Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

  “There you have it. The police clearly do not approve of good Samaritans saving others.”

  She petted his suit sleeve, no doubt feeling responsible, even though he told her she wasn’t at fault. “Did you tell them why you grabbed me?” she asked.

  “Good heavens, no! That would require me to talk to them and, unlike one foolish young woman, I waited for my lawyer to talk for me.”

  Her brow furrowed deeper. “If your lawyer explained that you saved me, why did you have to post a million dollar bail?”

  Excellent question. But before he called David and demanded an explanation, he recalled his failure to give David the name of the precinct. He supposed it possible that by the time David arrived at the station, he hadn’t had time to ferret out the truth. Or perhaps he realized Trent would value getting home far more than the money. However, Trent had no intention of mentioning to Carrie he hung up his phone too soon.

  “David knows a Lancaster never explains himself. Or perhaps he likes a challenge. I imagine being a lawyer is a tedious occupation.”

  She snuggled against his chest. “Well, I’m glad he found you or I would’ve had to find and break you out of jail myself.”

  He smiled. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. “We’re a team, you and I.”

  “That we are.” Trent smiled.

  Chapter 19

  Mars opened the door when Trent and Carrie returned from their near deaths and day in jail. “I have drawn you a bath, sir.”

  “Why?” Trent asked. He didn’t want Carrie to think him an overly pampered fop.

  His butler raised his right eyebrow a half inch. “Given the hellish day you’ve endured, I thought you might enjoy a moment of relaxation.”

  “Wrong as always,” Trent snapped.

  Carrie raised her hand.

  Mars focused on her. “Perhaps Miss Hanson would care for a bath of soothing salts, certain to ease tired muscles and improve the temperament?”

  She nodded with excitement.

  Trent wanted to take his bath back since his temperament greatly needed soothing. Only how could he?

  “We’ll arm wrestle for it,” he said and pulled her along to his room.

  Once inside, he faced her. “Any chance you’d be willing to share your bath?”

  Her eyes rounded in shock.

  Afraid his question would send her running to the safety of her New Jersey home, he retracted his suggestion. “Never mind. The bath is yours.”

  He tried to leave the room but she gripped his hand and leaned back to counter his forward progression. He still pulled her along several feet before he stopped and faced her.

  “I shouldn’t have suggested it,” he said, fearing he’d pushed too hard.

  She shook her head, her expression more of concern than repulsion. “Do you have swim trunks?”

  “Yes, but I can’t imagine my driver packed you a swimsuit for your stay here.”

  “No, but I have sportswear made of similar material.”

  Carrie always had a solution to his every problem. “Then let’s stop talking and get in our bath.”

  “I’ll change in the bathroom and you dress out here.” She grabbed a top and pair of shorts from her suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Smiling, he rifled his drawers for his swim trunks. Unable to find them, he went in search of Mars. He found him in the servant’s living room. His butler and driver were sharing a bowl of popcorn while they watched the video footage of Trent grabbing Carrie a half-second before a file cabinet crushed them. A second later, they both smashed into the car.

  Sam laughed. “Ouch, that had to hurt.”

  “It did.” Trent took some pleasure in watching both men jump up in shock and face him. He ignored his driver and focused on Mars. “Where have you hidden my swim trunks?”

  Mars blinked twice. “I believe your swim trunks reside at your Long Island estate, given its closer proximity to your pool.”

  He could never tell if his butler was prone to sarcasm or just overly fact-oriented. Mars reminded him a great deal of Mr. Spock, whom he could easily imagine stating such nonsense.

  “Well, I need swim trunks and I need them now. Carrie and I have decided to share the tub. Thus, we both require swimwear.”

  Sam furrowed his brow like one of those wrinkled dogs. “But I didn’t pack any swimwear for her.”

  “She’s wearing sportswear.”

  Mars spoke up at once. “Perhaps you could do the same, so Miss Carrie will not feel out of place. You have several nice running shorts.”

  “I do? Where?”

  “Four rows across, two down, back left corner.”

  Trent returned to his room and sure enough, he had running shorts, which to the best of his knowledge, he’d never seen nor worn before.

  Upon knocking on the door and hearing “come in,” he entered the bathroom. He could only see Carrie’s beautiful face. The rest of her hid beneath a layer of bubbles.

  “I don’t recall the mention of bubbles,” he complained. Yet, seeing her so relaxed and happy, he decided to drop his objection.

  He wanted to slide in behind her and hold her in his arms, but resisted. Bathing together seemed intimate on its own. Best not to frighten her off. Thus, he entered the bath on the opposite side from her and sat so they faced one another with eight feet of space between them. Why did I order the largest spa bath in existence?

  His arrival caused her to sit up straight and study him with worried eyes.

  God, did she think he planned to rape her?

  Her chin tilted up, like a brave soldier facing the death squad. “I’m really sorry I caused all this trouble.”

  “What? No. You didn’t cause today’s fiasco,” he insisted, all the while worried he may have said otherwise earlier. While purchasing the purple chair and wearing tennis shoes did have a direct bearing on how the chips fell, they certainly had no rational connection. It’s not as if she could say, “If I buy this purple chair and insist on keeping it, a deranged employee will probably push five file cabinets onto the sidewalk. And if I wear these tennis shoes and walk to work, instead of waiting for my boss, one of those file cabinets might crush me into oblivion.”

  Her eyes turned glassy with unspent tears. “But I did. If I hadn’t made such a fuss over my purple chair…”

  Damn it, she was going there. He refused to have this conversation over a sea of bubbles. Swimming to her side, he lifted her up and settled himself behind her. “You’re not to blame for today’s events.”

  “That’s not true. You even called me an idiot—”

  “I become an ass when I’m frightened, and seeing a cabinet crashing down on my most valuable EA scared the hell out of me.” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. “I’m sorry.”

  “But you are mad at me.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Evidence proves otherwise,” she grumbled and hugged her arms tight around her waist.

  “What evidence?”

  “You wanted Detective Pascal to arrest me for a felony.”

  “No. I merely tried to make a point that justice failed in my case. Saving a person’s life should not warrant the arrest of the hero.”

  “You’re right. They had no cause to take you in. I’m sorry I caused that too.”

  He shook her in slow sweeping moves to each side. “You didn’t get me arrested. Police without the sense of a turtle arrested me. I’m mad at them, not you. And my lawyer. I’m mad at him for failing to take care of you.”

  “Then why did you take so long to join me in my bath and then sit as far away as possible when you got in the tub?”

  “I couldn’t find my swim trunks, so I had to track down Mars and ask him where they might be. He informed me they probably resided in Long Island, in order to be in closer to my pool.”

  Carrie chuckled.

  His arms tightened. “Think that’s funny, do you?”

  She shook her head as she chuck
led more.

  “I’ll show you funny.” He tickled her ribs.

  She squirmed and twisted until she rolled completely over and faced him. Her tiny hands grasped his arms to stop her torture. He could’ve easily broken away, but he let her win. God, he'd do anything for his tiny EA.

  Before Carrie, his jaded outlook saw an ulterior motive in a woman’s every action, always suspecting a trap. Not with Carrie.

  For example, right now he had a delicious view of her breasts. While her sport top might be a similar material to her swimsuit, the white fabric became sheer when plunged in water.

  Noticing his focus, she flipped back around and covered her chest with both arms. “Sorry.”

  He pulled her tight against him and whispered in her ear. “For the record, I hadn’t lodged a complaint.”

  “I didn’t realize the white fabric would disappear.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just lie back and let the water fulfill Mars’ promises. If it doesn’t, then I’ll chase him down and throw him in the bath.”

  “I’m getting out before you do.”

  He chuckled. “I should hope so.” She relaxed against his chest, and when the bubbles went to suds heaven, he enjoyed a very stirring view of her formerly white top and shorts. Perhaps too stirring. He shifted her to the left so she might remain unaware of his growing excitement down under.

  As the water started to chill, he reached over and re-engaged the jets.

  “Tubs going to overflow,” she muttered in a drowsy voice. Her hand fluttered around his ass. Finally, she flipped over so she could search behind his back. Sighing in frustration, she looked up at him. “I can’t find the drain lever.”

  He pointed to a lever on the top ridge. She pushed it and the back of his pants yanked down over the drain. He turned off the water and shut the drain.

  Knowing she’d feel embarrassed about her see-through clothes, he climbed out and put on his robe then brought her a towel and placed it on the wide edge of the tub. “I’ll change in the bedroom then go check on matters with Mars. You look exhausted. Why don’t you rest in bed once you dry off?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.” Then a giant yawn burst free.

  “You’re more than fine. But as your boss, I’m ordering you to get some sleep.”

  “I’m not on the job right now.”

  He smiled and knelt beside her. “All right. As your best friend, I’m asking you to get some sleep. You’re exhausted. If you don’t, I’ll worry myself sick over you.”

  A happy grin appeared on her adorable face. “Okay, I’ll try, but I’m not sure I can go to sleep so early.”

  “Would it help if you had someone to snuggle with?”

  She grinned. “Spooning does help.”

  “Then dry and come to bed. We’ll call an end to this day.” He’d almost called it a hellish day, and while portions of it had been just that, right this moment he felt happier than he’d ever been.

  —Thursday—

  Chapter 20

  Trent woke to the pleasure and torment of spooning with Carrie. More than anything he wanted to make love her. But he had to take matters slowly. Otherwise, he’d scare her off entirely. That possibility terrified him. He couldn’t imagine a world without Carrie. Both he and his company would go under within months.

  However, the big guy down below was not happy with this go slow scenario and had no intention of letting Trent resume sleeping until he resolved the situation. He eased away from Carrie and out of the bed. Once in the shower, he tried to reduce his need. It had been years since he’d practiced self-service, and evidently, his hand had forgotten its job.

  Afraid he’d do something stupid if he returned to bed, he dressed and went in search of the video that Mars and Sam had been watching last night.

  As he neared the door to the servant’s living room, he heard laughter. Silently he entered. Sam turned off the TV while Mars stood and faced him. “Do you require something, sir?”

  For a moment he was confused how they knew he’d entered. Ah, someone had placed a small mirror by the TV, aimed at the door.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

  “Sir?” Mars stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  Never had he felt so unwelcomed and in his own house, no less. “I’d like to see the video from yesterday.”

  Mars refused to back down. “And lose the benefits of your bath and a good night’s sleep?”

  Sam punched the machine and it spit out a disc. “I’ll set this up in your living room. You probably should see it, so you can understand why the cops arrested you.”

  Trent resented his driver’s comment on several different levels. First, it made him feel as though he had no right to enter the servants’ living room, which clearly remained part of the penthouse he paid absurdly high maintenance fees on. Second, Sam presumed he had no idea how to load a DVD and would require help. Finally, and the one that really pissed him off, Sam implied he’d caused his own arrest.

  Had any servant, other than Sam, suggested he’d caused this fiasco, he would have threatened to fire them. Instead, he followed his driver from the servants’ sanctuary into his much nicer living room, which boasted a better TV.

  Having no desire to prove Sam right on the second issue, he watched his driver turn on the TV, redirect it to a DVR, and hit play.

  Instead of handing over the remote control, Sam joined him on the couch and continued to drive the machine.

  The first video came from a bank camera across the street from his building. It had no audio, but it showed Carrie trying to shoo the people off the sidewalk. None of them paid her the least bit of attention. Then pure panic broke out. That had to be when she’d yelled bomb. Less than a second later, Carrie stood alone on the sidewalk.

  He tensed, seeing how close she'd come to dying. A large piece of metal from the exploding file cabinet would’ve cut her in two had she not fallen to the ground and curled into a ball a half-second before it flew past.

  A minute after the explosion, she rose and stared at the sidewalk in shock, then looked up. Upon seeing another file cabinet tilting out the window, she scrambled behind a car and pulled out her phone. Seconds later, cabinet number two smashed to the sidewalk as she spoke to someone on the phone. She appeared most upset during her phone conversation.

  Trent frowned. “Who’d she call?” It sure hadn’t been him.

  “She’s on with 911, trying to explain it’s not a bomb, but deranged employees throwing cabinets from a fifth story window.”

  He relaxed. As long as she hadn’t called some other guy. While he would have preferred she’d call him, 911 seemed a reasonable second choice.

  The next segment of video gained audio, color, and the ability to span, making it seem more like an action movie.

  The camera zoomed in on the people in the window high-fiving each other. Five young men he’d never seen before plus one angry and clearly deranged ex-employee, Miss Schnell.

  “Now we see what got you arrested,” Sam said in a cheery tone that suggested this was the ‘best part’ of the movie.

  The camera zoomed down to a man hunched over, gangster hat covering his face, collar of his black trench coat turned up.

  Sam laughed. “Could you look more conspicuous?”

  Trent glared at his driver, but honestly, if he’d seen such a character entering his building, he’d have called 911.

  Then the gangster looked up, and he seemed to have no face, just white gauze. “It does look like a mask,” he grudgingly admitted.

  “Oh, it gets better.” Sam chuckled.

  Did Sam have to enjoy the worst day in his life quite so much?

  He glared at his driver, but the jerk didn’t even notice.

  The masked gangster ran across the sidewalk, grabbed what looked to be a young girl by the waist and slammed her into a parked car while yet another explosion occurred behind them. Sam then fast-forwarded the tape to a newscaster. “We have enhanced the audio,” the
fellow said then nodded for a replay.

  Only a few of the masked gangster’s words can be heard. “You idiot…here…five ought three.”

  The anchorman had an ‘expert’ give his best opinion, reading lips and body language, as to what the attacker had said. The gentleman placed several caveats about the difficulty since he could only see the side of the attacker’s masked face.

  “Your best guess?” the anchorman demanded.

  “I believe he says, ‘You idiot. You weren’t supposed to be here until five to three.”

  The newscaster smiled. “Thank you for your expert assessment of the terrorist’s last words before being arrested.”

  Trent threw his hands up. “Oh, for the love of God. I said nothing of the kind.”

  “What did you say?” Sam asked.

  He huffed and crossed his arms. “I don’t remember, but I’m sure I didn’t say that.”

  Carrie spoke from the bedroom door. “He said there were five not three.”

  Trent’s focus turned to her. She wore a pair of sweat pants and a baggy top, which did absolutely nothing for her.

  She walked toward him, her gaze locked to his. “You meant the cabinets, the presumption being I should’ve realized if they threw out three cabinets, the two remaining would follow.”

  When she reached the sunken floor of the living room, Carrie turned to Sam with her tiny hand out. “May I have the control?”

  With great reluctance, Sam handed it over.

  She smiled at him, which Trent didn’t like, but unless she sat down beside his driver, he’d ignore it.

  Carrie smiled at everyone. She showed no discretion in this matter. Her pretty, white teeth would even flash at the bag lady who often begged outside their office. While he couldn’t fault her for giving the old woman money—he’d toss the old gal his coins, as well—he saw no reason to look directly at the woman, and he never smiled.

  Carrie would not only make eye contact with the unwashed woman, but she’d flash her best smile and ask how her day had gone. He once tried to impress on his naïve EA that the bag lady’s days didn’t alter and, from his perspective, looked boring as hell. His lecture made no impact. Nor did the bag lady help his argument when she chattered on about finding a wedding ring in her cup the prior night. She would’ve gone on for an eternity about the ring had he not grabbed Carrie’s arm and dragged her into their building.