Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

  He felt as if the heavens had opened and rays of Carrie shone down upon him. She’d never been ‘just an employee’ but now he realized how critical she’d become to his happiness. Carrie was the sun to his earth, rotating around him, warming his life.

  Never would he let his sun wander off again.

  —Sunday—

  Chapter 1

  Carrie Hanson stumbled off the plane with swollen, aching feet. She’d endured seventeen hours of turbulence, crying babies, and the crush of the middle seat in the back of the plane. Evidently, the man behind her didn’t appreciate her slow escape from the plane from hell. The moment she stepped from the plane onto the ramp, he shoved past her, sending her straight into a handsome flight attendant’s chest.

  Righting herself, her face flushed with a mix of outrage and embarrassment.

  “You all right, miss?” the attendant asked. A lock of blonde hair fell out of place and hung above his concerned baby blues.

  “I’m fine. My feet just went to sleep on the flight.”

  The guy knelt down, lifted her pants leg, and studied her ankles. “They look a little swollen. If that doesn’t clear up before you leave the airport, you should see a doctor. You could have DVT.”

  Taking her arm, he escorted her down the chute to the main building. “That’s when blood clots form in the veins due to the lack of exercise. Were you in coach?”

  She grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. This was the only flight available.”

  He nodded in sympathy. “Everyone wanted out of Taiwan before the typhoon hit.”

  As they entered the lobby, someone gripped her arm and pulled her away from the attendant. She looked up at Trent Lancaster, her out-of-sorts, but excessively good-looking, boss.

  “Thank God! I feared you’d missed your flight and were now stuck in a hurricane.”

  “Typhoon,” the attendant corrected him.

  Trent glared at the young man then at Carrie, evidently holding her responsible for the fellow’s audacity to correct him. “Who’s this?”

  She was tempted to declare the guy a souvenir from Taiwan, but changed her mind. Trent’s angry eyes indicated he had no sense of humor right now.

  “I’m Carl Lite,” the attendant said to Carrie, holding out his hand.

  She shook it then looked up at her six-foot boss looming over her like an angry bear, albeit one with perfectly cut hair and manicured nails. “This is Carl Lite. He’s the flight attendant who saved me from falling on my face when leaving the plane.” She refocused on Carl and gave him a playful curtsey. “Thank you for your rescue, kind sir.”

  The young man grinned. “My pleasure. Don’t forget what I said about your ankles.”

  “I…”

  Trent had evidently grown tired of their chitchat and pulled her away.

  “…won’t. Bye,” she called out as her ill-tempered boss dragged her down the busy corridor.

  She focused on keeping up with the grump. “Has something happened?” He hadn’t been this out-of-sorts in quite awhile. In fact, for the six months before she’d headed to Taiwan, he’d been so pleasant she’d begun to like him. However, his lack of replies to her email updates during her month in Taiwan had worried her and his present bad behavior bordered on annoying.

  He glared at her. “Ankles?”

  “Pardon?”

  “He was discussing your ankles!”

  “And?” Exhaustion no doubt impaired her thinking, but honestly, he normally made more sense than this.

  Trent stopped abruptly, his firm grip pulling her to a halt. A heavy body crashed into her back. A man cursed and rushed ahead.

  She moved in front of her boss so his tall, broad-shouldered body could block the angry stream of traffic. “Has something happened at work? Did I do something wrong, or not do something? You seem pissed off at me, and I haven’t a clue as to why.” Being forthright always worked best with Trent. He respected that.

  Pinching the bridge of his perfect nose, he closed his eyes. “Other than your absence from work, nothing’s wrong.”

  My absence from work?

  Anger began a slow burn in her chest. “You do realize I was in Taiwan improving their margins. That was work. Hard work…Miserable work, if I’m being honest. No one likes having their expenses cut, so I’ve just spent a month in a foreign country where I know no one, don’t speak the language, and had to deal with angry, uncooperative people. And now I come home to a snarly boss declaring my trip a vacation of some sort!”

  He settled his giant hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant when you aren’t with me, nothing seems to go right.”

  She couldn’t stay angry when he humbled himself like that. Apologizing was contrary to his nature. Yet even here, in a mass of people, he’d stepped back when she called him out for crossing the line. Intending to reward his bravery, she attempted a smile, but a giant yawn burst out instead.

  Turning her around, he hurried her to customs. As they entered the long queue for a customs gate, an oddity crept into her tired brain. “How did you happen to be at my gate?”

  “I didn’t happen to be at your gate. I waited for you, for several hours, in fact. You were late.”

  He said this as if she had some say to when her plane took off, and as annoying as she found his attitude, she really wanted to stay on topic. “I meant how did you get to the gate? You can’t just wander in and wait for planes anymore.”

  His brow furrowed. “So I discovered when Security refused me entrance. You have to have a ticket to enter.”

  She waited for him to explain how he’d managed to get around the rule then realized for a man with more money than he knew what to do with, the solution was simple.

  “You bought a ticket?”

  He nodded once. “You once said I should visit Peru. So I bought a one-way, first class ticket.”

  She grimaced at how much that must have cost. “A round trip coach would have been cheaper.”

  His brow rose in what she called his ‘upper class disgust’ expression. “I would never fly coach.”

  “But you didn’t plan to fly. You simply bought a loophole to get past the security gates. May I see your packet?”

  Trent reached into the vest of his custom tailored suit, extracting a slender folder.

  She studied the ticket, sucking in a breath when she got to the price tag. $5,131. She breathed out when she read further. “Thank God. It’s refundable.”

  As Carrie returned the packet, she noticed the pride in his eyes.

  He thwacked the ticket on her head, playfully. “You see. Your cost-saving tirades have not been in vain. I specifically asked for refundable.”

  She patted his muscular arm. “Good boy.” For once, he’d managed to do something without creating more problems than he solved.

  When they approached the Customs officer together, she learned a few things about Customs agents: they don't like people arriving together at their station if they haven’t flown on the same flight and they are not amused when rich tycoons buy a ticket to skirt security regulations.

  Instead of going home and getting some sleep, Carrie spent the next three hours sitting on a hard plastic chair while Trent’s lawyer negotiated their release.

  Having no control over the matter but assured Trent’s lawyer, Mr. Sedita, was more than capable of taking on the American government, Carrie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the hard concrete wall.

  “Don’t do that. The wall is filthy,” Trent complained and moved her head to his warm, comparatively soft chest. Way too tired to object, she sighed with happiness at the change of pillows and fell into the oblivion of sleep.

  ***

  Her forehead furrowed even in her sleep. Trent pressed his lips to the tiny creases, worried he’d caused her troubled dreams. He hadn’t meant to get them arrested. He’d just wanted to meet her at the gate. How that turned into a security crisis, he still had no idea. He’d followed their stupid rules and bought a dam
n ticket. Nowhere did it say you actually had to leave the country. If they require such then they should post a sign stating so.

  She murmured something in her sleep that sounded like, “Margins need to be 30%.” He chuckled at his tenacious EA still arguing with the Taiwan managers even in her sleep. At least she didn’t dream about the playboy flight attendant.

  Thank God, he’d arrived in time to save her. She had no experience with wolves in color-coordinated polyester. Poor thing was as naïve as a newborn kitten. Hell, to his knowledge, she hadn’t dated anyone since she’d come to work for him two years ago. The blond Adonis would’ve had her in his camper bed within a half-hour.

  In the morning, Carrie would have hated herself.

  He slipped his arm around her and shifted his body a bit so she could rest more comfortably on his chest. Thank God, he finally had her back. He felt better already. He’d be even happier once David made these idiots realize saving a young lady from the seductive hands of a flight attendant did not in any way constitute an act of terrorism.

  The door opened and David entered with a man wearing a rumpled, poorly cut suit. “Trent, this is Mr. Adams. He has personally signed your release but wishes to hear your assurance that you will never pull this stunt again.”

  David’s glare warned him not to screw around with this request.

  Trent looked up at the man. “I assure you I will never do this again.” In the future, if had to send Carrie anywhere, he would go with her.

  The man studied him. His hard, angry eyes softened when they lit on Carrie. “Then you’re free to go.”

  Trent stood and lifted Carrie into his arms. He now towered over the little man in the bad suit. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are full.”

  A faint smile came to the man’s thin lips as he stepped back so Trent could get the hell out of there.

  As they walked down the corridor, David fell in line with him. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s just exhausted from working twenty hours a day, enduring a hellish flight in coach, and then having these idiots arrest her for terrorism.”

  “Lower your voice,” David snapped. “The only reason I got you off with no charges, is because I convinced Mr. Adams you were besotted with the young lady and the month separation had impaired your normally good sense.”

  Trent glared at him. “I am not besotted. Though, my life has been utter hell without her. She seems to be the only damn person worth a dime in my company. Nobody else knows their asshole from a golf hole.”

  David’s eyebrows rose. “Should I go back and tell Mr. Adams I erred and you had no valid reasons for your misbehavior?”

  “Not if you want to be paid.”

  “Given you dragged me out here at midnight…trust me, I wish to be paid.”

  “And so you shall be.” He smiled as the glass doors opened for him automatically. He liked automatic doors. They gave him the respect he deserved. He already had one installed in the lobby of his company, but maybe he’d have Carrie look into the cost of putting one in his private office.

  He walked directly to the space his limo had been six hours before. An old green Subaru in desperate need of a wash sat in its place. “Where the hell is my car?”

  David pointed to the sign Temporary Parking, Violators will be towed. “I hope you had a driver.”

  “I did. So where is he?”

  Carrie muttered, “Call him.”

  Startled, he looked down at her but she still slept peacefully. Damn if she didn’t have good advice even in her dreams. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reach his phone with her in his arms, and she’d definitely wake up if he put her down. “David, reach into my side pants pocket and pull out my phone.

  “You could just…” David rolled his eyes and retrieved the phone. “Not besotted, right,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Dial two and put it to my ear.”

  He did as requested.

  Trent’s driver answered on the first ring.

  “Sam, where are you?”

  “Getting gas. I’ve been circling so long the tank was almost empty. Where are you?”

  “Waiting where you left me.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Make it five.” He looked at David “Snap it closed.”

  His lawyer gently closed the phone.

  Trent glared. Why couldn’t anyone follow his instructions? “I said snap it. I wished to communicate my displeasure.”

  “Over what? Did he give up on you and go home?”

  “No, he went for gas.”

  The man shook his head. “Would you rather have him wait until you were in the car before taking you to some creepy station in Newark? Or better yet, run out of gas on your way home?”

  “Enough. You’re starting to sound like Carrie. I know I’m being unreasonable. I’ve had a terrible month and my fountain of reasonableness is tapped out.”

  David leaned over and studied Carrie, then placed his fingertips on her neck.

  “What are you doing?” Trent snapped. God, did the entire male race need to touch his employee?

  “Checking to see if she has a pulse. I’m shocked anyone could sleep through this.”

  “Does she?” he asked in a panic. What if she got DVT while crammed in coach?

  His lawyer shook his head slowly and laughed. “She’s alive.”

  “Then why did you just shake your head?”

  “Because you keep saying you aren’t besotted.”

  “Damn it, David. You gave me a heart attack just because you’re a closet romantic? I’m telling you there’s nothing going on between us. She’s my employee, nothing more.” God only knows what would happen if the matrons of society thought he was dumpster diving. They’d make his life utter hell and rip poor Carrie to shreds.

  David studied him for a long moment. “Are you saying you’ve never…?”

  “No, never. Not even a kiss.”

  “Any reason why not? I mean she’s…”

  Trent’s glare silenced him.

  Moments later a limo weaved through the crowded lanes of traffic, causing a great deal of ill will among the other drivers, which they expressed in a cacophony of horn blasts, shaking fists, and flying birds. Sam brought the car to a screeching halt, triple parking in the road.

  Trent slipped into the back seat, still holding Carrie in his arms. He jostled her a bit, but she just muttered something about cash flow and resumed her sleep. Trent held his hand up to David in a gesture of goodbye and thanks right before his driver zoomed them away.

  Closing his eyes, Trent enjoyed the pleasure of Carrie’s body pressed against his.

  His eyes popped open in horror. Oh God, David’s right. I am besotted.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  Statistically, his relationships never lasted more than a month and they always ended badly. A billionaire who couldn’t make a relationship last more than a month. How horrible did he have to be to chase off women who had a billion reasons to stick it out?

  If he became involved with his most valuable employee, in a month, she’d dump him and quit. Then his business would collapse into chaos and he’d finally prove his father right. The old man constantly claimed Trent was a worthless human being and the world’s worst businessman. Once his father died, his prophecy proved true. No matter what Trent did, the business fell deeper in debt.

  And then Carrie arrived and single handedly saved his company. She never gave up. If one solution failed, she’d find another way to resolve the problem.

  He smiled at his sleeping EA. If anyone could make him into a better man, it would be her. Carrie could solve any problem, had the patience of a saint, and the determination of a pitbull. Best of all, she loved a challenge.

  —Monday—

  Chapter 2

  Still groggy from sleep, Carrie sat up. She’d just had the craziest dreams about typhoons, and being arrested at the airport. She focused on the silk damask curtains and what looked to be a real cr
ystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted dome ceiling. An elegant Victorian style desk caught her eye from the left side of the massive room.

  Where am I?

  A possible answer came to her as she spotted the melted watch painting on the wall. It looked like the Dali she had helped Trent insure last year. With all the fake Dali’s on the market, she’d spent countless hours proving provenance to the insurer’s satisfaction.

  She threw back the silk sheets, intending to move closer for a better look, but lost focus when she realized she’d slept in her gray linen travel pantsuit, now wrinkled beyond redemption.

  Well the good news was she escaped the typhoon, made it back to New Jersey, and evidently didn’t get arrested for Trent’s one-way ticket fiasco. Bad news: Instead of taking her to her home, Trent has taken her to his estate.

  The door burst open and Trent strode in, followed by a man dressed in a black suit, carrying a tray of food. “Good, you’re finally awake. Saves me from having to throw cold water on you.”

  Trent sat on her bed as he pointed to the desk. “Put her breakfast there.”

  “On the one of a kind, heirloom desk, which has been in your family since 1845?” his butler asked.

  “Yes.”

  “No!” Carrie yelled over him. “Let’s put it on the bed stand.” She pushed the Tiffany lamp further back to make room.

  “Thank you, miss,” the butler said as he placed the silver tray on the stand and then stepped back. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No,” her grumpy boss snapped. The moment the butler stepped into the hall, Trent slammed the door closed and glared at Carrie. “Do not countermand my orders to the staff. They’re impossible enough already.”

  She chuckled. “I’m sure they say the same about you.” The tantalizing aroma of her food caught her attention. Unable to resist, she peeked beneath the silver lid.

  Trent sat a foot away from her on the bed and sniffed at her plate. “I told the cook she’d be fired if you didn’t eat it.”

  “If you actually said that, you should go downstairs and apologize. You appear to have a wonderful cook and should value her.”