At Mr. Cartwright's Command (6 page)

“I'm not trying to intrude but, if this guys your boyfriend and--”

I shake my head and cut her off. “No, no he's not my boyfriend.”

“You're damn right I'm not.”

My body goes stiff and my muscles tighten when I hear his voice.  Mr. Cartwright's heavy lidded eyes are dark and angry as he pushes past Melissa and into the backroom.  I back away from him as he looms near me, fists and jaw clenched.

“Hey buddy, this is employees only!  You need to get out of here before I call the cops on you!”

I cup my hands over my mouth as I watch his fiery eyes turn towards her.   Getting myself in trouble with Mr. Cartwright was bad enough – dragging anyone else into this mess was downright shameful.

“Shut up, I practically own this place, you wouldn't even be in business if it weren't for me.”

“What? I don't even know who the hell you are! Now get out of my shop before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

“I'll leave as soon as Tamara is ready,” he says as he averts his attention back to me.  “And I'm sorry to say she's going to have to tender her resignation, effective immediately.”

I stand and watch in horror as Melissa darts in between us.

“You know what? The last time I checked, she's a grown woman who can make her own decisions.    Her resignation doesn't mean anything unless I hear it from her.”

“You guys, stop!” I chime in.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he growls at Melissa.

“Enough! Let's go,” I shout as I move from my corner, taking Mr. Cartwright, who's locked in a death stare with my boss, by the arm. “Now!”

“Tamara, you don't have to do this. I can call the police,” Melissa says.

“It's fine. I have it under control,” I respond.

Mr. Cartwright pulls his arm away from me and moves to lead me out through the shop.  “You have a wonderful rest of the day,” he turns and says to Melissa with a smug smile.

His limo is waiting outside – I shuffle in and he enters after me.

“Drive,” he commands the driver as he shuts the door.

The ride is bumpy and traffic is nearly stagnant – I fold my arms over my chest and glance out of the window, away from him.  I can already feel his gaze on me.

“Your
ex
boss is a bit of a bitch,” he says, to which I don't reply. Out of the corner of my eye I see him lean in towards me and I want to jerk away but there just isn't enough room.  “You know you're really fucking stubborn.”

“
I'm
stubborn?  I try to ask you one question and you blow up at me!” 

“I don't owe you anything. That's not how this deal works, you know that.  When we get back to the apartment you can pack your things.”

His words hit me like a wrecking ball, but I should have expected it. I knew I was playing with fire.  But did he really have to be so cruel and not even consider my side of things?  My mouth opens and I want to retaliate, but nothing comes out minus a few pathetic sounding whimpers that I'll only be embarrassed about later.  I've never begged or pleaded anyone for anything in my life, and considering where I've come from, that's saying a lot.  I turn towards the window, unable to fight the sting of hot tears that well up in my eyes.

The ride back is long and awkward as we both sit stoically in our respective corners. 

I keep my distance from him when we finally arrive.  He follows me through the lobby, up the elevator, and into the penthouse.  I go straight for the closet when I get there, quickly realizing that nothing in it is mine.  Hell, nothing in this apartment is mine, with the exception of one ratty old outfit, a pair of tennis shoes, and my phone.  And now I can't control the single tear that purges my eyes.
You really had to go and fuck up everything, didn't you Tamara?

I close the doors and dig out my old outfit, which I buried deep in one of the dresser drawers so I wouldn't have to look at it every day. But I always knew it was there.  I considered throwing it out, but something told me to hold on to it.  Glad I trusted my gut.

I strip off my designer duds, trading them in for my original look.  With a sigh, I dump out the contents of my Celine tote, quickly realizing I don't even have a bag to put anything in.

So I stick my phone in my back pocket instead.

Mr. Cartwright is leaning against the sofa in the living room with his broody heavy lids directed towards the floor.  I look away when he looks up at me, saying nothing.

“Let's go.”

Within a few minutes we're back in his private car, headed who knows where.  I wonder if he'll drop me off in the same place his driver originally found me, which would be fine with me because at least I could get a hamburger before wandering back to the shelter.

The shelter.

My stomach twists in knots just thinking about it.

We drive and we drive.  My mind is too preoccupied to pay attention to time, but I'm quite sure that we've been driving too long.  The bright lights and commotion of the city has gone away, replaced rolling hills and the occasional spurts of suburban tract housing.  The houses get larger and larger as we go.

The car starts to creep up an incline and the distance between the homes begin to expand. I can't really even see them now, most are at least half obscured behind trees and hills, but the roofs are vast.  I glance over at Mr. Cartwright, who looks as lost in thought as I was, glaring out his side window.  Where the hell is he taking me?  Is he just going to just drop me off in the middle of the forest somewhere?

Finally the car begins to slow, stopping at a large metal gate.   I peer out the front window and notice the letter C monogrammed on each side.  My eyes dart back to Mr. Cartwright as the driver punches in the key code. 
He brought me to his house
?

I can't help but look at the home in awe.  Calling it a house is an understatement – it's an estate.  A sprawling estate.  It resembles a Tuscan villa more than a single family home, with beautiful old world inspired architecture, marble steps, and just enough moss crawling up the sides to give it character.  It reminds me off a home I saw in a magazine once when I was a kid – the kind of place I could only dream of ever setting foot in.

I suppose sometimes, rarely, dreams actually can come true?

The car stops and I stare at Mr. Cartwright, who doesn't dare look back at me.  The driver hops out and opens my car door, and I step out to take in the majestic home in person.

“Ah, Miss Pierce!  It's been so long!”

I would know Ronald’s voice anywhere. I hear him call out to me and it breaks me out of my reverie.  He comes bounding down the stairs towards us with a jolly smile and I force a smile across my face. 

“It's wonderful of you to bring her here, Master Cartwright,” Ronald says.

“You can show Ms. Pierce to her room, I have work to do.” Mr. Cartwright says as he rudely brushes right past him.

Ronald looks slightly miffed, but he masks it well.  “After you, Madame,” he says and I nod graciously.

I stop on the steps headed towards the door and I look behind me at the sparkling well manicured lawn edged with trees,  the vintage fountain that's aged in all the right places, and the iron bars of the monogrammed gate, locked shut.  I eye the backwards C's for a moment and my smile fades.  I'm now miles away from the city and acres away from the next neighbor.

This isn't a palace.  It's my prison.

“Is everything alright, Ms. Pierce?” Ronald asks.

“I...” I mumble and I shake my head, running into the house after Mr. Cartwright.

“Why did you bring me here?” I demand, and he stops in his tracks.

“Why do you think?”

“It seems like you dragged me out here because you want to keep an eye on me.”

“Well, aren't you the smart one, Ms. Pierce.”

“Don't even.”

“You can't be trusted, you've proved that more than once. I think I made it clear to you that you
aren’t
to have a job. So if you can't respect that, I'll put you someplace where someone can keep an eye on you 24/7.”

He ends his statement with a nod towards Ronald.  Stunned, I look to him, only to see him awkwardly creep out of the room. 

“I'm
not
a child.  And I definitely don't need to be watched.”

“Yes, but you see, this was part of the deal.  You knew that and you broke it.”

I throw my hands in the air out of frustration.  “And what's so bad about me wanting to be able to provide for myself?”

“Because I do that for you!  That's my job.  That's part of the
deal
.”

There it is.  That ever elusive deal that only he seems to know the negotiable terms of. “Why don't you ever explain to me exactly how this 'deal' works, because in case you forgot, you never really went into specifics and it honestly sounds like you're making it all up as you go along!“

He sighs.  “The deal is simple.  We both take care of each other, just in...different ways.”

“Yeah? And what happens to me when this ends?  I don't think you get it – I don't have a fancy education or a trust fund to fall back on. I have
nothing
. “

I watch as his features soften; he looks slightly surprised. “What makes you think this is going to end?”

I sigh, shaking my head.  “I thought it was over. I thought you were taking me back to the streets.”

“I would never do that, Tamara,” he says softly and convincingly.  For a second, I'm a nearly speechless, stuttering fool who just wants to fall into his arms.  But no, I have to stand my ground.

Fairy tales don't exist. There's no happily ever after for people like us.

I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “I mean...when you get tired of me.”

Mr. Cartwright sighs and sinks against a large mahogany table in the center of his foyer.  “What makes you think I'm going to get tired of you.”

Why wouldn't you? Everyone else does.
”Look, I know about your other girls and --”

“What other girls?” he asks through narrow eyes.

A resentful bark of laughter escapes my mouth. “Come on now. I'm not stupid.”

“I know you're not. “

“Then please don't treat me like I am.”

He steps towards me, placing his strong hands lightly on my forearms and I feel my knees go weak.  “Tamara, I don't have any other girls.”

I want to believe him – desperately.  “You mean like Veronica? She told me--”

His brows narrow.  “Veronica from the agency?”  I nod, and he simply sighs and turns away from me.

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?  Yeah, ok, I fucked her. A lot.  That was years ago.  And somehow she got it in her head that I was going to marry her or something.”

“Yeah? And why not? She's....pretty,” as much as it stings to admit.

He looks at me pointedly and says, “I don't do marriages and I don't do relationships.”

One minute he claims I'm his only girl, and the next minute he makes it more than clear that he doesn't want a relationship with me?  If there's anything I know at all about Mr. Cartwright, it's that he's full of mixed signals.

I nod and say, “Good.  Because I don't want a relationship with you,” and I notice that, if only for a second, he looks slightly insulted.  “But I do expect an ounce of respect.”

“My God you are demanding.”

I laugh and say, “Seriously? I don't think basic human dignity is asking for much.”

He moves and perches himself on the edge of his table, arms folded across his chest with eyebrows arched towards me.  “Then what is it that you ask for? Specifically.  And don't say a job, because that's absolutely off the table.”

Well shit. I shift in my place.  “Well we could start by you telling me something – anything – about yourself.

“Such as?”

“Such as, what's your first name?”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head.  He turns and begins to walk away, and in a huff, I follow him.

“Really, you can't tell me your
fucking first name
?”

“As I said, no.”

“I told you
everything
about me and you can't tell me something as simple as your name?”

He halts abruptly, spinning around and facing me again. “My name is Cartwright.  I'm 32 years old. I have no family and no real friends.  I work, I make money, and I come home.  Some nights when I feel like it, I fuck you.  My butler's name is Ronald.  What else do you need to know about me?”

For a second my heart feels heavy with pity for Mr. Cartwright – I know the loneliness of not having any family or friends.  But I quickly realize that that fact would be a whole lot easier to swallow if I were a fucking
billionaire.

“
Oh, poor little rich boy,” I say in a mocking tone.  I know I'm playing with fire now – I can already see it in his eyes – but I just can't help it.

“Did I complain about being left alone? No. I quite like it.  And that's something you just need to understand.”