Maria: Today we have Sam, Trent's driver from Worst Week Ever. He's supposed to give us the scoop on all the main characters. I hope he shows.
Sam: Not sure. Either Liza can't afford to buy pictures--she's a starving author, you know-- or she just likes to paint. You like?
Maria: No complaints, just wondering. You know, you kind of resemble--
Sam: What I don't have is a billion dollars, a penthouse or a Long Island Estate. However, I do know how to treat a lady to a good time. *eyes Maria with interest*
Maria: I'm married.
Sam: *grins and gives a slight shrug*
Maria: So talk about your relationship with--
Sam: the ladies?
Maria: No, with Trent.
Sam: *sighs and props feet on the coffee table* Master Trent. What's there to say? Even with a billion reasons to like him, women don't. Guess how many of his dates I've seduced.
Maria: I've no idea.
Sam*crosses his arms* Forty-two. And mind you the seduction occurs while I'm driving Master Trent and his date around town.
Maria: How is that even possible?
Sam: I stare at them in the rear view mirror
Sam: I wouldn't say fall for me. Most of these ladies are starlets or models. They see me as their tasty reward after a god awful date.
Maria: That doesn't sound very satisfying. Do these relationships go anywhere?
Sam: Honestly? They aren't satisfying and they go nowhere. The only enjoyment I get out them is proving I can get what Master Trent can't, despite all his money.
Maria: Maybe you should forget about Trent's dates and find a young woman you actually like.
Sam: Mars said the same thing.
Maria: Who's that?
Sam: The Penthouse butler.
Maria: So are you going to follow his advice to find someone not related to Trent?
Sam: I have to. Trent has stopped dating. He's obsessing over Carrie now.
Maria: Excuse me, but isn't that a handcuff on her wrist.
Sam: Yeah she's prone to getting into trouble, too. But what she isn't is an easy seduction.
Maria: You seduced Carrie?
Sam: I tried, but she barely even noticed. However, to be fair, my heart wasn't in it. Unlike all the other women, she actually likes Trent and forgives him when he's being a jerk. She honestly thinks he has potential to one day become a good boss and a great man.
Maria: And you don't.
Sam: *Shakes his head* Master Trent was a jerk the day I first met him and remains so to this day. I'll grant you he's nicer when he's around Carrie, and since he's kept her at his side 24/7 during this crazy week, he's shown improvement, but my money says when she leaves his side, he returns to being a jerk. It's his natural state of being.
Maria: For Carrie's sake I hope you're wrong.
*Sam's phone buzzes and he answers it*
Sam: What?...Having sex with a beautiful woman. What do you need?... Be there in twenty. *hangs up phone* That was Master Trent. He needs me to pick him up at his penthouse and drive him two block to work...on my day off. Well, that's the life of the nameless, downtrodden servants who serve the rich.
Maria: Thank you for coming. And I wish you luck in finding a woman to truly suit you.
Sam: *takes her extended hand and brings it to his lips.* It's been a true pleasure meeting you, Maria. I wish we had more time.
Maria: Still married.
Maria: Well, that man is pretty certain of himself. Guess I'll have to read the book to see how it turns out for all of them. Now where did I put... Aah, there it is!
“On the one of a kind, heirloom desk, which has been in your family since 1845?” his butler asked.
“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.”
He shrugged. “She’s okay. Not as good as the last one though.”
Unwrapping her fork from a swaddling of fine linen, Carrie dug into the egg-white omelet. Her eyes rolled in ecstasy. “God, this is fabulous!”
“Really?” He moved closer and stole her fork so he could try some.
She expected him to smile at first taste. Instead, he became annoyed. “Come on! Your taste buds can’t be that jaded.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s very good. Far better than the crap she feeds me.”
Carrie shook her head and swiped the fork. If the cook prepared Trent mediocre meals, she understood why. During her first six months at Lancaster Chairs, Trent had threatened her with unemployment on a daily basis and she’d hated it. She nearly grew to hate him, would have, except his remarks always lacked sincerity, as if he’d learned them rote.
Once she’d consumed a quarter of the omelet, she offered him the fork. He smiled and shook his head. “You finish it. The cook will serve me my gruel later. Probably spit in it for good measure.”
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