After the Party Page 11

  As Ella had told Madame Maroushka, she wasn’t looking for a man. She was after gainful employment, something that would pay her bills and maybe offer some personal satisfaction. Eventually, a position would open up in her chosen field. Fashion, after all, was her passion.

  Or was it?

  A little voice whispered that maybe she’d found a new passion. Unsure whether it was referring to party planning or Chase, Ella chose to ignore it.

  If only she could ignore the ache around her heart where her father was concerned. She sighed, recalling the time they’d spent together the previous day. It had started with his disapproval over her choice in outfits, and gone downhill from there.

  Ella hadn’t planned to meet her father wearing the suit, given its negative association. Of course, neither had she planned to spend three hours in Chase’s apartment exploring his body and trying not to moan too loudly while he discovered new erogenous zones on hers.

  Chase. Mmm.

  Ella tipped her head back and squirted some chocolate syrup directly onto her tongue. Unfortunately, neither the syrup nor memories of the yummy man could eradicate the sour taste that spending time with her dad had left in her mouth.

  By the end of the visit, she’d wanted to give her father a good shake, tell him to get over it already, to move on and man up. She’d stayed silent, despite Oscar’s comments about her new career. He was embarrassed that she could wind up planning parties for the sort of people whose homes they had once been invited into as guests. Worse, when she’d told him about Elliot Trumbull’s bash, he’d expressed doubt that she could pull it off.

  She had doubts, too. What she needed was her father’s support and encouragement. She had neither. That hurt, so much so that it was a relief when he’d launched into a litany of complaints regarding the Brooklyn walkup his Realtor showed them. It was much too small, Oscar claimed. Never mind that it was ten times larger than Ella’s current apartment and had half a dozen windows, a couple of which offered a decent view of a nearby park.

  Its furnishings were subpar and showed signs of wear, Oscar lamented. Okay, so the table wasn’t a Duncan Phyfe, but it was an actual table. And the queen-size bed he’d turned up his nose at had her lumpy futon beat all to hell.

  In the end, Oscar told her he’d lost his appetite and would have to take a rain check on dinner. They’d parted ways outside the building he’d deemed to be in a slum. The Realtor left in his minivan after promising to be in touch soon. Oscar? He’d called for a car to take him back to Long Island. God only knew how he could afford it. Ella, meanwhile, had taken the subway to Lower Manhattan and hoofed the final three blocks home in sweltering heat. Her feet were still angry with her, which was why she was wearing ballet flats today.

  She recapped the peanut butter and put both it and the chocolate syrup away. Where she’d learned to improvise and lower her expectations to match her reality, her father was determined to continue indulging his champagne taste on a budget that allowed for beer, and the cheap domestic variety, at that.

  Ella sighed again. Then, pushing away thoughts of her father, she got to work. On the morning’s agenda? Hand-delivering the invitations for Chase’s dinner party and a lunch meeting with the manager of The Colton. The bonus? The samples she planned to taste would double as her lunch. It paid to be inventive.

  Two hours later, all of the invitations had been delivered except one: Elliot’s. Of course, he already knew the date and place, since they’d discussed it in his office only the day before, but she’d gone ahead and filled one out for him. Attention to detail. That was going to be one of the hallmarks of her new business. Now she stood in the lobby of Trumbull Toys debating the wisdom of boarding the elevator and possibly running into Chase.

  Ella had no regrets about yesterday—except that it had had to end. She wasn’t a shy virgin and wouldn’t feel awkward seeing him today. But she didn’t want to make it seem as if she was stalking him simply because they’d spent a memorable few hours in the sack.

  “I’m a professional,” she muttered aloud and punched the up button. “I’m here for a legitimate reason.”

  “And what reason might that be?”

  She turned to find Owen behind her.

  “Delivering an invitation to your uncle.”

  “For Chase’s little party?”

  She nodded, not caring for the derisive tone, even if she now understood the reason behind it.

  “I can give it to him if you’d like. I don’t mind playing your delivery boy.”

  He held out his hand, tracing a finger over her cheek. This went beyond flirting. Ella stepped away.

  “Thanks, but I need to see Elliot anyway.”

  Owen shrugged. The elevator arrived and they boarded. After it started its ascent, Ella fixed her gaze on the digital display above the door, watching the number change as they passed each floor.

  They were closing in on nine when Owen asked, “So, what’s on the agenda for Chase’s soiree? I’m guessing boring conversation, old-fashioned cocktails and bland food. My cousin doesn’t do spicy.”

  Ella didn’t care for his belittling remarks. Or his not-so-veiled swipe at his cousin’s manhood. Chase might not be the sort to advertise the party to be found in his pants, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. As she’d discovered firsthand.

  “Could have fooled me,” she murmured before she could think better of it.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught Owen’s surprised look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  But he wasn’t put off. “Don’t tell me—you and Chase?”

  Ella had to work to keep a smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. She’d dived headfirst into the deep end of the still water that was Chase Trumbull and had enjoyed doing the backstroke.

  Owen snorted before laughing outright. His mirth left her uneasy.

  “Diddling with the hired help,” he drawled. “I didn’t know my cousin had it in him. He’s been such a stickler for rules in the workplace since he came on board at Trumbull. Sucked the fun right out of the place.”

  Owen’s diddling comment was intended to get a rise out of her. Ella knew that. But she took the bait anyway and offered a slow wink when she told him, “Chase and I diddled off the clock and away from the workplace. No rules were broken.”

  Owen’s eyes went flat, even as he grinned. “If you want to try out the company’s first string, let me know. I’m happy to oblige.”

  When the doors opened a moment later, she was eager to step out of the elevator and bid Owen goodbye. Chase’s door was ajar, but he wasn’t at his desk. Elliot’s door was closed. Ella shot a smile in the direction of the dourly dressed trio seated behind the reception desk. To her surprise, the foosball table she remembered from the documentary was back.

  “I have an invitation to deliver to Elliot, as well as some suggestions for the entertainment for his party,” she added last minute. He hadn’t actually asked for any during yesterday’s meeting, but they gave her a bona fide reason beyond the invitation to be here. “Is he in?”

  “Yes, but he’s busy at the moment. You can give everything to me,” the woman who’d given her the guest list for the wake offered.

  That posed a problem, since the list Ella had concocted was only in her head. She handed over the invitation and said, “I’ll call him later to discuss my suggestions. Or shoot him an email.”

  She was crossing to the elevator when Chase came out of Elliot’s office and called her name.

  His smile was warm, his gaze hot.

  “Here to see me?” he asked.

  “Elliot actually. I was just dropping off his invitation to your party.” She smiled smugly. “All of them have been delivered.”

  “You’ve had a busy morning.”

  She nodded, suddenly t
ongue-tied when she recalled how “busy” they’d been the day before. She glanced away and her gaze landed on the foosball table.

  She pointed to it. “I like the new addition.”

  “It’s actually old. I had it brought out of storage this morning.”

  “You did?”

  “Someone mentioned something about happy cows...” He shrugged. “I’m thinking of having monthly tournaments.”

  “You’re just full of surprises.” And wasn’t that the truth? He was wearing a tie, perfectly knotted, but figuratively, at least, he’d loosened it.

  “I’ve ordered a few more that will go in the cafeteria. Which reminds me, do you have plans for lunch?”

  “Actually, I do. I’m heading over to The Colton. The manager is having samples made up of the menu items I requested for your dinner. I get to try them.”

  “Want some company?” he asked.

  How to play this, Ella wondered. She opted to be casual. “It’s your party.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s not a no.”

  He frowned. “And that’s not an answer.”

  Casual was getting complicated. She decided to be blunt. “I don’t want you to feel obligated, because, well...” She lowered her voice. “Because of yesterday.”

  His lips twitched with an almost smile. “That’s thoughtful, but unnecessary. I don’t feel...obligated.”

  But he did feel something and based on the way his gaze was lingering on her mouth, Ella had a good idea what it might be. Too bad they were heading to a public place or a replay of the previous day would be inevitable. She shivered just thinking about it.

  “I can hang out for a few minutes if you need to do something before we leave. Or you can meet me at the restaurant.” That was casual and uncomplicated. She gave herself a mental high-five.

  “I have nothing pressing right now. We can go.”

  Unfortunately, Owen stepped out of his office just then.

  “Where are you off to, Chase?” He smirked before adding, “As if I need to ask.”

  “Ella and I have an appointment with the manager of The Colton. We’re sampling the menu for my dinner party.”

  “Sampling.” He nodded. “A nice word for a nooner.”

  Chase’s gaze turned hard as steel and he took a menacing step toward Owen. Ella headed off what she decided would be an ugly exchange by grabbing his arm.

  With an overly bright smile, she said, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

  “I’ll apologize for my cousin,” Chase said when they were in the elevator heading to the lobby.

  “Don’t. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.” Ella took a deep breath and admitted, “It was thanks to my big mouth that he put two and two together.”

  Far from being angry, Chase appeared amused. “You didn’t strike me as the sort to kiss and tell.”

  “Generally speaking, I’m not. It’s just that Owen made a comment about you being boring and not liking anything spicy, and I...” Ella wrinkled her nose and decided to leave it at that.

  Chase filled in the blank for her. “You came to my defense.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. You’re not mad?”

  “More like flattered that you felt compelled to disabuse him of the notion. Thank you.”

  Chase stepped closer, bringing the crisp scent of his aftershave with him.

  “Well, he was wrong,” she murmured and closed the distance. Ella rested the palms of her hands on his chest and inhaled deeply. “I love the way you smell.”

  His scent had lingered on her body after they’d parted ways the previous day. It had been with a great deal of regret that she’d washed it away when she’d showered last night.

  “I’m pretty partial to the way you smell, too.”

  He dipped his head, kissed her lips. Fantasies involving hitting the emergency stop button bubbled in Ella’s brain. But that one kiss was all they had time for before the doors opened at the lobby.

  NINE

  “Are you sure you don’t need me to go with you and help set up?” Sandra asked as they sat on the futon in Ella’s apartment.

  Ella was triple-checking her notes. Sandra was filing her nails. Ella wasn’t fooled. Her friend didn’t want to lend a hand as much as she wanted a good look at Chase. Ella shook her head.

  “It’s a dinner party for eight people. If I can’t handle this on my own, there’s absolutely no hope for me in the business.”

  “You can handle it.” Sandra stopped filing. “You seem to really like this job.”

  “I do.” Ella looked up from her notes and grinned. “I mean, what’s not to like about parties, right?”

  “Yes, but planning them isn’t the same as attending them. It can’t be all fun and games.”

  “No.” A lot of tedium was involved, as Ella was discovering. She’d touched base twice already with The Colton about the food, and had headed off a crisis over the centerpiece when the florist called earlier that morning to say the shipment of sky-blue hydrangeas had not arrived. Plan B involved pale green hydrangeas, which would still complement the tablescape Ella had in mind. “You know, I think I may be good at this.”

  “Better than you are at identifying the next fashion trend?” Sandra asked.

  “Maybe.”

  Ella shrugged. Her intuition regarding which colors, cuts and textures were going to be hot would have made her a good buyer, or so one of her professors at NYU had claimed. But she discovered that she used some of that same intuition planning a party. Even food could be fashionable, and some trends were overdone in her opinion.

  Was party-planning what she was meant to do with her life? She wasn’t sure, regardless of what Madame Maroushka thought. But Ella did know that for the first time in a long time she had money in the bank, was current on her rent and she was enjoying herself.

  Chase came to mind, an image of the two of them sweaty and sated and already gearing up for another go-round. He wasn’t the only reason she was enjoying herself, but Ella wouldn’t discount his effect on her current mood.

  Sandra sighed. “I envy you, El.”

  The admission caught Ella by surprise.

  The women had been friends since their freshman year at an exclusive all-girl prep school, the tuition for which rivaled some of the best universities in the country. Sandra still lived in one of Manhattan’s most exclusive ZIP codes. She was dating a man who adored her, a decent guy who, by all indications, wanted to marry her, and who easily could afford to keep Sandra in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. Her family was well regarded in the community. Her mother was on a first-name basis with the mayor. As for her father, he’d never been the punch line for a late-night comedian’s joke. She’d never been put on the stand in a courtroom or grilled by strangers about her father’s business dealings. Nor had she been chased by tabloid reporters eager for a quote. She didn’t have a stepmother who went around badmouthing her or a stepsister who just plain hated her and loved making her life miserable.

  Ella stopped what she was doing and asked in bewilderment, “How can you possibly envy me?”

  “You’re so Zen about everything. And, once you set your mind to something, you never waver. You go after it. No hesitation.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” Ella pointed out.

  Sandra shrugged. “Still, you know who you are.”

  Ella wouldn’t claim to have her life figured out. If she had, she wouldn’t have consulted Madame Maroushka. But her friend was right. Ella did know who she was. “That’s because I’m the same person I’ve always been.”

  “Exactly.” Sandra put the emery board aside and began fiddling with an earring, a sure sign that she was anxious about something. “Your circumstances changed. Drastically. But y
ou, you stayed the same, El.”

  “You stayed the same, too. A lot of people stopped calling me or they stopped taking my calls after my dad was accused of insider trading. And then when the lawsuits started...” Ella shook her head to clear it of the painful memories. “You were never one of those people, though. You stuck by me. You stayed true.”

  “BFFs through thick and thin,” Sandra replied, letting go of the silver hoop that dangled from her earlobe to stick out her hand.

  They linked little fingers and giggled like the schoolgirls they’d been the first time they’d executed a pinky oath. Then Sandra sobered.

  “I can’t stop wondering if I’d be as resilient as you’ve been if our situations were reversed.”

  “Oh, you would. You totally would,” Ella assured her, although she hoped Sandra never had to find out.

  Sandra nodded, but then to Ella’s surprise, the young woman covered her face with her hands and wailed, “I invited Bernadette to my family’s barbecue.”

  “You wh—!” Ella moderated her tone and asked, “When did this happen? How?”

  Sandra lowered her hands. “Yesterday. Cole and I were out at Belmont Park watching Deuce’s Pride race. While we were there we ran into Bradley.” No surprise that. Bradley entertained illusions of becoming a breeder. Sandra’s boyfriend, meanwhile, owned several horses, which he stabled near the storied track. “Anyway, Cole and Bradley had their heads together about horses. The next thing I knew, Cole was saying, ‘We’ll talk more at the barbecue.’ You know guys. He just assumed Bradley was on the guest list even though he hasn’t been welcome at my house since he broke off things with you.”

  “And so you invited Bernadette?”

  “Not intentionally. But when Bradley asked what time they should arrive, meaning he and Bernadette, I didn’t tell him to go to hell. Feel free to hate me, because I said, three o’clock. God! I am the worst friend ever!” Sandra wailed again.