Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) (34 page)

Trent had to
give credit to Coco in one matter. She knew her job. By early afternoon, they
had interviewed several very impressive managers for both accounting and
systems.

“Aren’t we
supposed to get an HR manager too?” Trent asked. No way would he keep Coco long-term.
She’d make poor Carrie’s life hell.

Missing his
pint-sized miracle worker, he tried calling her home number again. Sam had
assured him the police had sent her home. So why didn’t she pick up the phone?
Surely, she wouldn’t hold him responsible for the actions of an idiotic lobby
guard. A worrisome thought crossed his mine. What if she thought the guard had
credible information when he shared Coco’s plan to hire a new EA? No, Carrie would
never listen to such an unreliable source. Accepting the idiot's word would be
the equivalent of believing the bag lady when she claimed the guy who dropped
the ring in her cup intended to marry her.

He glared at
his phone.
Then why doesn't she call?
If for no other reason than to tell
him the nonsensical information the guard claimed and teasingly scold that he
didn’t need another EA, since he had the best in the world already. Which he
already knew.

He glanced at
their problem. Coco had the personality of a pit-bull. Once she got hold of an
idea, she wouldn’t let it go. She intended to find him a better EA, and that
was that. While he knew the task impossible, if he refused to let her try,
she’d probably quit. Losing the bitch would be fine with him, except he really
wanted the people coming in for interviews. They possessed an excellent
understanding of the word ‘work.’

At least he
had the good sense to insist his new EA be male, so Carrie wouldn’t be jealous
of her temporary replacement. The second Coco had everyone up and running, he’d
fire the viper, bring back Carrie, and have the new EA work for her.

He dialed
Carrie’s home number again. Still no answer. He couldn’t even leave a message
because her machine had filled or she’d turned if off…

“Trent are you
listening to me?” By the annoyance, he suspected this wasn’t Coco’s first
attempt at communication.

He glanced at her.
“Sorry, what?”

She sighed and
rolled her eyes. “I asked you what you thought of Mark Tyson?”

“The sissy
boxer?” Why would she care a wit about a has-been pugilist?

After
massaging her head, she snapped, “The young man we just interviewed.”

The guy had
the same name as the boxer? What were his parents thinking? “I liked him a
great deal.”

With another roll
of her eyes, she shook her head. “Do you even know what position he interviewed
for?” Every word dripped with contempt.

“No, I just
liked his attitude about work.”

Gripping her
head, she continued, “Oh, Trent. Now I understand how you came to have the
worst employees in the world.”

He opened his
mouth to protest he’d inherited most of his employees from his father and
allowed his managers to hire the rest. He only hired Carrie, and he did so
precisely because of her enthusiasm to work.

However, he
quelled his comment. Unwashed, cranky, and improperly dressed, Carrie had made
a terrible first impression on Coco, which she’d never relinquish. His
grandmother always said a first impression can only be made once, but lasts a
lifetime.

Fortunately,
Carrie would get to avoid the torment of being in the same room with Coco. She would
hang out in sunny California and return refreshed and happy once the wicked
witch of the west went away.

When Coco
first suggested he ‘promote’ Carrie to Change Specialist, he honestly thought
his ex-fiancée had made the position up. However, a Google search proved it a
real position. When Trent checked out the list of sites providing training, he
found a two-week intensive saturation course in San Francisco. When he realized
he knew the guy who ran it, he almost changed his mind, but this site seemed
the most professional, and had a ton of rave reviews from former customers.

“I found a
place to train Carrie on her new job.”

“Waste of
money,” Coco muttered.

“It’s my
money,” he snapped.

Since his new
laptop now connected to his company server, he decided to check his emails.
Carrie normally took care of such stuff, but she had escaped spending the day
with Coco…lucky girl. Still, he wished she’d pick up her phone, so she could
hear how he got his new computer attached to the company email. She’d be so
proud of him.

Recalling his
cleverness, he smiled. He’d asked the first systems person they interviewed to prove
his competency by completing the task. Turned out, Trent needed the system password.
Knowing the current manager would never release it, he called the hospital and
had a nurse ask Jack for his secret word of power. Amazingly, it worked. The
kid, thinking her an angel in his hallucinations, spilled his guts without a
single turtle bartered.

So now, due to
his brilliance, he had email, which he opened. Spotting the email from Carrie,
he clicked on it and read the contents.

His happy mood
disappeared.

Dear God! She’d
actually believed the stupid guard?
He closed the laptop and stood. “I have
to go. You’re doing a great job, carry on.”

Coco tried to
order him back, but he ignored her and ran to the elevator, repeatedly punching
the down button, only stopping to call Sam.

“Where are
you?”

“Central Park
killing geese.”

“Good.
However, I need you to come back now. We have an emergency.”

Sam sighed
heavily, as if weary from a hard day’s work of doing nothing. “I’m parked
outside the building you went in. You failed to tell me how long you intended
to stay.”

“Oh…sorry.
Well, no I’m not, because it means you’re where I need you.” The elevator
finally opened and he entered.

“What’s
happened now?” Sam asked with a tone that turned his meaning to ‘what dumbass
thing have you done?”

“Carrie
believes she’s been fired.”

“You think?
Given you’re looking to replace her and had her arrested when she tried to
enter your penthouse? How'd she ever jump to that conclusion?”

“I’ve told the
guard I’m going to get him fired for his screw up. Which reminds me, is Mars
sane yet? He’ll know how to do that.”

“Do what?”

Why couldn’t
anyone but Carrie follow his rational train of thought? “Fire the security
guard!”

“Do you even
know the man’s name?”

Trent frowned.
“No.”

“His height?
Color of hair?”

Trent never
actually noticed his servants. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. Someone
has to know who did his job poorly at the time of Carrie’s arrest.”

“And do you
know what time that was?”

“Oh, shut up.
You’re not being the least bit helpful.” Finally, the elevator reached the
bottom floor. The smiling lobby guard rushed to hold open the door for him.

He pointed his
finger at the guy. “I really like you.”

He ran to the
limo and got in.

Sam, who’d
barely gotten a foot out his door, pulled it back in, closed the door, and
started the engine. “Where to?” he asked as he pulled into the traffic.

“Carrie’s
home.”

The car came
to an abrupt halt, causing horns to blare behind them. “No.”

Trent couldn’t
believe the mutinies bombarding him today. First, the guard fires Carrie, and
now Sam refuses to do his job! “Don’t tell me ‘no.’ I’m the master and you’re
the servant. You drive where I tell you to go! It’s your job!”

He had to get
to Carrie as soon as possible. He couldn’t stand her being in such pain over a
misunderstanding. Spotting a police car coming towards them, Trent added, “And
if you get a ticket for this, I’m not paying it.”

Finally, the
car moved forward. “According to Joey, she’s a total mess.”

Since when had
Sam become an expert about Carrie? “I’m sure she’s taken a shower by now.”

Sam shook his
head. “I’m not talking physically, I mean mentally. You’ve finally managed to
break her spirit.”

Trent opened
his mouth to contest Sam’s accusation but remembered the pathetic last part of
her email. “All the more reason for me to get to her house and fix this. Now
stop driving in circles and head to New Jersey!”

Sam turned
left again, still going around the block. “Exactly what do you perceive her
misunderstanding to be?”

“I didn’t fire
here; I promoted her. Nor did I tell the idiot guard to arrest her. In fact,
I’m going to have him fired.”

“She could
probably use the news about a promotion right now.”

“Glad you
agree. Let’s go to New Jersey then!”

When Sam
headed toward the Holland Tunnel, Trent focused on a worrisome bit of
information floating in his head. “Who is Joey, and why did he drive Carrie
home?”

“Detective
Joseph Pascal. Which reminds me…he found a couple of Latinos hiding in her
basement and suspected they didn’t have green cards. According to Carrie, they
belonged to you. He asked me if you had illegal immigrants at your Long Island
estate.”

“Of course, I
have illegals. They’re the only group of people I am certain want to work.”

“Well, I told
him you didn’t and that Mars makes certain they all have papers. Then I
explained the two probably left their papers in Long Island when you rushed
them out to New Jersey and that’s why they looked scared.”

“Why would you
tell him anything? It’s none of his business.”

“Because I’d
hate to see Mars lose the stable half of his employees in one blow. The other
half quits on a monthly basis.”

Trent
glowered. “Which supports why I like illegals. You give them a job and they do
it. They don’t leave in a fit the first time I yell. Besides, they aren’t
technically illegal. They’re here on student visas, studying agriculture and
sanitation.”

“You might
want to check with Mars on the educational loophole. I believe they closed it
several years ago.”

“I don’t care
what they closed. Those workers are mine, and neither your friend Joey nor
anyone else can have them. They belong to me!”

“Yes, em,
Masta Trent,” he replied like a slave out of
Gone with the Wind
.

Trent pushed
the button to raise the privacy window then opened his laptop and wrote a
compelling explanation to Carrie as to why she had no reason to be a mess.
Unfortunately, when he hit send, the email didn’t do its job. It just sat
there. Finally, after a hundred clicks on send, he noticed the box in the
bottom left hand corner telling him he had no internet connection.

“I don’t need
the damn internet. I just want to send an email!”

In
exasperation, he rolled down the privacy window.

“Any idea why
my email isn’t working?”

He expected
Sam to snap back that his job requirements didn’t include systems specialist. Instead,
he reached across the dash and flipped a switch. “Try it now.”

Trent clicked
the send button again and this time it went. “Finally! What does my car have to
do with sending emails?”

Sam sighed,
which made Trent suspect he should already know the answer.

“You insisted
on an armored car capable of stopping bullets from ruining your day. However,
all this metal comes with costs. One being it’s a gas guzzler and the second
being your satellite internet service cannot penetrate the cage.”

“That’s unacceptable!”

“Which is
precisely what you told the salesman. So he upgraded you to the top of the line
model which has a special antennae allowing communication between your
protected space and the satellite above.”

“Why did you
have it off?”

“I only turn
it on if Carrie’s in the car. I had no idea you could even type an email, much
less want to send one.”

“Well, I can!”
Trent snapped and leaned back.

Actually, he
couldn’t type. His father had forbidden him to learn. Called it a ‘task of the
little people.’

While Carrie
was
little, and she did normally handle all his typing, Trent still resented his
father’s bad advice, because the hunt-and-peck technique on a jumbled mess of
keys proved to be a tedious process. Would it have killed them to put the keys
in alphabetical order?

* * *

Dreams of
destitution woke Carrie up an hour into her sleep. She stumbled to her home
office to begin a search for jobs on the internet. Within a half-hour, her
spirit hit a deeper rock-bottom. Every job even close to what she did—had done,
she corrected herself—required a master’s degree from a top-ranked business
school.

She’d never
realized how lucky she’d been the day she walked past Lancaster’s Chairs and interviewed
for the job as his EA. Turned out, well-educated people coveted the position
even more than a management job, which she lacked the qualifications for as
well.

Tears welled
in her eyes. She had no clue how she’d gotten the position, or how she’d lost
it. Maybe Trent had just realized, with Coco’s help, that his EA wasn’t
qualified. God knows, based on the job requirements listed on the internet, she
wasn’t even close.

No longer
having the energy or courage to look for lesser jobs she might be qualified to
do, she opened her emails.

Among a great
deal of complaints from the staff, she spotted a message from Trent.

Her heart
filled with trepidation. Did she really want to know what it said? Would
confirming she was grossly under-qualified for her position make her feel
better?

Her mouse cursor
hung over the delete command, but she couldn’t pull the trigger. She had to
know. Otherwise, she’d never get beyond this.

She opened it
and stared in bewilderment. At first glance, it looked like the messages her
college roommate’s cat would type when it strolled across the keyboard.