At Mr. Cartwright's Command by Ingrid Ash Page B

says, “Work. That's all you need to know. It's rather uninteresting, really.”
    I'm pretty sure a job that makes you filthy fucking rich is anything but uninteresting.
    “Well can you at least tell me why you hate your father so much?” 
    He freezes and I see his jaw set. Did I hit a nerve? I seem to be on the right track.
    “Don't ever bring him up again,” he says wryly.
    I shrug. “It's okay if you do. I hate mine too,” I say quietly.
    His shoulders slump a little and he turns back towards me, and for a split second I see genuine concern in his eyes.
    “Well,” he starts softly, “consider yourself lucky for not ever having displeasure of knowing yours.”
    I'd never thought of it that way.
    He turns again with a sigh and picks up his jacket from the floor. “Goodbye for now, Tamara.”
     
    *
     
    “Morning Ronald,” I say with a yawn as I enter the kitchen about an hour later. Mr. Cartwright is long gone by now. It's something I've gotten fairly used to by now, albeit not for such an extended amount of time. I don't get out of the house much, but luckily Ronald and I get along well.
    “Good morning, Ms. Pierce. Did you sleep well?” he asks with a friendly smile.
    “Indeed I did!” I respond. I stop and sniff the air, the smell of fine baked goods wafting in the air. My eyes set on him dubiously and I inquire with some suspicion “Wait...that's not...”
    He grins and looks down – I notice him separating and cleaning blueberries.
    “You didn't” I state with my hands on my hips.
    “Indeed I did,” he says with a proud grin.
    Ronald's famous Belgian waffles, that he actually learned how to bake in Belgium. There is nothing like them, and I'm pretty sure I gained 4lbs in my first week alone just gorging on them. After that, I strictly forbade him from baking them in my presence. So much for that.
    He turns and says, “Since you'll be alone here for the next 4 weeks I thought I would do something special for you.” He picks up a covered plate from the counter and takes it over to the kitchen table. I can almost taste it when he takes the lid off and drops the blueberries on top. “Go on, eat up.”
    I laugh a little, taking a seat at the table. “Thanks,” I say, and he nods in response. “But you know this isn't going to stop me from asking, right?” I say with a mouthful of food.
    Ronald turns his back to me as he begins shining the glassware. “Ask about what?” he says, clearly feigning ignorance.
    “Nice try but you already know.”
    He shakes his head. “No, I don't think I do.”
    “Like, where did Mr. Cartwright run off to again? And what the hell does he do for a living?”
    “You'll have to ask him that.”
    “But he won't tell me anything.”
    “Mr. Cartwright is a very private man. He does not tell me anything either.”
    Bullshit. “Okay, but why is he always in Europe?”
    “Because he conducts a great deal of business there.”
    I watch, trying to restrain my giddiness as the color drains from his face upon realizing what he's done. He turns towards me and says. “You are a sneaky one, Ms. Pierce.”
    “Tamara.”
    “You are a sneaky one, Tamara . And perhaps that's why Mr. Cartwright tells you so little,” he says, raising his brows smugly.
    I continue to chew. “I have an entire month to work on you, Ron.”
    He chuckles as he continues at his work. “Oh, but guess what? There is one thing I can tell you about Mr. Cartwright,” he says.
    I slump back in my chair and say, “Spill.”
    “He has allowed you to leave the house.”
    My smile fades and I roll my eyes. I can leave anytime I damn well please. Okay, maybe that's not entirely true.
    “As long as it's on my watch,” he adds.
    “How generous of him,” I reply sarcastically, scooping another bite of waffle into my mouth.
    “Generous indeed. So today I figured you would accompany me on a run to the grocery store. We will leave as soon as you finish your breakfast and get ready.”
    I shrug. Why