***
Mars’ office astounded Carrie. In her dreams, she couldn’t have come up with such perfection. The cherry wood desk and cadenzas looked like works of art, yet remained astoundingly functional, holding every piece of office equipment one could ask for, including a copy machine.
“Sit.” Mars motioned to the high-back leather chair.
Placing her small laptop on his cherry desk, she sat down. God, she’d died and gone to office heaven.
“How do you ever leave this room?”
Mars chuckled then grew stern. “I want your word you will not mention my office to Master Trent.”
She made a motion of zipping her lips. Trent would take great offense upon discovering he worked in a veritable slum compared to his butler.
Once Mars left, Carrie first called Detective Pascal back.
“Ah, Carrie, sorry, I got called away on a murder case. The person you need to talk to is Lieutenant Davis at Precinct 12. I don’t have the number with me.”
“I can get it, thanks.”
She called 411, got the number and called Lt. Davis. He answered the phone with a surly bark, but after she praised him for the great effort the police had made to protect the city yesterday, failing to identify herself as the idiot who had yelled bomb, he told her he’d send a man over to remove the police tapes.
One down, forty thousand action items to go!
Next, she addressed the front door problem. Mr. Bergerman assured her he’d tried to fix it. However, police had shut down the whole area due to the bomb scare. “I did see your problem on TV when the SWAT team tried to enter the building. I believe something has caught in the bottom track. I could tell by the jerking motion, the motor wanted to open the door. I’m not trying to make an excuse here—”
“With our employees, that’s more than likely. But you’ll still come and fix it, right?”
“Just as soon as I can get to it.”
“Well, I just spoke to the policeman in charge and an officer should be removing the tape even as we speak. So anytime today will be good.”
“Today?” The stress in his voice warned her it might be good for her, but not him.
“I really need it fixed as soon as possible. My boss actually broke his nose running into it yesterday, and —”
“I’m leaving now.”
She thanked him and hung up. His change of heart didn’t surprise her. Trent had been in a difficult mood the day Mr. Bergerman installed the door, so he knew how impossible her boss could be.
Next, she called Jack. Always lead with good news. “Hey, I have your cookies.”
“All right! Tell me how to get them. I’m starving.”
“I’m working from Trent’s home office.”
“Is he there?”
She detected tension in Jack’s voice. “No, he’s in the hospital trying to straighten his nose.”
“Seriously? The man looks like he walked off a GQ cover now. What could he possibly want changed?”
“Trent broke his nose on the door then reinjured it when the cop slammed him face down on the car hood.”
“Didn’t do my car any good either,” Jack grumbled.
“That was your car?”
“Was being the key word. The insurance company refuses to pay to fix the damages because it occurred during a terrorist attack.”
“I’m pretty sure they’ve quietly downgraded it to an act of vandalism by an angry employee and her five stupid nephews. I’ll call the policeman in charge and see.”
“You know the policeman in charge? I’ve been trying to get his name all day!”
“I do, but let me call him. Joey says he’s normally grumpy with civilians, but he seems to like me.”
Jack laughed. “Yeah, you have a way with people.”
“Miss Schnell would disagree.”
“I meant testosterone-filled people.”
“Miss Schnell has a mustache, and Joey said it took two cops to hold her while they cuffed her.”
“They have cuffs that big?”
“No, they used plastic ties.”
“Surprised they held. You know I once saw her lift the end of a desk up with one hand so she could reach the pen that rolled beneath it.”
“When did you ever come to the fifth floor?”
“I didn’t. She came to me bearing a promise to squeeze my balls until they popped like grapes if I dared put another person on payroll without her permission.”
Carrie grimaced. Poor Jack, she’d never realized the danger he faced just trying to do his job. “How long ago did this happen?”
“I don’t remember. When did you come to work for us?”
God, I’m just endless trouble for the guy. “Sorry.”
“Hey, you would’ve quit if you didn’t get paid soon. Couldn’t let that happen.”
“Can’t lose your turtle connection.”
“Not a chance. So how do I get to our boss’s home office?”
She gave him the address, but then had second thoughts. “I have to ask the butler if it’s okay to have visitors. He has rules about what I can and can’t do here. I got in big trouble just making the turtles.”
“I want those turtles. If you can’t let me in, you’ll have to bring them down to the lobby.”
“Okay, but wait. I need to get into the server.” She then explained her dire financial situation.
“I’ll send you the expense report by email. Print it off, fill it out, get Mr. Lancaster to sign it then give it to Chris in accounting tomorrow morning…Assuming the office is going to be open tomorrow.”
“I hope so. In fact, I need to make sure the place is in one piece. Meet me at the office and I’ll bring the turtles.”
“Deal!” Jack hung up without a goodbye.
She snuck into the kitchen and placed all but five of the turtles into a white bag with wax paper separating each layer.
The now familiar clearing of a throat caused her to smile. “I just talked to Jack. I’m going to walk over to the office, give him his turtles, check on the man who promised to fix the front door, verify I can email our employees, and then let them know they should return to work tomorrow. I’ve left five turtles for you, Sam, and Trent.”
He shook his head.
“I really did.” She opened the door so he could see.
Mars smiled. “I shook my head at the possibility of giving them to Sam or Master Trent. Both men have an insatiable craving for sweets. Having already enjoyed mine, I assure you that if you give either of them a turtle, they will eat nothing else for the rest of their lives. So I must insist you take all those turtles to this Jack fellow and never make them in this house again.”
“Are you serious, or did you just want to make me feel good?”
“I am very serious. If Chef Ivan tasted your delectable treat, he would first demand your recipe and then quit so he could start a pastry business with those turtles as his premiere dessert.”
Carrie wondered whether Mars truly meant his words as a compliment or an elaborate joke.
Evidently growing impatient with her lack of action, he went to the refrigerator and placed the final five into the bag. “Take these away at once.”
She took the bag and hurried off, not bothering to change out of her sweats since what Trent didn’t know couldn’t offend his style fetish.
Chapter 22
As Carrie rounded the corner, she saw Jack leaning against the outside column, watching several men take apart the door.
The moment she arrived, he yanked the bag from her hands and dived in, stuffing a whole turtle in his mouth. His eyes rounded as he retrieved the turtle from his mouth and stared at it.
“Is something wrong?” No wonder Mars wanted them out of the house.
“Oh, my God! These are a hundred times better than your normal turtles. These are the God of turtles. They must be enjoyed slowly.”
“The dark chocolate’s evidently top of the line.”
She reached in the bag and gra
bbed one, ignoring Jack’s slaps at her hand.
“These are mine, leave them alone!”
“I want to taste one and see why everyone’s making such a fuss over them.”
She bit an appendage and almost fell to the ground as her legs went weak from the orgasm in her brain. “Whoa!” She had no idea real chocolate tasted this good. How could the stuff she normally ate even qualify as chocolate? Mar’s warning made complete sense now.
“F’n amazing!” Jack laughed as he took tiny bites, savoring each for nearly a minute.
“I had no idea how good expensive chocolate could be. I normally use cocoa mix, sweet milk, and butter, but they didn’t have any cocoa mix in the cupboard so I melted down these great-smelling chocolate bars.”
Jack hadn’t paid attention to a word she said, so she dropped the rest of her turtle back into his bag and turned to the men tearing apart the door.
“Got it!” The man lifted up a number two pencil with Lancaster Chairs printed on the side. Someone had scratched ‘Sucks’ after the name and shoved his or her disgruntled statement in the door’s track.
Didn’t surprise Carrie one bit. Jamming doors and tossing cabinets from the window was par for the course when it came to the world’s worst employees. With no door in her way, she entered the small lobby and spoke to Mr. Bergerman. “I’m going to look around upstairs. If you need me to sign something when you’re done, just call me on my phone.” She walked to the elevator and pushed the button.
The man leaned out the open doorway and yelled, “The lady’s going upstairs. Get off the sidewalk and escort her!”
A moment later, Jack hurried to her side. “Sorry. I got distracted.”
Wanting to retrieve her nibbled turtle, she reached for the bag. Jack slapped away her hand. “Back off, these are mine.”
His obsession with the chocolate concerned her. What if they were literally addictive... and poor Jack became dependent on high-priced confectionery to get through the rest of his life?
“Maybe we should throw those away.”
He hugged the bag and stepped away from her, his eyes rounded in outrage, one corner of his mouth marred dark brown.
She rolled her eyes. God, you’d think she’d suggested killing a baby in his arms.
When they entered the privacy of the elevator, she explained her concern. “Jack, I think the chocolate might be affecting your mind. You aren’t yourself today.”
Jack laughed. “No shit!”
She recalled the name stamped in the chocolate. It had looked decidedly Eastern European. Did they even regulate what could be put in chocolate there? “I’m not joking. I think those turtles are contaminated with something and I don’t want you to eat them.”
He backed away and glared at her. “There’s nothing wrong with my turtles. You’re just mad because I won’t share. But these are my turtles. I risked my life for them.” He moved to the corner of the elevator and sank to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest.
“Okay, they’re yours. I won’t try to take them away from you.”
When the doors opened on the fifth floor, Jack remained sitting in the elevator, eating turtles as she investigated the fifth floor offices…or its remains. Crap! Schnell and Nephews had completely trashed the place. Everyone’s desk rested on its side, computers lay on their sides, and monitors littered the floor. Trent would go insane if he saw this.
Carrie couldn’t fix it by herself, and she had little hope of Jack’s assistance. He remained entranced with his chocolate delights.
Maybe she should call Detective Pascal. She quickly nixed that idea, recalling he’d mentioned a murder, which he would no doubt prioritize over her trashed office. Besides he might have to arrest her if some Eastern European chocolatier had put something other than fine chocolate in those bars. She could hear Jack declaring something ‘pretty’. Nothing in the elevator should inspire such an adjective.
She really needed help. So she called the only other person she could think of.
* * * *
Sam and Dawn were seconds away from the orgasm to beat all previously known orgasms when his discarded pants purred. Sam paused. It was probably Master Trent wanting him to drive into the city just to cart him two blocks. Still, it might be Mars. If it were and important, he’d call from the bat phone, triggering the special ring tone.
When the purring stopped, Sam focused on recapturing the moment with Dawn. While they did culminate to a moderately pleasing orgasm, it wasn’t the world’s greatest.
Furious at the theft of his greatest sex moment ever, Sam grabbed the edge of his pants and pulled it to him. After flipping open his phone, he went through the missed messages. “Carrie, Mars, Mars, Mars, Joey, Master Trent, Master Trent, Master Trent.”
He started to toss it back to the floor when Dawn snared his phone and reviewed the list. “Why would Carrie call you?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps Master Trent asked her to.”
“She didn’t leave a message.”
Not even a deaf man could miss the jealous tension in Dawn’s voice. He threw himself onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The afternoon had been going so nice.
He’d picked Dawn up from Macy’s when she got off at two and drove her straight to her apartment so they could make continuous love until she began her eight o’clock shift at his bar.
Glancing at his watch, he sighed. If only the half-pint bowl of trouble had waited another five minutes to call, her timing would have been perfect.
Dawn had returned to the first of the list and selected play messages. Normally, he wouldn’t put up with such shit, but he wanted this relationship to continue a bit longer. Dawn was a cut above the women he normally dated, so if he had to put up with some invasion of privacy due to jealousy, then he’d look on the bright side: it meant she actually gave a damn.
“Sam, this is Mars. I know Master Trent gave you the day off, but I need your advice on a matter.”
“Sam, Mars again. I tried calling Joey, but he’s on a murder case. Any chance you’re doing something less important?”
“Sam. You need to come in. Master Trent is at the hospital having his nose fixed. Carrie has left the penthouse carrying a bag full of drug-laced turtles to give to some guy named Jack. If he eats them, I fear they could both be in serious danger. I am sorry for disturbing the first day off you’ve ever taken, half-day to be more accurate, but I’m worried. I ate one turtle and I’m now having serious hallucinations.”
Crap!
Leaping from the bed, Sam grabbed his pants, even as Dawn continued to play messages. The next voice was Master Trent’s.
“Sam, I need a ride home from the hospital. Be here in five.”
Next message—also Master Trent.
“Sam, where are you? I took a taxi home, because my driver can’t bother to drive me, and now my butler has gone mad. Will you get home! He’s talking about calling in a burn out. What does that even mean? I think he’s having some flashback to his army days. Get back here, or I’m firing you. I never liked my father anyway.”
He grabbed his phone from Dawn. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I really enjoyed my few hours off.”
She softly laughed. “Me too. Go save the butler.”
“He was my captain in Iraq. We watch each other’s back.”
“I got it. At least it’s not the girl who needs rescued.”
He rushed to his limo and tore out full speed, mentally thanking Joey for making all his past traffic points disappear.
Replaying Mars’ message in his head, he realized he needed to rescue Carrie as well, unless he could get Joey to help.
He called his friend.
“Man, am I popular today.”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“And I’ve got a woman stabbed eighty times.”
“She’s dead, right?”
“I’m guessing so, but the coroner’s still not here to declare her dead and state a cause.�
�
Sam had no idea how his friend put up with all the rules that came with protecting the public. He’d go mad.
“You remember the half-pint girl you didn’t arrest yesterday?”
“Carrie? I remember her very well. Long brown hair, intense green eyes, and a smile that can light up a dead man’s heart.”
“Don’t go there, my friend. She’s Master Trent’s toy.”
He sighed. “And you’ve got first dibs?”
“I’ve moved on to a woman who Master Trent’s never met and isn’t going to put through a mental blender. I advise you to do the same.”
“So what does your girl look like?”
“If you don’t have time to help me save Carrie and Mars, you don’t have time to hear about Dawn.”
“Dawn, your bar maid? Bad move, bro’. You should never get involved with employees.”
Realizing Joey couldn’t help, what with a dead woman lying about, Sam decided to cut his lecture short. “Yeah, give your lecture to Master Trent. I’ve got to go now.”
Hanging up, he called Carrie.
She answered on the first ring, panic in her voice. “Sam, thank God you called! I know this is your day off—”
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“No, but—”
“Then Mars comes first. Stay where you are and wait for me.” At least now he had his priorities straight.
* * * *
Carrie glared at the phone. Trent was right. His driver could be most annoying.
She glanced at Jack trying to scale the elevator walls, yelling ‘Rosebud.’ The only Rosebud she knew came from the old movie Citizen Cane. It hadn’t made sense when she’d watched the film, and it didn’t make sense now.
She really needed to get those turtles away from Jack, but every time she tried to approach, he’d freak out, like he was a momma bear protecting a litter of tiny bear turtles.
God, if only she could blink her eyes and make the chocolate disappear.
Disappear.
What day is it? She checked her cell phone. Thursday. The magicians, Tiny and Tall, had Thursday nights off. She called Tiny’s cell phone.
“Andy doesn’t want to talk now,” an angry voice growled.
“Tiny? It’s Carrie. I don’t know if you remember me. I came to your show with Trent and we had dinner afterwards.”
Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) Page 23
