After the Party

Money. Right. She would have been relieved, except that she had no clue as to the cost.

“I promise to show restraint,” she replied with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

He looked far from reassured. “And what about your fee? What do you charge for your services?”

Her fee? In truth, Ella hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I, um, I charge a percentage.”

“Of what?”

“Of the overall cost,” she told him without stopping to wonder if that sounded reasonable.

“What about a contract? Did you bring one with you?”

“Good heavens, Chase. Stop badgering the young woman.” To Ella, Elliot said, “It’s the lawyer in him, I’m afraid. In addition to his business degree, he has a law degree, too.”

That made him handsome, imposing and apparently too educated for a sense of adventure.

“He has a point,” she told Elliot. “We probably should have something in writing.”

“Why? Did you know I sold my first toy to a store on Thirty-Fourth with a mere handshake?”

“Randy the Robot,” Ella supplied with a smile.

Not surprisingly, Chase was frowning. “That was more than four decades ago. We live in different times, Uncle.”

“Which is too damned bad, if you ask me,” Elliot replied. “I’m a good judge of character. I trust Ella.”

“Thank you for that, Elliot,” she began. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, really, but—“

“Oh, all right,” the older man broke in. “If it will make you both feel better, I’ll put it in writing.”

Chase relaxed visibly at the news. That was until Elliot reached behind him on the desk, tore off a square from the boxed calendar set and scribbled something on its back. He handed the paper to Ella.

It read: I, Elliot Trumbull, being of sound mind and body, promise to pay the delightful Ella Sanborn whatever the heck she decides to charge me for one Irish wake.

His signature was scrawled below it.

It was all she could do not to burst out laughing.

“May I see that?” Chase asked.

She gave him the paper and wasn’t surprised when he let out a soft curse.

After she and Elliot wrapped up their meeting, Chase accompanied her to the elevator.

“I guess you were right,” he said as he pushed the down button.

“About what?”

“That penny you found in the lobby. It really was lucky.” She might have smiled had he not added, “See that you don’t abuse my uncle’s trust.”

Incensed and offended, she muttered the first thing that came to mind. “What a waste of a good cowlick.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

When the elevator doors closed a moment later, however, she had the satisfaction of seeing Chase try to pat down his hair.

TWO

Chase headed for the decanter of aged scotch the moment he arrived home. It was after eight o’clock and he had yet to eat dinner, but that didn’t stop him from pouring two fingers and then downing them in a single gulp.

The fiery liquid scorched his throat, but did little to chase away the bitter taste in his mouth.

Damn the five members of the board of directors who were being so spineless!

Damn the investors for their lack of faith!

Damn his cousin for being so disloyal!

And damn his uncle for...for...

Chase set the glass on the counter and ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

None of this was his uncle’s fault—even if Elliot seemed to have thrown in the towel.

A wake, dammit. One to which the media would be invited. To Chase’s dismay, what he found himself focusing on was the very attractive woman hired to plan it.

He ran a finger idly around the rim of his empty glass as he recalled Ella Sanborn’s intriguing face, pinup curves and mile-long legs. When his mind threatened to slip into fantasy mode, he forced himself back to the present. Ella was sexy and gorgeous and quirky enough to keep a man guessing what she would say next. But was she competent to handle such a huge job?

She’d fallen into the gravy, he thought, recalling the “contract” Elliot had signed. It was dealings such as this that put the more conservative members of Trumbull’s board of directors on edge. Handshakes and hastily scrawled “contracts” were not how Fortune 500 companies were supposed to do business.

His phone rang as he contemplated pouring himself a second drink. A glance at the caller ID had him considering letting it go to voice mail, but there was no sense prolonging the inevitable.

“What do you want, Owen?” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Chase. We’re cousins. We grew up the under the same roof. Do I really need a reason to call you?”

They might have grown up together, but they had never been close.

“You only remember that we’re related when you want something,” Chase replied. “So what is it?”

He heard an exaggerated sigh and then, “I’d hoped to speak to you in person after the board meeting.”

“That wasn’t a meeting. It was a frigging blood-letting. How could you do that to your own father?” Chase’s temper flared anew just thinking about it and his tone turned sharp. “You all but hung him out to dry.”

“No. I was honest with the board when I was asked my opinion of his mental state. When are you going to admit that my dad needs to retire? If he goes now, he goes out on a high note and the company can be saved.”