After the Party (7 page)

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 jotted 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.

“What about place settings, cutlery, stemware and serving pieces? I only ask because not every bachelor has those,” she told him.

“I have service for twenty-four.”

Her mouth fell open. “Seriously? You have service for twenty-four?”

“Not at the penthouse, but they’re packed away in my uncle’s attic,” he said on a shrug. “They were my mother’s.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Chase frowned in confusion. “Why are you sorry?”

It was Ella’s turn to be perplexed. “I...I assumed the fact that you have them now meant she’s, well, dead.”

Ella had nothing of her late mother’s. When Camilla had bailed on Oscar, she’d taken off with her all of the jewelry, trinkets and china that, by rights, should have been Ella’s.

Chase was saying, “My mother is very much alive and well. I just haven’t seen her in a couple of decades.”

Ella blinked. “Sorry,” she offered again before she could think better of it. Then she blundered further by saying, “At least you have your dad.”

“Actually, my father is dead.”

“Oh.” It was all she could manage with both of her feet stuffed in her mouth.

Chase took pity on her and changed the subject. “How much wine do you think I should order?”

Grateful for the change in topics, she replied, “I think three bottles should do it for a group that size, unless you are thinking of offering your guests more than one selection to go with the meal.”

By the time the waiter had cleared their plates and brought her dessert, Ella had a very good idea of the gathering she would be putting together on Chase’s behalf. But that wasn’t why she was smiling. The cheesecake looked as good as she remembered with a drizzle of sauce as well as a few fresh strawberries layered on top.

“I’m willing to share,” she told Chase.

Unlike her, he had ordered only coffee, which he took black. Ella loved coffee, as long as it came with plenty of cream and a few packets of sweetener.

“That’s all right.”

“Watching your figure?”

He chuckled. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

“I’m all for role reversal.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Well? Do you?”

“Watch my figure?”

“Want a bite.”

“Maybe one.” He winked. “I can work it off later.”

He was talking about exercise. Probably lifting weights or taking a turn on an elliptical machine, but she felt her flesh heat up anyway. She could think of a good way for them both to burn off calories.

Then Ella heard a familiar voice and those first licks of interest were doused as effectively as having a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.

“There are, too, open tables back here, Charles. I don’t know what you were thinking, seating us so close to the kitchen,” Camilla complained. Then she spied Ella. “Whatever are
you
doing here?”

“Eating a slice of cheesecake.” Or she had been. Her appetite was good and ruined now.

Ella’s former stepmother was blonder, bustier and more bodacious than she remembered. Of course, Ella had been doing her damnedest to forget the woman.

“Charles, why didn’t you mention that Ella was here?”

“An oversight,” the maître d’ replied, casting an apologetic glance Ella’s way.

Camilla continued, “Our relationship may have changed, but there are no hard feelings. Isn’t that so, Ella?”

Ella smiled without agreeing. Now was neither the time nor place to air dirty laundry. “You’re looking well,” she said, determined to be pleasant.

“Thank you. Have you gained a little weight?” Camilla cast a meaningful glance at the cheesecake.

It was the kind of verbal slap Ella expected from the woman who had made her insecure teen years pure hell, and so she was prepared for it.

“Nope. Same weight as before.”

“Really? Well, not me. I’ve lost several pounds. I’ve been so busy redecorating Javier’s villa in Madrid,” she said of her new husband.

Javier Saville, plastic surgeon to the rich and famous. Camilla had met him when she’d gone in for a tummy tuck. She appeared to have had a few additional procedures done since then.

“Married life agrees with you,” Ella said. And the fact that, these days, Camilla was married to someone other than Ella’s father agreed with Ella.

Camilla nodded, before transferring her gaze to Chase. “You’ll have to forgive us for being so rude. Ella and I haven’t seen one another in...how long has it been?”

“Your divorce from Dad was final two years, six months, three weeks and four, um, no, five days ago.” Ella smiled sweetly.

Meanwhile, Camilla’s eyes glittered with pure evil. “How is your father, dear? Any more indictments? I wasn’t able to follow the news while I was abroad.”

“You know damned well he was cleared of all charges,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Your table, madam?” Charles inserted in an attempt to keep the situation from escalating. The poor maître d’ looked pained. Scenes didn’t happen at The Colton.

Camilla ignored him. “That’s right. It was all those pesky civil suits from investors who’d lost their life savings that kept him in court.”

The burden of proof was lower in civil cases and a couple of sympathetic juries had sided with the plaintiffs. Between legal fees, those settlements and the financial drubbing Oscar had taken in the divorce, he’d wound up nearly broke.

“I’m Chase Trumbull.” Chase stood and held out his hand, making it impossible for Camilla to ignore him or continue her not-so-veiled attack on Ella.

“Camilla Saville.” Instead of shaking his hand, she gave just the tips of his fingers a light squeeze before adding with an air of importance, “Of the Greenwich, Connecticut, Savilles. Are you and Ella...dating?”

The question was accompanied by a practiced look of surprise.

“Actually, Chase and I are business associates,” Ella responded.

“Business associates?” Camilla’s lips twisted on the words, before she asked skeptically, “And what business might that be?”

“Ella is a professional party planner.”

“Since when?” Camilla snorted indelicately. Chase’s icy stare had her offering an apology, albeit an insincere one. “I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. It’s just that I’m surprised. The last I heard, and admittedly it was several months ago, Ella was trying her hand at fashion merchandising and not having very much success, I’m afraid.”

As if Camilla hadn’t gleefully given every contact she knew in the industry an earful.

Chase surprised her by claiming, “Ella is very much in demand. I was lucky to get her, especially on short notice.”

Camilla looked as if she wanted to disagree, but couldn’t figure out how to do so without making herself appear churlish.

“Trumbull, you said?”

“Of the East Hampton Trumbulls, yes.” Even though Chase said it with a straight face, Ella caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Camilla’s expression changed to fawning. “East Hampton. Ooh. I adore East Hampton. I’ve been telling Javier that we should buy a place there. Our penthouse is lovely, but the city can be so tiresome after a while. It would be nice to have a weekend getaway that didn’t require a transatlantic flight, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“You have a place abroad?”

“A chateau in Paris and a Tuscan villa.”

Ella didn’t know if Chase really owned real estate in Europe, but it didn’t matter. Camilla’s envy was plain.

“Lovely places.”

He nodded. “It was nice to meet you. Now if you’ll excuse us, Ella and I have a lot to discuss.”

“Of course. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thanks. You, too,” Ella said, hoping to put an end to their uncomfortable reunion. If only she had left it there. But no, she had to say, “And tell Bernadette I said hello.”

“I will.” Camilla lowered her voice. “And may I just say you’re taking it well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her engagement.”

“Bernadette is engaged? That’s wonderful.” Even if Ella pitied the poor sap who found himself saddled with her high-maintenance, ill-tempered stepsister.

But Camilla was frowning. “Oh, dear. You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Ella asked, fully aware she was going to regret it given the gleam in her former stepmother’s eyes.

“Bernadette is marrying Bradley.”

FIVE

Chase already had
plenty of questions for Ella. Questions that, at her request, he’d put off asking until after they had finished their meal.

Well, now he had one more.

Who in the hell was Bradley?

Make that two questions. The second being, why should it matter to him?

Chase only knew it did. The guy had to be someone pretty important for Ella’s stepmother to fling him in Ella’s face the way she had.

Generally speaking, patience wasn’t Chase’s strong suit, but he exercised what he considered to be an admirable amount while she picked at her cheesecake. With more than half of the slice remaining, she announced she was ready to go. Chase paid for their meal and they left.

He tipped the valet and was buckling his seat belt when Ella said without any prompting, “So, what do you want to know?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“No. But I’ve had a lot of practice at this.”

He didn’t ask what “this” she was referring to. Instead, he said, “I’m trying to figure out which question I want you to answer first.”

“Let me know when you decide.” She turned to look out her window.

“Who are you really?” he blurted out.

She turned to face him, brows beetled. “I’m Ella Sanborn, the newbie party planner you’ve taken pity on by hiring me to put together a dinner for you the Saturday after next.”

“But you’re not merely the struggling young woman with the grandiose business dream I first met.”

The one who believed in luck and who stopped to pick up stray pennies to enhance her odds. The one who lived in a seedy neighborhood in an apartment that could have been measured in square inches rather than square feet. The one who desperately needed a job.

“Why can’t I be that person?” she asked. “Does the fact that I was born wealthy negate my current ambitions?”

Born wealthy. Now they were getting somewhere, even though it was no more than he’d suspected given her taste for fine wines, designer clothes and the fact that she was on a first-name basis with the maître d’ at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan.

Ella was saying, “The person you met the other day, the person you had dinner with tonight, this is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been.
I
haven’t changed.”

“But your circumstances have, I gather. You’ve eaten at The Colton before.”

“Lots of people have eaten there.” She shrugged. “It’s open to the public.”

Which was true, but the prices on the establishment’s menu ensured an affluent clientele, and they both knew it.

“Charles knows you personally, Ella. He asked about your father. And we ran into your stepmother there.”

“Former.” Ella’s voice was surprisingly sharp. “
That
woman is of no relation to me, not even by marriage now.
Thank God!
” But then the fight went out of her. “My father is Oscar Sanborn. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

Her chin was tilted up in challenge, as if daring Chase to say something negative. Oscar Sanborn. A memory stirred before clicking into place.

“The Wizard of Wall Street. I did a term paper on him while I was at Harvard. His long-term investment strategies were the stuff of legend.”

Indeed, the man was considered a financial genius, or had been, until several of his very high-profile clients lost their entire life savings. A couple of last-minute stock sales from his own portfolio kept Oscar Sanborn from going under, as well. Some claimed insider trading, although he was investigated by the feds and cleared of all wrongdoing, but that hadn’t stopped the civil suits from being filed. Seventeen in all, only three of which were successful. The last article Chase read about the man noted that he was destitute, divorced and living in seclusion.

It hadn’t mentioned a daughter. Much less how drastically her life must have changed as the result of her father’s staggering legal difficulties. She would have been in college when her father’s business dealings had started to go south. The last of the civil lawsuits had been decided the previous year.

She was a young woman who had been raised in privilege, and as such accustomed to a certain social status and lifestyle. But she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, even though it appeared she had yet to land on her feet.

“I’ll have to tell him that,” Ella was saying. “He’ll be flattered.”

“What’s he doing these days?” Chase asked casually.

She glanced out her window again. Her tone was overly upbeat when she replied, “Oh, he’s retired, but he keeps busy.”

Chase could read between the lines. The man who had once ruled Wall Street was now all but a recluse.

“It must have been hard on you. As I recall, his reputation took quite a beating in the press.”

Her shoulders lifted. “It was harder on him. People he thought he could count on abandoned him. I think that hurt more than having to defend his business decisions in court or being forced to file bankruptcy.”

“Your stepmother,” he guessed.

“Camilla was among the first to seek greener pastures...and pocketbooks. Good riddance, I say, even though Dad felt differently. She broke his heart and what was left of his spirit.”

“I take it you and Camilla weren’t close.”

“No. She married my dad not long after my mom died. I tolerated her and her nasty daughter—” the infamous Bernadette, he deduced “—because my father was happy again.”

He slowed for a light. “How old were you when they married?”

“I’d just turned eleven.” Ella sighed, her tone became wistful. “It’s really too bad she was the kind of person she is. I wanted a mother. I missed mine. But right away I recognized Camilla for what she was—a phony and a user.”

Chase had his answers. Most of them anyway. He told himself it was none of his business, to leave it be, but he still heard himself asking the question that nagged the most.

“Who’s Bradley?”

“Someone I used to date.”

He’d gathered that much. And now that someone was marrying Ella’s stepsister.

“Was it serious?”

“I thought so at that time.” She cleared her throat. When she spoke again, it was to change the subject. “I think I got a good start on plans for your dinner party tonight.”

His dinner party. Chase had nearly forgotten about it. “Excellent,” he murmured, trying to match her professional tone.

“I’ll call The Colton tomorrow and speak to the manager about catering. That is if you think you want to use them.”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “I’ll have them put together a few appetizer, entree and dessert selections, and you can narrow down the menu from there.”

They discussed wine for the remainder of the drive. Her familiarity with high-end labels now made perfect sense. Ella had been raised in the same social circles as Chase. If he hadn’t moved to California for a time, they very well might have met at some soiree or another. But she was unlike any of the women he knew. A fact that was underscored when they neared her apartment. He couldn’t imagine any of them living in this neighborhood much less the shoebox Ella called home. They’d sell their soul first.

“It’s a long way down.” Her laughter held little mirth.

“Excuse me.”

“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? You’ve seen my apartment. You know that for a while I lived in one even smaller. As you probably guessed, I had a walk-in closet bigger than that in the house where I grew up. So, in that regard, it’s a long way down to Lower Manhattan from Central Park West.”

Was he really that transparent?

“Remind me to perfect my poker face before the next time I have to deal with the board of directors.”

“Speaking of work, I’ll be by the Trumbull offices Monday morning. I’ll return your uncle’s deposit and explain that he needs a more experienced party planner to organize his wake.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“And thank you for the pity job.” Her smile was impish and accompanied by those charming dimples. “I wish I had the name of someone I could recommend, but I haven’t had need for a party planner in some time. Of course, back when my father hosted large gatherings, Camilla was the one to oversee such details. I trust you will understand when I say I would rather slit my own throat than have to ask her who she used to hire.”

It was impossible not to chuckle given Ella’s dry tone. It was also impossible not to be impressed with the way she had handled adversity.

They were nearing her apartment. Chase slowed, scanning the street for an open spot near the curb.

“Oh, there’s no need to park. Just drop me out front.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“Seriously, there’s no need. Besides, it’s impossible to find a place on this block, which is why I don’t own a car. Well, that and the fact that I can’t afford one at the moment.”

The remark might be self-deprecating, but her laughter held no bitterness.

“I can’t just leave you at the curb.”

“Granted, this isn’t one of the better ZIP codes in Manhattan, but, really, this neighborhood’s not so bad.”

At just that moment, a visibly drunk man shuffled out from an alley, dropped his pants and began to urinate on the lamppost in front of Ella’s building.

“You were saying?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s all of five steps to my building’s door from the curb. Besides,” she continued matter-of-factly, “unlike that lamppost, I’d be a moving target.”

At that, a strangled sound escaped Chase. Ella turned and gaped at him.

“Did you just laugh?”

“I...well, you have to admit, what you said was pretty funny. The visual.” He shook his head as the image came and chuckled again.

“I like your laugh. You should do it more.”

“I haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” he heard himself admit.

“I laugh at myself. At the silliness of stowing my shoes in kitchen cabinets.”

“I admire you for that.”

“For my unconventional storage solution?” she asked, but she was grinning. She knew what he meant. “I told you before, I’d rather laugh than cry.”

“I remember.”

“From your remark about not having much to laugh about, I take it you haven’t had any luck getting Elliot to see a doctor.”

“No, but I haven’t really tried. We’ve been busy preparing for board meetings and, well, I keep hoping...”

The lump that had formed in his throat kept Chase from going on.

“Try.” Ella laid a hand over his on the steering wheel.

Compassion. Comfort. Both came from a woman who could use a little of each herself. He’d never met anyone like her.

It took some doing and a few trips around the block before he found an open spot at the curb just up from her building. Even though the sun had set, the evening remained warm to the point of being uncomfortable. Add in a hot woman and Chase could feel the perspiration gathering on his forehead even before he reached the door, which—no surprise—was held open once more with the brick.

Ella was smiling when his gaze connected with hers.

“Told you,” she said.

Though Chase knew it would do little good, he kicked the brick down the sidewalk this time and ushered her inside.

“Are you going to walk me all the way up, too?”

Gallantry warred with self-preservation. As it was, he wanted to kiss her again, find out if that over-the-top geyser of lust he’d experienced the first time was merely a fluke. If he found himself on her doorstep, her horny neighbor going at it in the hall.... He swallowed.

This wasn’t a date. He and Ella were business acquaintances of a sort. He summoned up every ounce of professionalism he possessed.

“I’ll leave you here.” He took out his phone. “Text me when you get inside your apartment.”

“All right.” She smiled, whether touched or amused, he couldn’t be sure. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“I’ll get those addresses for you.” Now, he just had to figure out who to invite, he thought wryly.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“An appetizer, a salad and a few forkfuls of cheesecake hardly qualify as dinner.”

“Don’t forget the wine. It was exceptionally good.”

He shrugged. “Even so. Have a good night, Ella.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Somehow he doubted a good night was in the cards for him. For as many answers as she’d provided, Chase suddenly had that many more questions.

He was standing in the entrance when he received her text a few minutes later.

“Home. Door bolted. Night.”

“Night,” he texted back.

Chase was leaving when a guy with a long, scruffy beard and tattoos down both arms called, “Hold the door, dude.”

In his hand was the damned brick.

Chase opted for a reasoned approach to start. “Do you live here?”

“Nah, man. Just visiting my buddy up on three.”

“The one with the band?”

The guy’s lips split in a grin that revealed tobacco-stained teeth. “Yeah. The Waste Haulers. You heard of us?”

“No.” Chase would bet he wasn’t in the minority on that. “I have a friend who lives on the fourth floor, and I don’t appreciate the entrance being propped open to allow just anyone to enter. Know what I mean?”

“Four, huh? You wouldn’t happen to be talking about the really hot chick in C, would you?”

The guy’s grin had Chase’s hands threatening to ball into fists. So much for being reasonable. Chase stepped forward, using his height to his advantage since the other guy was well under six feet.

“I am. And if I see a brick wedged in this door again, whoever put it there will be at the hospital having it surgically removed. Got it?”

Tattoo man backed up a step. “Chill, dude. Like, you seriously need to relax.”

People whose opinions Chase valued far more than this man’s had told him the same thing. “So, we’re clear?”

“Crystal.”

The young man went away muttering. Chase, meanwhile, enjoyed a rare smile.