Liza O'Connor's Worst Week Ever Interview

 Tera: Today we have Liza O'Connor's Investigative Reporter to give us the low down on Trent Lancaster, the dubious hero of Worst Week Ever.

IP:  Just call me IP. Everyone does.Tera: Is that  pronounced 'Eye Pee' or Eep?IP: I'm not a frog. It's the initials, IP. You know, like JR.Tera: Well, welcome IP. What juicy back-story tidbits do you bring us today?IP: I want to discuss the reasons why Trent is less than likable at times.
Tera: I think my followers would like to know that.IP: Trent had an older brother whom his parents adored. They barely noticed Trent. He wasn't needed. He was only the required spare in case something happened to their beloved Eldridge Lancaster the 8th.Tera: I haven't heard anything about him.IP: That's because at sixteen to reward himself for becoming the Lacrosse Captain in his junior year, he decided to treat himself to a $63,000 bottle of whiskey.Tera:  Who would pay  so much for a bottle of whisky?IP: People with too much money. Mr. Lancaster prided himself on having the best of the best. So he purchased a single bottle of Dalmore 62 Single Highland Malt Scotch whiskey created from single malts that dated between 1868 and 1939. There were only 12 bottles originally created, so it was one of rarest whiskeys to be had.  Tera: Surely he didn't leave it sitting in a decanter on the counter for a teenager to drink.IP: No, it resided in his climate controlled and always locked drinking cellar. Somehow Junior had acquired the key to it. Being a clever lad, he had the key duplicated, planted the duplicate in Trent's room, no doubt so his brother would take the fall when they later discovered the whiskey gone. Knowing his parents wouldn't be back until late the next day, he acquired the rare whiskey, climbed into a floating pool recliner and drank himself into proud oblivion.  13 yr old Trent also took advantage of his parent's absence to have some fun. He and some buddies drove down the Atlantic City, snuck in and managed to lose about a hundred grand before they got thrown out.Tera:  I hope there were servants in the house to stop Eldrige from drinking or at least get him out of the pool?IP: No, he gave them all the weekend off. Tera: Why would they take orders from a sixteen year old?IP: They commonly ignored Trent, but jumped to obey the young man who would someday be their master.Tera: So who was around to save Eldrige?IP:  No one. Trent returned around noon the next day and went straight to bed. He didn't wake until his parents burst into the room accusing him of murdering their beloved son. When his father attempted to strangle him, Trent finally confessed where he'd been.  Fortunately, for Trent, the Casino's have camera's everywhere, thus no one had to take his word when he declared himself innocent.Tera: This is a very sad story for both boys.IP: Well, for Trent, matters went downhill from there. Instead of focusing on the son they still had, they set about recreating the son they loved. They made Trent dress and look like Eldrige, even making him wear the boy's clothes and hairstyle.Tera: Poor Trent. Hopefully this didn't go on for too long.IP: For three years, at which point Trent outgrew all of Eldrige's clothes and they'd realized this angry, resentful boy would never become the beloved son they'd lost. His mother ceased speaking to him entirely and his father only spoke to him in anger.Tera: I'm surprised he didn't run away!IP: The price of growing up overly-indulged is that rich teens become a prisoner to their lifestyle. They have no choice but to dance to their parent's whims. Trent was no different. Until his father died three years ago, he had to dance to the man's tune. And believe me, there was no love in that song-- only contempt and anger that Trent lived while Eldrige died.Tera: Now I want to give Trent a hug.IP: You'll get over it. Just be in his presence for  ten minutes and any thought of hugging him will disappear.Tera: But he seems to improve around Carrie.IP: He does, but then most guys improve when they are trying to woo a girl. I would always remember to put the toilet seat down during my courtship. But I reverted after I married.Tera: So Trent doesn't put down the toilet seat?IP: I've no idea. His estate and penthouse both have self-lowering seats.  All I'm saying is we guys don't change that much. Tera: So you don't think Carrie should hook up with Trent?IP: My professional opinion? No. But her love to be needed and his extraordinary neediness will probably overrule good sense for the near term. Hopefully, she'll not rush into anything.Tera: Well, I agree she shouldn't rush into things, but I hope you're wrong about Trent. Maybe he'll stop channeling his horrible father and reach his true potential.IP: I was hired to report on facts, not whimsical dreams of the future, so I'll be going now.Tera: Thanks for coming IP. Understanding Trent's past encourages me to cut him some slack. So let's learn a bit more about this story.

Worst Week Everby Liza O'ConnorNew Adult, Humor, Contemporary


BLURBWhat do you get when you put a hardworking, can-do middle-class young woman together with a egoistical, outrageous, billionaire boss, then throw in the worst week of disasters imaginable?Book 1 of the 3 book series A Long Road to Love.
Worst Week Ever.
Trent Lancaster spends one month without his Executive Assistant, or as his drivers refers to Carrie: 'Trent's brain, left hand, and right hand'. He's had a miserable month without her at his side and to ensure it never happens again, he intends to marry his brilliant beauty. Only given all the times he's threatened to fire her, he's not sure she even likes him. However, the future of his company and his happiness depend upon him succeeding, so Trent begins a slow one week seduction that happens to coincide with Carrie's Worst Week Ever when everything that can go wrong does so in hilarious form. (Hilarious to the reader--Carrie is not having much fun this week.)
EXCERPTThe door burst open and Trent strode in, followed by a man dressed in a black suit, carrying a tray of food. “Good, you’re finally awake. Saves me from having to throw cold water on you.”Trent sat on her bed as he pointed to the desk. “Put her breakfast there.”“On the one of a kind, heirloom desk, which has been in your family since 1845?” his butler asked.“Yes.”“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.”
Author Bio:
Liza lives in Denville, NJ with her dog Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels. She loves to create interesting characters, set them loose, and scribe what happens.
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