Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

  “It is?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?” “

  “Because when you use your credit card, you engage in a contract between you and the provider, in which you agree to pay for the credit you received.”

  He glared at her. “I did mention last night I graduated from Harvard, right? Because you are presently talking to me like I’m an idiot.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…” She had been talking down to him, not like he was an idiot, but more like an alien from outer space. “Clearly credit card companies treat people like you very differently than normal people like me.”

  He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “So I’m no longer considered ‘normal’?”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off a headache. “I seem to have foot-in-the-mouth disease today. Perhaps you should see the client alone. God only knows what I might say.”

  When the elevator doors opened, he chuckled and pulled her along with him. “I’ll risk it.”

  * * * *

  Trent waited in the car studying the past contracts with the customer while Carrie ran into Macy’s.

  Upon reviewing the paperwork, he understood Max’s unhappiness. He’d recently bought their cheapest line of chairs. Trent’s anger at his sales force bloomed into murderous rage. They couldn’t sell water to a man dying in the desert!

  The moment Sam popped from the car, Trent looked up.

  Carrie had left the limo wearing hideous brown pants that made her look twenty pounds overweight and a baggy knit shirt that hid her lovely breasts. She limped out of Macy’s wearing a professional and flattering blue suit with a white silk blouse.

  Sam opened the door and caught her arm when she almost tumbled into the limo. Trent assisted her onto her seat and watched her glare at her high heel shoes. “I should never have let the shoe guy convince me to buy these death traps.”

  Of all the women Trent had dated, not one had ever tripped in heels. Stiletto were a natural and beautiful extension of their perfect legs and, as far as he could tell, what they loved most of all in life.

  Not so with Carrie. They proved repeatedly not to be a natural extension of her legs and she left no doubt she hated them as much as they appeared to hate her.

  “You can’t trip while we’re with the customer,” he warned.

  “Tell them!” she snapped and gestured to her lovely shoes.

  Hoping to put her in a better mood, he reached down and pulled her left foot onto his lap. “Lovely shoe, if you trip my dear EA while she dazzles the client, I will drown you in the Hudson River, and no one will ever see your spiky heel again.”

  Her foot began to spasm.

  She laughed and extracted it from his lap. “You’ve terrified it into submission. Leave it alone now.”

  “Should I talk to the other?”

  “No. The left foot has shared your threat and they are both cowed. Thank you for your ever so helpful intervention.”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms, pleased with a job well done. Carrie’s good mood had returned. Most of the women he knew would stay angry for days, but not Carrie. Her natural state seemed to be a happy one.

  Life would be so much nicer if his entire staff preferred a state of happiness to eternal surliness. “When we interview potential employees, I’m going to tell jokes. If they don’t genuinely laugh, we won’t hire them.”

  She grimaced. “Test your jokes out on me first. I’d hate to lose a good candidate because you aren’t funny.”

  He was funny for a non-comedian. “Maybe I should ask Tiny to interview them,” he grumbled.

  She burst into howls of laughter, so contagious, he soon laughed with her. The potential for outrageous behaviors became endless if Tiny conducted the interviews.

  His driver pulled the car to the side, popped out, and opened the back door, handing Carrie a clean white handkerchief to dry her eyes.

  Sam’s impersonation of a proper driver baffled Trent. He might have thought the guy had finally decided to do his job properly, but the call last night assured him, deep down, Sam hadn't changed. No, his devious driver had something up his sleeve.

  While the fellow would never give him the deference due his position, at least last night indicated they had reached some level of détente. However, if he pulled something involving Carrie, Trent would fire him no matter what promises he’d made to his father.

  Stupid request anyway. Why would his father care if he fired a driver or not? Why did that require a deathbed promise? The old man had some compelling reason, which naturally, he didn’t share with Trent.

  He studied the dark-haired driver as he assisted Carrie from the car. Sam had to know why he received a lifetime job, but Trent doubted he’d share the information.

  Sam’s hand gripped Carrie’s arm. Not unreasonable given the ongoing war with her shoes. But he still didn’t like it.

  He climbed out without assistance, not that Sam offered. His driver continued to hold on to Carrie’s arm. Was he hitting on her?

  He wouldn’t dare.

  Trent pressed his hand to Carrie’s back and moved her away from his disturbing, contentious, fire-resistant driver.

  He should’ve asked his father why Sam required a job for life. Had he, the old man would've responded with a lecture that a Lancaster never explains his actions.

  As a possible answer came to mind, Trent stumbled across the lobby and Carrie had to grab his arm.

  “Shall I threaten your shoes for you?” she asked.

  He forced a smile to his face, as acid burned his stomach lining. Sam must have something on his father that would embarrass the family name.

  ***

  When Max rolled out a two-legged chair for inspection, Carrie took charge, first asking if anyone had been hurt.

  Her sincere concern distracted Max from his anger. He chuckled and told of an incident that left a vocal Director of the Board tipped over and rattled. “Fred wasn’t hurt, but it did shut him up so we could vote and end the meeting. Still, I’m worried one of my employees could get hurt.”

  She nodded in agreement then went into a technical discussion of why the chair failed. Once she explained that the low cost chair he’d bought didn’t work in conference rooms, Carrie followed with how they could solve his problem.

  Trent watched in amazement as she up-sold the man to proper director chairs made to endure the strain of heavy men leaning back for hours. She offered to credit the full cost he’d paid for the other chairs off a discounted price for their best director chairs.

  He quickly did the math in his head and realized the price she offered still left them with a profit, only a bit lower than normal.

  Max seemed delighted with solution. “I’d like to buy the same upscale chairs for all my employees.”

  Carrie touched his arm. “Your employees would be happier with a lesser-cost chair made specifically for them. I have one myself and it’s the best chair I’ve ever worked in.”

  When they left the customer, they not only had a new contract worth $280,000, but they had turned a dissatisfied customer into a happy one, now more loyal to Lancaster Chairs than ever.

  The moment she followed Trent into the limo, he ruffled her hair.

  “Hey!” She ducked away and swatted at his hand.

  He leaned back, feeling life had turned itself right again. “I should make you head of sales. You kicked ass in there.”

  She smiled as she retrieved a brush from her purse and detangled her hair. “He had a real issue. Hal, or whichever sales guy Hal stole the contract from, sold them the wrong chairs.”

  “I agree and thought your solution pure brilliance. When we get our new staff, I want you to teach the sales people how to sell.”

  “Does that mean we can focus on getting our HR person now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She turned to Sam and gave him an address.

  Instead of waiting for Trent to approve it, Sam headed off to his n
ew destination.

  So much for pretending to be the perfect driver. Sam did whatever he damn well pleased. What did the guy have on his father to warrant a guaranteed job? Honestly, he would have expected his father to hire an assassin if anyone dared try to blackmail him.

  Maybe he let Sam live because the cretin had only asked for a job. He received the same pay as the driver before him, and he could handle a car better than anyone. So said the Driving Academy, at least.

  Maybe Sam hadn’t blackmailed his father. Maybe Sam’s father had saved his old man from certain death during battle. Yeah, it had to be something like that. Otherwise, his father wouldn’t have extracted a promise to continue Sam’s employment for life. He would’ve just died and let Trent suffer whatever embarrassment landed at his door.

  Trent’s conclusion pissed him off. Honestly, if he didn’t hold to the belief a man is only as good as his word, he’d fire Sam right this second, just to spite his father.

  Tired of thinking about Sam and his father, he focused on the good part of his life. Carrie sat on the seat facing backwards, rapidly typing on her laptop. He wanted to pull her over to his seat, but that could result in her tripping or breaking the laptop, so instead he moved over to hers, curious as to what couldn’t wait until they got back to the office.

  He slipped his arm around the back of the seat, his hand resting on her left shoulder. While playing with a strand of her golden brown hair, he read a list of what the HR person needed to achieve in his or her job.

  If Carrie’s expectations proved doable, then he should have hired one the day his father died.

  When she finished, she looked up at him for his opinion.

  “A very wise employee of mine keeps telling me not to create goals too impossible to achieve.”

  “These aren’t just HR’s goals. These are our goals. This is what we need to achieve.”

  He almost leaned downed and kissed her serious, determined face, but pulled himself back at the last moment. “Well, this is the first time in the history of Lancasters an employee has given the CEO goals, but if we can achieve all this, life could be fun, so I’ll commit to our goals.”

  She rewarded him with the most heartwarming smile. God, he loved her.

  When they reached the employment office, Sam once again pretended to be a proper driver, assisting Carrie out and holding the door for Trent.

  A worrisome thought entered his head as they walked into the high-priced office space and took the elevator to the fortieth floor.

  Could Sam have fallen in love with Carrie?

  He never should’ve allowed the man to stay at her house. “Sam didn’t overstep his position last night did he?”

  She laughed softly. “Are you asking if we had sex?”

  He choked. “No! Of course you wouldn’t have sex with my driver. But it would not be beyond Sam to forget his position and act inappropriately.”

  She shook her head as if she thought his response ridiculous. “Sam behaved. Oh, I did alter the gardener’s instructions.”

  He sighed. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  She chuckled. “Well, fortunately, you didn’t. I would have cried if I returned and found my flower garden turned into lawn.”

  “Sam called it a patch of weeds.”

  “Well, I’ve plenty of those after a month of neglect, so Carlos promised to leave my flowers intact, while removing the weeds.”

  He frowned. “I hope he understood you. Most of the gardening staff doesn’t speak English.”

  “Fortunately, I speak Spanish.”

  Her response surprised him. “You do? Why?”

  “I thought given the growing population of Spanish in America, it would be more useful than French, which was the other alternative at my school.”

  “That’s it? You only had two choices?”

  “How many did you have?”

  “I think every language that exists.”

  “Wow. What did you take?”

  He frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  She stifled a chuckle. “Let me guess: something you knew you’d never use?”

  “Very good. My father wanted me to learn Japanese, so I chose something else. Ah! Finnish.”

  She laughed and pressed her face against his arm to stifle the noise.

  “Straighten up! You don’t want the headhunters to think you’re drunk.”

  She stopped muffling her laughter with his sleeve and focused on the doors. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  He smiled down at her. “Me too.” Once they got a decent staff, he could risk making their relationship personal and intimate.

  Chapter 9

  Miss Parker, their newly assigned Resource Consultant, read a printed copy of their objectives and smiled at Trent. “I am so pleased you wrote this out. It will help me find the perfect resources for you.” She leaned forward so her expensive perfume wafted over the coffee table. “I'm not surprised you’re unhappy with your employees. Without a human resource manager I would expect nothing else.” Slipping him her card, she added, “You may call me anytime, day or night. That’s my personal number, and I promise whatever problem you have I will work on it until it’s resolved to your satisfaction.”

  Carrie couldn’t believe the woman’s blatant come on. She turned and studied her boss’s face. His lips formed a tense smile. Evidently, he also felt Miss Parker’s approach unprofessional, which meant he wouldn’t trust anyone she sent.

  Carrie stood up. “Where’s the restroom?”

  The woman never took her eyes off Trent. “Down the hall, on your right.”

  Trent gripped her hand and glared. “You don’t need one!” The growl in his words almost made her laugh. Her big tough boss did not wish private time with the succubus.

  She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to find a better headhunter.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he said through clenched jaws.

  He started to rise, but Carrie stopped him. “No. Stay here and distract.”

  She smiled at the woman, who had pulled back to study her with speculation. Clearly, she’d heard Trent’s side of the conversation. Trent hadn’t a clue how to whisper.

  Lord, she thinks she heard Trent ask if he could go to the bathroom with me.

  Carrie suppressed a chuckled and hurried from the room. Passing the bathroom, she ran into a young woman. “Excuse me, I’ve gotten turned around. Where is…darn I can’t remember the gentleman’s name. He’s said to be the best executive recruiter—”

  “Oh, Dan Marshal. You’re almost there. Two doors down on your left.”

  Proud of her clever ruse, Carrie walked to the open door and knocked on the frame.

  A man in his early thirties looked up and smiled. “May I help you?” he asked as he stood and smoothed out his double-breasted suit.

  “I hope so. If not, I fear we will need to start over with a different firm.”

  He led her in, closing the door behind her. “I’m Dan Marshal, senior partner. How can I be of assistance?” He walked her to the couch and sat in the chair next to it.

  “We have a serious personnel problem and my boss wanted to fire everyone to solve the matter.”

  Dan grimaced.

  Carrie touched his arm. “I convinced him not to and suggested instead we first go to the best executive recruiting service in the city and hire a human resource person to assist us in determining who and how quickly employees should be replaced.” She handed him the company goals she had lifted from the table when she left Mrs. Parker’s room.

  He leaned back and read it twice, then studied her. “Which resource consultant received your account?”

  “A very pretty Ms Parker.”

  He tilted his head up a bit, almost like a gopher sensing trouble in the area.

  Carrie sighed. “Unfortunately, she boldly flirted with my boss—no doubt due to his good looks and wealth—but it has led him to believe she’s all fluff and now he won’t trust anyone she sends.�
�

  His hands formed a finger tent as he breathed in and out. “I assure you, Miss Parker is highly experienced and competent.”

  “—or you wouldn’t have hired her. Unfortunately, my boss will not risk his business on someone he doesn’t see as the ultimate professional.”

  “So you wish me to assign you a different adviser?” By the way his fingers rapped on the table, she surmised he didn’t want to do that.

  Carrie wondered if Miss Parker didn’t have Dan Marshal tied up in bedroom knots, as well. “To turn matters around at this point, I need the very best, which is you.”

  The tension in his face relaxed as he picked up the paper and read it a third time. “How many upper level jobs are we discussing?”

  “HR, Systems Management, Sales, and Accounting.”

  “No Marketing?”

  “Not presently, but I believe once we get a news sales executive and he or she gains Trent’s trust, he may see the value of a skilled marketer.”

  “Trent?”

  “Trent Lancaster of Lancaster Chairs.”

  Dan tilted his head. “And what’s your position?”

  “I’m his EA.”

  He smiled. “And who placed you?”

  “I placed myself. I'd just graduated from college and happened to walk past the lobby of his headquarters on 8th Avenue. Trent had taped a hand written advertisement to the lobby window. I thought it a chance to get some interview experience under my belt, so I went upstairs and had the most intense interview of my life.”

  “And took the job.”

  She nodded. “He really needed help and from my perspective it looked like a job where I’d be allowed to expand my wings as much as I competently could.”

  “And how’s that working out?” He formed a temple with his long slender fingers again.

  She smiled with pride. “Very well. I just came back from Taiwan, where I convinced our facility managers cost reductions are possible if they move to a Just-In-Time inventory delivery. I had to stay and help negotiate the contracts and encourage them through the changes. But when I left, they seemed fully on board and proud of their new higher margins.”