At Mr. Cartwright's Command

by Ash, Ingrid

  I finally find the flower shop again, taking a deep breath before entering.

  The sweet aroma of the florals wafts around me as I step inside. There are a few customers browsing throughout the shop, and a woman frantically fiddling with an arrangement at a desk towards the back.

  I move towards her, noticing that she's having issues securing a bow around one of her arrangements. “Do you need some help with that?” I ask. She looks up at me through her long, brown hair that's fallen casually in her face. I grab the edges of the bow and hold them in place for her before she can even respond.

  “Thanks,” she says with a friendly smile. “You'd think I'd be a little better at this considering I own a flower shop and all.”

  “Are you Melissa?”

  Her smile and eyes grow brighter. “I am, it's nice to meet you.”

  I shake her hand and say. “I knew because you emailed me yesterday. I'm Tamara, I'm here for the interview.”

  She looks slightly surprised – but pleasantly so – as she steals a glance at my clothing. “Oh, hi Tamara! You're early,” she says.

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “No, no, you're fine! We appreciate that. I'm not used to doing arrangements but Connor insisted on interviewing all the potentials today.” She sounded playfully annoyed. “He says I've only hired duds so far,” she said whispered with a smile.

  “Did someone call my name?” I hear a male voice call out from the other side of the room. Standing in a door way I see a rather tall man dressed in slacks with a teal sweater over a white button down and tie.

  Melissa laughs and says, “Speak of the devil. Tamara, this is Connor. He'll be interviewing you today.”

  I move across the room towards him. He reaches for my hand and says, “Connor, Connor Fredrick. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I reply.

  “Just follow me. Since you're here before anyone else I can go ahead and take you first.”

  It pays to be the early bird.

  I follow Connor into the back of the shop, where he leads me into a well decorated office and beckons me to take a seat across from his desk. I wait patiently for a moment as he pulls up my resume on his Mac and studies it with furrowed brows.

  “There isn't much on your resume,” he starts, and I try not to take it as a blow to my confidence, “but Melissa really likes you.”

  I smile.

  He turns to me and says, “I'll admit, my sister is a little bit of a snob.”

  My brows narrow in confusion “I don't quite understand?”

  “I mean, I have to ask myself, why does an obviously well kept woman like yourself need – or hell even want – an entry level job like this?”

  Oh, right. The address, the clothes, the lack of work experience – he probably thinks I'm some sort of socialite, and the fact that the opposite is true is morbidly amusing.

  “Well,” I start to speak before I realize that trying to explain this situation would be more complicated than I bargained for. And how exactly do I tell a boss that I'm sleeping with a rich guy for an apartment? “I've always wanted to get into this industry,” total bullshit, “so I figured why not now? I do have the time, after all.”

  Connor smiles and nods. It's working.

  “Cool, very cool,” he says and proceeds to explain the ins and outs of his business, what my role would be and how many hours I would be working. He tells me that their wedding season is right around the corner, which is the main reason why they're bringing on a couple more people. It doesn't sound particularly glamorous, or even exciting, but it doesn't bother me – a job is a job, I knew a good one when I saw it.

  After that he asks me a few questions about myself, which are pretty much the generic interview flair – what are your strengths and weaknesses, what do you bring to the table, how would you handle a conflict between your co-workers. I surprise even myself at how well I handle them.

  “So, Tamara, do you have any questions for me?”

  “What made you decide that you wanted to do this?”

  Connor leaned back and laughed. “Well I was lucky to have really supportive parents who encouraged me to follow my dreams. I mean, I was going to be an accountant, can you imagine that? I had this idea in my head that I needed to be practical. But Melissa wouldn't stand for it – she's the brains behind this organization. She got us a great investment and, well, the rest is history.”

  I smile and nod. “That's an awesome story. How do you guys balance work life and married life?” I ask.

  His face goes blank. “Did you think? Oh god. Melissa is my sister.”

  I feel my face flush with embarrassment. Good job Tamara, you just had to go and fuck a good thing up, didn't you? “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I--”

  He laughs nervously and cuts off my sentence. “It's okay, honest mistake! And we still like you,” he says with a wink. Thank God! “In fact I'm sure Melissa wouldn't mind if I hired you right now on the spot. So what do you say?”

  My face lights up and for a second I question if I heard him right. “You—I...but the other applicants...” What the hell I wrong with me?

  “Hey, do you want this job or not?” he jokes.

  “Yes! I do, of course. I absolutely want it.”

  He stands up from behind the desk with a laugh. “Great. We're happy to have you on board, and I hope you can start this weekend?”

  “Absolutely. I'll be here.”

  Connor flashes a grin at me. “Perfect.”

  I leave ecstatic.

  *

  Things are good. I'm 4 days into my new job, it's fun and fulfilling and my bosses love me. I'm still living in the penthouse, and I haven't seen or heard from Mr. Cartwright since the last night in his chamber.

  I'm not sure if that last part is good or bad. Let's just say it's something I'm content with. For now.

  Today I'm opening the store on my own – trying to tidy up in the back a bit before any customers arrive, and of course, I hear the door open just seconds after I officially open up shop.

  “Can I help you?” I call out to them as I rush to the front of the store.

  A petite woman stands in the doorway wearing a cream colored designer coat and heels. Her sleek high ponytail bounces behind her a she turns towards me and greets me with pursed lips and wide eyes that are framed with fake lashes. It's Veronica – the last person I ever wanted to see again.

  Her eyes narrow and flutter when she sees me. “Do I know you from someplace?” she asks in a completely unconvincing manner – if she weren't a customer I would totally roll my eye at her.

  “From the agency,” I respond flatly.

  “Oh, that's right. So how did your little audition go?” she asks with a smug smile.

  “Actually it went very well,” I respond with a bit of smugness myself.

  I watch my eyes travel down me – I'm wearing my smock now but she stops at my boots and I see a flash of something in her eyes – envy?

  “Are those Valentino?” She sounds shocked and almost appalled.

  “Um, I don't know?” It's not like I checked the label.

  She looks back up at me with contempt. “That collection isn't even in stores yet. How the hell did you get them?”

  Okay, now this bitch is getting me heated and I fold my arms defensively across my chest. Who the hell does she think she is walking in here and questioning me?

  “Oh, I have my ways,” I reply slyly. “Like I said, my interview with Mr. Cartwright went well – very well.”

  Her mouth opens in shock, but she doesn't say anything. I only smirk at her on the outside, but I'm howling with laughter on the inside. She turns quickly on her stiletto's and heads for the door.

  I laugh and say, “I think you forgot your flowers?”

  She stops in the door, silent for a moment before she turns back to me. The look on her face catches me completely off guard – her features are softer and she almost looks sad?

  “He'll only break your hear
t,” she says quietly, “trust me, I know.” And then she leaves.

  She's just trying to fuck with me. Although I tried not to focus on it, in the back of my mind I always assumed that I wasn't Mr. Cartwright's only girl. I'm too much of a pessimist not too, and too much of a realist to pretend like it didn't bother me. But now it absolutely burns me. A nameless faceless woman in another continent is one thing. A woman I actually know of is another. But Veronica of all people? That was a whole different level of unacceptable.

  I wanted to run after her, pull her by her little blonde ponytail and extract the truth from her, but I couldn't. It wouldn't just look petty but it would prove that she succeeded in getting under my skin, and that's something I refuse to acknowledge.

  I spend the rest of the day in a bit of a trance, even to the point where Melissa asks me if everything is okay. I force myself to snap out of it before the day ends.

  After I get home I relax and lollygag around the apartment without anything especially important to do. It isn't until I’m already curled up in bed that I can't find the urge to contact him.

  TAMARA: Hey we need to talk.

  MR. CARTRIGHT: Why are you txting me?

  TAMARA: Refer to my first msg

  MR. CARTRIGHT: I’m not even in the country

  do NOT txt me unless I txt you first

  TAMARA: When are u coming back?

  MR. CARTRIGHT: that’s none of your fucking business

  TAMARA: A little rude dont u think??

  MR. CARTRIGHT: ...for your own sake Im going to pretend like

  this conversation never happened

  good night tamara

  Ugh. He is impossible, and I want to throw my phone against the wall, but I don't. He demands to know everything about who I am yet he refuses to reveal even the smallest things about himself to me.

  Oh, right. It's all part of the deal. A deal he never laid out the rules for, yet he expects me to follow them to a tee.

  TAMARA: This is exactly why we need to talk... you

  have this deal of urs but you never

  explain how it works.

  It takes around 15 minutes before he replies to me, but I see the ellipses show up on the bottom of my screen several time and I know

  MR. CARTRIGHT: U put out, I pay for all your shit

  How hard is that for you to understand?

  YOU should just be happy your

  not sleeping on the STREET

  We will discuss this when I get back

  Dont fucking txt me.

  I'm not sure if it's because I like to torture myself or not, but I read over his words multiple times and they just make me more and more angry each time – so angry that I want to cry. I can't understand what I said to tick him off to the point of being unnecessarily mean.

  I don't text him back and I drift off to sleep the unhappiest I've been in a very long time.

  *

  Melissa comes in the back as I'm fiddling with the arrangements. She looks slightly disturbed. “Hey, some guy is here to see you,” she says.

  “To see me?” I reply. It's not like I knew anyone in the city who would just drop by and say hello.

  She nods. “Yeah and honestly, he seems kind of pissed.”

  I'm speechless and I feel as if my heart stops in my chest. It couldn't be him. But how could he know....shit. Veronica. Nervously, I remove my apron and stall for a moment. I look up at Melissa and she shifts in the door frame looking concerned.

  “I'm not trying to intrude but, if this guys your boyfriend and--”

  I shake my head and cut her off. “No, no he's not my boyfriend.”

  “You're damn right I'm not.”

  My body goes stiff and my muscles tighten when I hear his voice. Mr. Cartwright's heavy lidded eyes are dark and angry as he pushes past Melissa and into the backroom. I back away from him as he looms near me, fists and jaw clenched.

  “Hey buddy, this is employees only! You need to get out of here before I call the cops on you!”

  I cup my hands over my mouth as I watch his fiery eyes turn towards her. Getting myself in trouble with Mr. Cartwright was bad enough – dragging anyone else into this mess was downright shameful.

  “Shut up, I practically own this place, you wouldn't even be in business if it weren't for me.”

  “What? I don't even know who the hell you are! Now get out of my shop before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

  “I'll leave as soon as Tamara is ready,” he says as he averts his attention back to me. “And I'm sorry to say she's going to have to tender her resignation, effective immediately.”

  I stand and watch in horror as Melissa darts in between us.

  “You know what? The last time I checked, she's a grown woman who can make her own decisions. Her resignation doesn't mean anything unless I hear it from her.”

  “You guys, stop!” I chime in.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” he growls at Melissa.

  “Enough! Let's go,” I shout as I move from my corner, taking Mr. Cartwright, who's locked in a death stare with my boss, by the arm. “Now!”

  “Tamara, you don't have to do this. I can call the police,” Melissa says.

  “It's fine. I have it under control,” I respond.

  Mr. Cartwright pulls his arm away from me and moves to lead me out through the shop. “You have a wonderful rest of the day,” he turns and says to Melissa with a smug smile.

  His limo is waiting outside – I shuffle in and he enters after me.

  “Drive,” he commands the driver as he shuts the door.

  The ride is bumpy and traffic is nearly stagnant – I fold my arms over my chest and glance out of the window, away from him. I can already feel his gaze on me.

  “Your ex boss is a bit of a bitch,” he says, to which I don't reply. Out of the corner of my eye I see him lean in towards me and I want to jerk away but there just isn't enough room. “You know you're really fucking stubborn.”

  “I'm stubborn? I try to ask you one question and you blow up at me!”

  “I don't owe you anything. That's not how this deal works, you know that. When we get back to the apartment you can pack your things.”

  His words hit me like a wrecking ball, but I should have expected it. I knew I was playing with fire. But did he really have to be so cruel and not even consider my side of things? My mouth opens and I want to retaliate, but nothing comes out minus a few pathetic sounding whimpers that I'll only be embarrassed about later. I've never begged or pleaded anyone for anything in my life, and considering where I've come from, that's saying a lot. I turn towards the window, unable to fight the sting of hot tears that well up in my eyes.

  The ride back is long and awkward as we both sit stoically in our respective corners.

  I keep my distance from him when we finally arrive. He follows me through the lobby, up the elevator, and into the penthouse. I go straight for the closet when I get there, quickly realizing that nothing in it is mine. Hell, nothing in this apartment is mine, with the exception of one ratty old outfit, a pair of tennis shoes, and my phone. And now I can't control the single tear that purges my eyes. You really had to go and fuck up everything, didn't you Tamara?

  I close the doors and dig out my old outfit, which I buried deep in one of the dresser drawers so I wouldn't have to look at it every day. But I always knew it was there. I considered throwing it out, but something told me to hold on to it. Glad I trusted my gut.

  I strip off my designer duds, trading them in for my original look. With a sigh, I dump out the contents of my Celine tote, quickly realizing I don't even have a bag to put anything in.

  So I stick my phone in my back pocket instead.

  Mr. Cartwright is leaning against the sofa in the living room with his broody heavy lids directed towards the floor. I look away when he looks up at me, saying nothing.

  “Let's go.”

  Within a few minutes we're back in his private car, headed who knows where. I wonder if he'll drop me
off in the same place his driver originally found me, which would be fine with me because at least I could get a hamburger before wandering back to the shelter.

  The shelter.

  My stomach twists in knots just thinking about it.

  We drive and we drive. My mind is too preoccupied to pay attention to time, but I'm quite sure that we've been driving too long. The bright lights and commotion of the city has gone away, replaced rolling hills and the occasional spurts of suburban tract housing. The houses get larger and larger as we go.

  The car starts to creep up an incline and the distance between the homes begin to expand. I can't really even see them now, most are at least half obscured behind trees and hills, but the roofs are vast. I glance over at Mr. Cartwright, who looks as lost in thought as I was, glaring out his side window. Where the hell is he taking me? Is he just going to just drop me off in the middle of the forest somewhere?

  Finally the car begins to slow, stopping at a large metal gate. I peer out the front window and notice the letter C monogrammed on each side. My eyes dart back to Mr. Cartwright as the driver punches in the key code. He brought me to his house?

  I can't help but look at the home in awe. Calling it a house is an understatement – it's an estate. A sprawling estate. It resembles a Tuscan villa more than a single family home, with beautiful old world inspired architecture, marble steps, and just enough moss crawling up the sides to give it character. It reminds me off a home I saw in a magazine once when I was a kid – the kind of place I could only dream of ever setting foot in.

  I suppose sometimes, rarely, dreams actually can come true?

  The car stops and I stare at Mr. Cartwright, who doesn't dare look back at me. The driver hops out and opens my car door, and I step out to take in the majestic home in person.

  “Ah, Miss Pierce! It's been so long!”

  I would know Ronald’s voice anywhere. I hear him call out to me and it breaks me out of my reverie. He comes bounding down the stairs towards us with a jolly smile and I force a smile across my face.