a petulant child.

“And why are
your shoes stored in my file cabinets? They’re for my client files. Sarbanes
& Oxley does not require the secure preservation of your shoes!”

He stormed to
the cabinet and tried to rip the locked drawer open. “God damn it!” he screamed
as he shook his hand out.

She tried to
assess whether he'd really hurt himself. Normally, he would hold still, even in
the worst of fits, and let her check his injury, but not today. “Get the fuck
away from me!”

She jumped
back, hitting her desk, sending her pencils and pens flying to the floor. She
stared at him in shock. Even in the first year, he’d never cursed her with such
intensity.

“I said get
out!”

“But I have
work
—
”

“No, you
don’t. Just leave.”