Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) (24 page)

He slammed his
fist against a pillar. “I don’t give a damn what he fed you. Carrie, why didn’t
you tell me this the moment I found you?”

She stared at
him in confusion. Poor girl was in shock, had been in shock the whole time,
only he had failed to see it. “Mars!”

Mars burst
from the servant’s door. “Sir?”

“Call a cab. I
have to get Carrie to the hospital. She’s been sexually assaulted by Detective
Pascal and his men.”

“What?” Carrie
and Mars yelled in unison.

“Impossible,”
Mars said while Carrie declared, “That’s not true.”

Carrie grabbed
Trent’s silk shirt in her tiny fists and shook him—well, the shirt. “Why aren’t
you listening to me? I just told you Detective Pascal and Officer Jenson were
nice to me!”

He stilled her
hands. “You also told me Officer Jenson watched you go to the bathroom.”

“She had to! I
was a suspect!”

“She?”

“Officer
Jenson…She’s a policewoman.”

His
palpitating heart began to slow. “So no one touched you in a sexual manner?”

“No!”

He took in a
deep breath and let out it. “Never mind the cab, Mars.”

“Yes, sir,”
the fellow snapped and stormed from the room.

Carrie released
his shirt and tried to brush out the wrinkles she’d caused. “Why would you
think such a thing?”

He looked up
at the ceiling and rolled his eyes at her stupid question. “Because you, who
actually did something illegal, got off without being arrested while I, who
saved your life, only got out by posting a million dollars in bail. So I have
to wonder what you did to get off without being charged.”

She stepped
back and glared at him, her green eyes blazing. “Okay, I am officially pissed
off at you and going home.”

Crap, why
couldn’t he keep his mouth shut when angry. Nothing good ever came from it. He
couldn’t let her leave…not like this. “You can’t. I gave Sam the night off.”

“News flash. I
know how to buy a ticket and get on a train.”

She turned to
leave, but he pulled her back.

“I'm sorry.”

“And I will
accept your apology, someday. Right now, I want to go home.”

“How are you
going to buy a ticket? You told me your credit cards are maxed.”

“Damn it!” She
kicked the pillar.

He’d never
heard her curse before. “Look, if you really want me out of your sight, I’ll
stay in the bedroom until it’s time for my doctor’s appointment. And you can
stay here instead of going with me.”

She glared at
him. “Is there another bedroom I can sleep in?”

He was sure if
they could spoon in bed, she’d forgive him for…he had no idea what he’d done,
other than give a damn when he thought she’d been gang raped by the police. Still,
he’d prefer her to remain angry in his guest room than in New Jersey where he
had no shot of softening her mood. With a heavy sigh, he grumbled, “I’ll ask
Mars to ready the guest bedroom.”

Even now, her
angry glare softened. “All right. I’ll stay in a guest room until I get my
reimbursement check and clear my credit cards. But then, I’m going home.”

“So do you
want me to go to my room?”
Say no, say no, say no.

“No, I need to
pack and move my stuff. You should stay in here.

Trent watched
her leave and sat down on the couch, shell shocked. What just happened?

Humiliated and
hurt, Carrie moved her items to her new bedroom while Mars ‘readied’ it, which
included providing fresh towels and stocking the medicine cabinet with
everything she could possibly want. She sat on the bed and sorted through her
grocery bag full of mail, desperately searching for her monthly train pass so
she could leave when Trent headed to his doctor’s appointment.

I never should
have kissed him. Had I not rewarded Trent with a kiss for thanking Mars, he
wouldn’t have concluded that I ‘rewarded’ the entire police force to avoid being
arrested.

Last night had
been so wonderful spooning with Trent. She’d felt so safe and loved. Then,
stupidly, her heart completely bypassed her brain and fell into the category
‘hopelessly in love with him—rational thoughts need not apply.’ All she wanted was
to love and be loved. Never mind, they were two different species with nothing
in common.

Unfortunately,
her hunger for love had muted a long running truth in her life: no one—not her
parents, nor her prior boyfriend—had ever loved her. For some reason, which
Carrie didn’t understand, she was unlovable.

With that
heavy thought, she reassessed the events that had just occurred.

His recent
improvements amazed her. By the time they got new employees, he might be the
best boss in the world.

So she ruins
it all by kissing him on his cheek. Normally, she’d never do such a thing, but
she thought their relationship had progressed to a new level. When he ignored
her kiss, she realized she’d overstepped. Still, she hadn’t realized how far
she’d crossed the line until he accused her of having sex with the entire
police force. She’d like to believe she’d misunderstood him, but she knew his logic
path all too well. He went from her kiss, to the entire police taking her by
force, to implying she’d bartered her freedom with sex.

The man she
loved thought her a whore.

An hour later,
Carrie determined two grim facts. First, she had no monthly train pass. Either
Sam failed to pick up all her mail or the lady who brought in her mail had
borrowed it to go into the city. Carrie had told her she could use it during
her absence. If the woman had taken her up on the offer, she would have no
doubt put the pass on Carrie’s desk, while the mail lay on the kitchen table. Regardless,
the result remained the same: she still had no way to get home.

She considered
asking Sam to drive her, but he’d have to get Trent’s permission, and she
didn’t think Trent would agree.

Once she’d
sorted her bills by their due date, she determined in seventeen days, she’d owe
fifteen-thousand dollars more than she had in the bank. In thirty days, she’d
need an additional seven-thousand dollars for her house and car payment, plus
her quarterly taxes.

Her month
working in Taiwan had cost her almost thirty six thousand dollars, all of which
Lancaster Chairs would reimburse once she filled out an expense report then got
it approved and processed through the system.

The latter
point worried her. God only knew what Miss Schnell had done while her nephews
threw cabinets out the window. The accounting department could be in shambles.
If Trent had only listened to her when she suggested they get company credit
cards that enabled the company to pay the bill directly rather than wait and reimburse
employees. Unfortunately, Trent had declared hell would freeze over before he
gave a credit card to any of his thieving slackers.

If only he’d
gotten her a card. What if she lost her house because of this? A sick lump
formed in her stomach. It happened to good people every day. Soon, her name
would join the list of victims of unforeseen disaster.

After a
half-hour of self-indulgent tears, she pulled herself together. No check had
bounced yet. She still had time. If she could get the company up and running in
seven days, she could survive this. God created life on Earth in seven days. Surely,
she could manage the salvation of a single company.

To do that,
she needed a place to work. With renewed determination, she picked up her phone
and called Detective Pascal.

“Joseph
Pascal.”

“Detective
Pascal, this is Carrie Hanson. Do you remember me?”

A soft chuckle
came over the line. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Do you know
who I should call to find out when we can have our building back? I need to
tell the employees when they should return to work.”

“Better let me
call the guy in charge. He’s a bit of a dick. Sorry. He’s very busy and doesn’t
like dealing with the public. Can I call you back in five with the answer?”

Carrie gave
him her cell phone number, thanked him, and hung up. Then she pulled out her
iPad and typed a list of things she needed to do.

Notify
employees when they should return to work.

Call front
door guy.

Ensure
accounting can process expense reports.

Thank God,
Jack had protected the servers or there’d be no processing anything. Jack—he
might be able to assist her.

Crap.

Bake Jack
cookies.

She’d have to
complete that task before she asked any more favors from him.

She rushed
into the living room and softly called out, “Mars.”

When no one
responded, she entered the intimidating kitchen filled with a myriad of
stainless steel appliances. God only knew how many hours it took to polish so
much metal. “Hello? Mars?”

Well, if Mars
wasn’t here, he couldn’t mind if she baked cookies—assuming she could find the
necessary ingredients. Otherwise, she would have to wander out in search of a
grocery store and honestly, she’d never seen one around here. As far as she
could tell, everyone in the city either ate at a restaurant, street vendor, or ordered
take out. Nor did she have any money, so she had no choice but to invade the
kitchen.

When she found
the pantry, her mouth fell open in awe. The cook kept this kitchen better
stocked than most grocery stores.

After collecting
her ingredients, she carried them to the center island. Finding a stainless
steel bowl took longer than shopping for her goods. She had so many drawers to
pull, containing skillets, strainers, pots and pans of every shape and size
imaginable. Finally, she came upon a selection of double boilers and chose one
perfect for the job of melting chocolate. She continued her search for a mixing
bowl and baking sheets, eventually finding them.

She mixed
smart butter, whole-wheat flour and brown sugar, plus a touch of cinnamon and
vanilla to make her caramel and placed it into a pan. While her caramel cooked,
she laid out the nuts to form the body of the turtles: walnut for the back, half
pecans for each leg, and a brazil nut for the head.

Every couple
of minutes, she’d stir her caramel until it thickened. Once satisfied, she
spooned it over the nuts. When it hardened it would hold the little feet and
head to the turtle’s body. Normally, she made her own chocolate from scratch,
but she’d found some delicious smelling dark chocolate in the cooler. She placed
six of the two by four inch bars into the double boiler. She impatiently
watched as the boiling water gently warmed and melted the chocolate bars.

Using a large
spoon, she scooped the dark chocolate up and covered the turtles one by one. As
she worked on the final turtle, a stern clearing of the throat made her drown
the poor fellow in so much chocolate it resembled the lumpy turtles from the
Galapagos Islands.

She looked up
and smiled at Mars. “I promised the systems guy, who protected our servers, I’d
bring him my gram’s chocolate turtles. I planned to hunt down a grocery store
and buy the ingredients, but then remembered I have no money. Thankfully, you
had everything here…” Her happy enthusiasm faded when Mar’s face grew more
severe.

“Sorry, did
you need the chocolate bars for something?”

He sighed.
“The cook does not purchase items on a whim. He orders specifically for his
planned menus.”

Carrie
grimaced. “If you’ll tell me where to go, I’ll buy him more…” Remembering her
dire state of poverty, she groaned. “Or I will once I get the systems guy to
help me get accounting back up so they can process my expense report, which why
I need these cookies.” God, that didn’t make sense even to her. “It’s sort of a
barter system we have going.”

Mars stared at
the cookies, as if holding them responsible for this whole debacle.

“I’m really
sorry,” she added.

He walked
closer to the turtles. Worried he planned to confiscate the entire tray as her
punishment, she clutched one edge of the sheet. “Would you like one?”

“Doesn’t it
require refrigeration first?”

“That would be
optimal.”

He sighed
heavily, opened the refrigerator, and moved stuff around, creating room for the
tray.

“Do you have
aluminum foil so I can make a cover over it?” she asked.

He turned and
stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. He then walked to a set of cabinets
she’d never even gotten to and pulled out a transparent cover, which sat on the
tray perfectly. His outraged glare let her know her cooking skills did not
impress.

Placing the
turtles on the refrigerator shelf, he closed the door and focused on her. “You
may return to the master’s side of the house now.”

“I will. Just
as soon as I clean up.”

He raised his
right eyebrow in challenge. “I will manage the clean-up, as well as replacing
the chocolate.”

God, she
really couldn’t do anything right. She’d set off Miss Schnell’s maniacal
behavior by obsessing over her purple chair. She’d caused a city-block shut
down by calling out ‘bomb’ to save some people’s lives. She’d humiliated
herself when she inappropriately kissed Trent on the cheek, which resulted in
him thinking her a woman of loose morals who had sex with an entire police
department to avoid charges. And now, she’s destroyed the cook’s meal plan by
stealing the very fine chocolate he probably had flown in from Switzerland.

“I’m really,
really sorry.” Her vision went blurry as more tears threatened to rain on her
shoes. Not again! She was sick to death of crying.

Mars
approached and gripped her arm. “It’s all right. I can easily replace the
chocolate before Saturday’s dessert course.”

“Except my
credit cards are maxed until I can get reimbursed for my trip to Taiwan, where
I went on business, not a vacation.”

He smiled. “I
am very aware of your trip to Taiwan.”

Why would
Trent’s butler know about her business trip? That didn’t make any sense. “Why?”

“Master Trent’s
mood dramatically worsened during your absence. We all rejoiced the day he
declared his intention to retrieve you from the airport.”

His answer
just made her feel worse. “Great! Another job I’ve failed at.” She sighed.

Mars squeezed
her shoulder. “Even with all this other nonsense going on, his behavior is much
improved since you returned. You really do calm him down.”

“Oh yeah, as
long as you don’t include when he yelled at me for being the whore of the
police force.” Recalling the horrible day before, she added, “And when he fired
me.”

“No, I
included those in my assessment.”

Her eyes
rounded. “My God! He must have been truly horrific while I was away.”

Mars nodded
solemnly.

She bit her
lower lip, remembering how Trent threatened the ‘new’ cook at his Long Island
home. “You mentioned a cook quitting.”

“I've lost two
cooks this month. One Master Trent fired, one quit.”

“And now this
one will leave because of me. I’m really sorry. I just wanted an electronic
expense report.”

He patted her
back as he walked her to the living room. “Chef Ivan will not quit over this
matter. In fact, he will never know what happened since he’s taken today off.
And given your dire need for turtles to barter for a password to gain access to
an expense form to obtain reimbursement so you can pay off your credit cards, I
will gladly replace the chocolates from my house account.”

She had
several more steps in the endless chain of things to do, but Mars didn’t need
to know them. On the positive side, he no longer looked ready to kill her for
rifling through the kitchen and stealing food.

“Does Trent
have an office here? I need to get a ton of stuff done before he returns.
Otherwise, he’ll want to help and mess things up.”

“I understand
entirely. While Master Trent doesn’t have an office, I do, and you may use it…”
A faint smile etched on his face. “For the price of one turtle once it’s
chilled.”

She laughed.
“Deal. But be warned, I can never just eat one.”

***

Mars’ office astounded
Carrie. In her dreams, she couldn’t have come up with such perfection. The
cherry wood desk and cadenzas looked like works of art, yet remained
astoundingly functional, holding every piece of office equipment one could ask
for, including a copy machine.

“Sit.” Mars
motioned to the high-back leather chair.

Placing her
small laptop on his cherry desk, she sat down. God, she’d died and gone to
office heaven.

“How do you
ever leave this room?”

Mars chuckled
then grew stern. “I want your word you will not mention my office to Master
Trent.”

She made a
motion of zipping her lips. Trent would take great offense upon discovering he
worked in a veritable slum compared to his butler.

Once Mars
left, Carrie first called Detective Pascal back.

“Ah, Carrie,
sorry, I got called away on a murder case. The person you need to talk to is
Lieutenant Davis at Precinct 12. I don’t have the number with me.”

“I can get it,
thanks.”

She called
411, got the number and called Lt. Davis. He answered the phone with a surly
bark, but after she praised him for the great effort the police had made to
protect the city yesterday, failing to identify herself as the idiot who had
yelled
bomb
, he told her he’d send a man over to remove the police
tapes.