After the Party Page 6

  It didn’t take a psychology degree to figure out that growing up under Elliot’s scattered if loving influence had caused Chase to crave structure, so much so that once he was able to, he’d created it for himself. Some might say he’d gone a little overboard. His modus operandi was to proceed with caution on a well-charted course with a known destination in mind. But he dialed Ella’s number anyway and found himself disappointed when he reached her voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message and was replacing the receiver into its cradle in his kitchen when it rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. This is Ella Sanborn. Someone from this number just tried to call me.”

  “Ella. Hello. It’s Chase Trumbull.”

  “Oh.” Her tone was one of disappointment, an emotion that hit his ego hard. Before he could recover, she was saying, “I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact with your uncle yet. I plan to go see him first thing Monday morning. Honest. I would have been in sooner, but I spent some of the deposit he gave me, and I’ve been waiting until I could give him his money back in full.”

  Now Chase felt horrible all over again. Ella really needed that money.

  “That’s not why I was calling,” he lied.

  “Then why?”

  Why indeed.

  “I...I...” he stammered, feeling like an idiot as he grasped for a reason. What he came up with was, “I have a job for you.”

  “A job?” she repeated, clearly surprised.

  Well, that made two of them.

  “Yes, I, uh, want to throw a...a dinner party,” he said when his gaze fell on the takeout menu for his favorite restaurant that was open on the counter.

  Chase had a full-size kitchen in the penthouse he’d been subletting since his return from California, one with the kind of appliances that a Cordon Bleu–trained chef would envy. Of course, he had neither the patience nor the time to learn their full range of functions, so most of his meals came courtesy of his favorite restaurants. And when he entertained, which was rare and usually for reasons more business-related than social, he relied on his secretary to see to the details. But Ella could handle it, he thought, warming to the idea. Yes, she could manage coordinating a meal for six or so guests.

  “Are you asking me to plan your dinner party? I have no prior experience,” she reminded him. “None.”

  “But you’re enthusiastic. You told me so yourself.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No. I’m hiring you,” Chase replied, mind made up.

  Ella snorted and sounded far from convinced when she replied, “You want to hire me. Right.”

  “I’m serious, Ella.”

  “Oh, God! This is a pity job, isn’t it? You feel sorry for me. That’s the only reason you’re calling and offering me this opportunity.”

  Pity. Was that all he felt where Ella was concerned? “Actually, I—”

  It was as far as he got before she interjected. “I accept!”

  He couldn’t help teasing, “Even if it’s a pity job?”

  “Sure. Beggars, choosers and all that.” She was the one doing the teasing when she said, “Let me just step into my office, boot up my computer and you can give me the details.”

  He pictured ten candy-pink-tipped toes crossing a stained white rug. “I have a better idea. Can we meet to discuss it in person?”

  “I suppose that makes more sense. How about Monday when I stop in to see your uncle?” she suggested.

  Monday seemed light years away.

  “Actually, I haven’t had dinner yet. What about you?”

  “An hour ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I’m always up for dessert.”

  How could a man not appreciate a woman who would cop to liking dessert? Most of the women he knew were counting calories or carbs or both, and regarded sugar as the devil.

  “I know a place that makes the best cheesecake. You like cheesecake, right?”

  His question elicited a sound best suited to the bedroom. It was all Chase could do not to moan in response.

  “I love it,” she said. “Give me the address and tell me what time you want to meet.”

  The restaurant he had in mind was far closer to his Park Avenue penthouse than her apartment in Lower Manhattan, but he replied, “I thought I would pick you up.”

  “Okay.” She waited a beat. “This is business, right? I mean, it’s not a date?”

  “Of course it’s business,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

  He braced himself, fully expecting Ella to mention their kiss, but she said, “Shoe selection. I can be ready in an hour.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  After disconnecting, Chase tapped the phone against his chin. Damned if he didn’t find himself wondering what kind of shoes she had in mind.

  * * *

  Red stilettos seemed a bit much for a business dinner, even if they were Ella’s favorite heels. She put them back in the cupboard and pulled out a pair of purple suede designer pumps. They were the real deal, a gift from her father back when he could still afford to give his daughter outrageously expensive shoes on a whim. Ella hadn’t worn them in nearly a year, but the bright plum was just the pop of color the outfit she had in mind needed.

  When Chase knocked, she was dressed, shoes on, hair styled and eyes gone smoky thanks to some expertly applied shadow.

  “The entrance is propped open again,” were the first words out of his mouth when she opened the door.

  It wasn’t quite the greeting she’d hoped for, but she didn’t mind since his eyes then widened fractionally and half of his mouth tipped up.

  “I’m ready,” she told him.

  “So I see.”

  His gaze still hadn’t made it back to her face. Even so, she had just enough vanity to go fishing for a compliment.

  “What I’m wearing is suitable, right? You didn’t tell me where we were going, so I decided to play it safe and put on a dress.”

  The other half of his mouth lifted. Ella still wouldn’t say he was smiling, but he was clearly pleased.

  “You look...perfect.”

  She’d been going for professional with a heaping side of pretty in the muted yellow print sheath that ended just above her knee, but it was difficult to be disappointed with being called perfect.

  “Thanks. You look perfect, too.”

  And mouthwatering despite being conservative. Did the man own clothing beyond suits? Technically, she supposed, Chase wasn’t wearing a suit. Rather, a navy sports jacket and a pair of stone-colored trousers. He wore both exceptionally well. She recognized a tailor’s hand when she saw one, but in this case more than gifted stitching was responsible for the fit. The man worked out.

  At least he’d left the tie at home. The white button-down was open at the collar. Despite the day’s heat, she spied the neckline of a cotton undershirt. At the sight, Ella’s mind drifted. She found herself wondering if Chase wore boxers or briefs beneath his pants. Then she found herself wondering what he wore to bed. Most likely pajamas, the cotton plaid variety with a top that buttoned up the front and included a pocket. If she ever got the chance, she would take her time unbuttoning the shirt. Peel off the pants slowly. Boxers or briefs? She didn’t care which. When she got to them, she would peel off those slowly, too.

  Forget drifting. Her mind had just wandered over a cliff. Sanity followed as she recalled their kiss. She had spent the week trying not to think about it. She hadn’t been very successful, even if she’d had bigger issues to concern herself with. Mainly, her lack of income, the mounting stack of bills and coming up with the few hundred bucks of Elliot’s deposit that she’d already spent.

  “Is something wrong?” Chase’s voice sliced through her mind’s meanderings.

  “Wron
g? No.”

  He nodded. Then, “I have a question for you. It’s a little bit personal.”

  Thong, she nearly said, before pressing her lips together. “Hmm?”

  “Why did you go with those shoes?”

  Shoes. He would consider that a personal question. She glanced down at the pumps.

  “I decided my outfit needed a punch of color.”

  He nodded, as if he understood, which she doubted. Few men understood a woman’s predilection for shoes. Even her former boyfriend, Bradley, who was a clotheshorse himself, had been baffled by her obsession with footwear.

  “Ready?” Chase asked.

  “Yes.”

  She retrieved a small clutch from the counter. It was orange, a warm hue that was positioned opposite the purple of her shoes on the color wheel. As such they complemented one another as well as the more neutral-toned dress.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” At her quizzical glance, he added, “A tablet, whether the old-fashioned writing variety or the high-tech kind. You’ll need to take notes for my dinner party.”

  Dinner party. Notes. “Right,” she murmured, rummaging through the magazines, correspondence and clothes on her desk. She found a small pad of paper and tucked it into the purse. Then they were on their way. When they passed through the main door downstairs, Chase kicked to the side the brick her neighbor had placed there.

  She thought the gesture sweet, even though she knew from prior experience that the guy or one of his bandmates would only put it back.

  * * *

  Ella was familiar with the restaurant Chase chose. It was a favorite of her father’s, although it had been a while since either she or Oscar had eaten there. The price of an appetizer could buy her a couple of meals at the places she frequented these days, not that she ate out often. Eating in was much cheaper.

  “Mr. Trumbull, so good to see you again,” the maître d’ said with a hint of a bow. “I must have missed your name on the reservation list.”

  “You didn’t miss it. My guest and I made dinner plans at the last minute. I know it’s a Friday night, but I was hoping you could accommodate us.”

  The man’s gaze fell on Ella then and he blinked in surprise. “Miss Sanborn! It’s...it’s...it’s been too long.”

  She gave him points for the quick recovery as well as diplomacy, even if his complexion paled by several shades.

  “Hello, Charles. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. And you?”

  “Never better,” she replied with a smile.

  He lowered his voice and glanced around. “Will your father be joining you this evening?”

  “No. It’s just Chase and me.”

  The maître d’s relief was palpable. Although her heart sank, Ella kept her smile in place.

  She didn’t need to look at Chase to know he was frowning. Questions were forming. Perhaps he already had answered some of them himself. She hoped any that remained could wait until after she’d eaten a thick slice of The Colton’s signature cheesecake, since talking about the past would spoil her appetite.

  “Do you think you can find us a table?” she said to Charles.

  There had been a time when Ella would have slipped the man a fifty-dollar bill along with the request. Money talked. Her father had taught her how to grease all sorts of skids with various denominations of currency. Now that neither of them had any to spare, doors that once swung wide open were all but bolted shut. That reality, along with the whispered comments whenever he came into a room, had left Oscar Sanborn bitter. Ella considered herself wiser. She put more stock in happiness than prosperity, even if she recognized the need for an income.

  “Of course. Right this way.”

  The table was one of three in a small alcove in the back, secluded from the front of the restaurant. Ella couldn’t decide if Charles had seated them there to ensure their privacy or to isolate them from the other guests, her father’s reputation being what it was these days.

  A waiter appeared almost immediately to take their drink order.

  “May I take the liberty of recommending a wine to start, Mr. Trumbull?” he asked.

  At Chase’s nod, the young man rattled off the selection, touching on its various notes and characteristics.

  “I’ll defer to the lady,” Chase said when the waiter finished. “How does that sound, Ella?”

  “I’ve had the previous year’s vintage and did not care for it.”

  “You will find this one much better.”

  “All right.”

  “Bring a half carafe,” Chase instructed.

  “Excellent, sir.” With that, the young man withdrew.

  She studied her menu, well aware that Chase was studying her.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said.

  “About?”

  “Eating more than dessert. I love their portobello mushrooms. They’re grilled and topped with roasted red peppers and goat cheese.” She set the menu on the table. “Does that sound all right to you for an appetizer?”

  He nodded. “Ella—”

  “Can it wait?”

  “Can what wait?”

  “The inquisition. I know you have questions.”

  “I do,” he agreed on a slow nod. “All right. They can wait.”

  Chase was true to his word. Of course, she’d expected him to be. Ella had pegged him to be the sort of man who said what he meant and meant what he said. It was a quality she greatly appreciated as she savored the last bite of portobello.

  “You should serve these at your dinner party,” she suggested, reaching for her wine. “They’re a great way to start a meal. Your guests would love them. The Colton does catering. As you must know, their food is always excellent.”

  “Are they a contact of yours?” He offered one of his almost-smiles.

  “I guess they are. In a manner of speaking.” She sipped her wine. The waiter had been right about the vintage. It was much better than the label’s previous year. When her mind started to wander to the subpar merlot that stained her carpet and the kiss she’d shared with Chase, she decided it was time to get down to business.

  “Tell me about this party of yours. Have you decided on a guest list?”

  “I...yes.”

  She narrowed her eyes and asked, “How many people are we talking?”

  “I’m thinking...six.”

  “You just plucked that number out of the air, didn’t you?” she accused, regaining her humor. It felt good to laugh.

  “Yes.”

  She gave him points for honesty. “So, does this six include you?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Ella recalled her stepmother’s admonitions against uneven numbers at social gatherings. Camilla might have been a back-stabbing bitch, but she knew about such things. “If you are hosting couples, you really should invite a date for yourself. Are...you seeing anyone?”

  The question wasn’t purely professional. It had nagged at her since that infamous lip-lock earlier in the week.

  “I’m not in a relationship, if that’s what you mean.” He leaned toward her. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I was.”

  “Good to know.” Or was it? As her body began to tingle, she wondered.

  Chase turned the question around. “What about you, Ella? Are you involved with anyone?”

  “Not recently.” Bradley was her last serious boyfriend, and they were ancient history.

  “Good.”

  Those tingles continued when the right side of his mouth quirked up.

  “So, will you be inviting a date?” she asked. Since they were awaiting their entrees, she pulled out the notepad and uncapped a pen.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Dinner for seven.” She j
otted it down.

  “Eight.” When she glanced up, Chase added. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  “I...” She wasn’t sure how to respond. In truth, she wasn’t particularly clear on what constituted proper party planner etiquette, but his offer was damned tempting.

  “You can make some contacts,” Chase went on. “Hand out your business cards.”

  “That’s really nice of you.” And, from a purely practical perspective, very appealing. “I’ll leave some of my cards with you.”

  “But you won’t stay.”

  She shook her head. “I may be brand-new at this, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t look very professional for me to be both your planner and a guest at your table.”

  He conceded the point with a nod. From his frown, however, she gathered her answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  “When are you thinking of hosting this dinner?”

  “The sooner the better. I know this is very last minute, but does a week from next Saturday work for you?”

  “I didn’t bring my appointment calendar with me, but I believe that date is available,” she told him dryly.

  “I thought it might be.” Half of his mouth rose again. “I’ll pay you in advance for your services, and you can charge any expenses to my credit card.”

  Ella nearly wilted in relief at his response. In addition to needing to pay back Elliot, she was down to condiments, half a bag of baby carrots and two cups of Greek yogurt in her fridge.

  “I appreciate that. I’ll need the names and addresses of your guests. The turnaround will be tight, but I’d like to send out proper invitations rather than rely on email, although to make it easier for your guests they can RSVP via computer.”

  “I’ll get them to you first thing Monday,” he replied just as the waiter returned with Chase’s steak.

  On the table in front of Ella, the waiter placed a plate of mixed baby greens tossed in the house vinaigrette. She’d told Chase the truth about having already eaten, but nibbling on a salad seemed preferable to simply sitting there watching him eat a mouthwatering cut of meat.

  Although she put away her notepad, they continued to discuss the dinner party during the meal. He assured her that his dining room and its furnishings could accommodate all of his guests.