by Jackie Braun
“Isn’t that the truth?” she replied, thinking of her father’s treatment by some so-called journalists. She glanced up to find Chase studying her. Clearing her throat, she asked Elliot, “Do you have a location in mind, then?”
“My house. Estate, I guess is more accurate. It’s in the Hamptons. We could set up tents. The grounds are quite expansive.” He chuckled. “I just happened to think, the name of my estate is The Big Top. What about Three Ring Circus for the theme?”
“I thought the theme was Irish wake,” Chase and Ella said at the same time.
“Right, right.” Elliot nodded. “What if it’s both? What do you think, Ella?”
She nibbled her lower lip to give herself a moment to think. A circus-themed wake for a man who wasn’t dying? For the first time since seeing Elliot’s call, she wondered if perhaps Madame Maroushka had gotten her palm confused with someone else’s.
“Well?” Elliot prodded.
“While there is nothing wrong with a party that has two distinct themes, marrying them can become, um, tricky. That’s especially true when they are so, um, so...different,” she finished, hoping to sound authoritative even if she was making things up as she went along.
“But it can be done?” Elliot asked hopefully.
Uh-oh.
“It can be. But it would take a lot of planning. Months, say, to do it right. Are you willing to wait that long?”
“No.” He sighed.
Ella nearly did, too.
“I suppose that answers that question,” Chase said. He looked as relieved as Ella felt. Then he asked, “May I make a suggestion, Uncle?”
“By all means.”
“If you are determined to have a party, why don’t you go with the circus theme and save the wake idea for another time?”
Elliot scratched his head. “I don’t know. I really want to have a wake. Ella?”
She’d already done some research on wakes. Besides, she had a clown phobia, and was pretty sure any big top-type bash the size Elliot wanted would have to include at least a few of the painted-faced performers.
“The circus theme is overdone.”
“What?” Chase asked at the same time Elliot said, “I should have known.”
“An Irish wake will be very, um, cutting edge.”
Chase gaped at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Really?”
“Really. This is the first one I’ve ever planned,” she added truthfully.
“She should know, Chase,” Elliot said. “She’s the expert.”
Ella worked up a smile that she hoped didn’t reveal her newbie-ness.
“Look, Uncle Elliot, you claimed you want my opinion, so I’m offering it. Throwing a party right now—”
“A wake,” Elliot corrected.
“That only makes it a bigger mistake. Calling it that will feed the rumor mill.”
Elliot shook his head, his expression patient, but still resigned. “I appreciate your input, my boy. Really, I do. But if I am going to be turned out of the company I started, I will do it on my own terms.”
“But a wake?”
Elliot looked every year of his age when he replied, “It’s fitting. What is forced retirement but another form of death for someone like me?”
The whir of the race cars broke the stretch of silence that followed. Elliot’s sober expression brightened when the little vehicles shot into view.
“Ella! Look! Your fortunes have changed. I think you’re going to win the race!”
He hurried over to the ladder, arriving at the top step just in time to wave the checkered flag. As he’d predicted, the blue car marked with number seventy-seven was the first to cross the finish line.
“Congratulations, young lady!” To Chase, he said, “Pay her for me, will you, my boy? Our wager was for ten dollars.”
Chase stood to retrieve his wallet from the rear pocket of his pants. He pulled two fives from his billfold and handed them to her. Afterward, he didn’t return to his seat. He paced to the window, where he stood, arms crossed, back to the room, a quiet yet imposing presence whose mood she could not quite gauge. He wasn’t angry. That much she could tell. Frustrated? Perhaps. But something else was going on.
She did her best to ignore him for the next twenty-five minutes as she culled as much information as she could from Elliot. The task wasn’t easy. The man was full of suggestions for his wake, but he kept going off on tangents. One moment, he was talking about beverages and the next he was relating a story about a fly-fishing excursion in the Rockies, the only common thread between the two being grape soda.
As they wrapped up, they made plans to meet again the following week, by which time Ella promised to have a mock invitation ready for Elliot’s approval, and some menu suggestions.
What did one serve at an Irish wake? Surely the fact that Elliot was so offbeat gave her license to be creative.
“You haven’t discussed the budget,” Chase said, turning back from the window. They were the first words he’d uttered in nearly half an hour.
“Ella can spend whatever she needs to spend. Money is no object,” Elliot replied on a shrug.
A muscle ticked in Chase’s jaw and he shoved a hand through his hair. Every strand fell back into place, except for those caught up in the cowlick. They staged a rebellion and remained erect. Sandra’s claim about men and cowlicks had Ella sucking in a breath.
Chase’s gaze met hers. She swore the air crackled with electricity, almost as if he could read her mind.
“Well?” he challenged.
Her mind went blank except for X-rated thoughts. “Wh-what?”
“How much do you think you’ll spend?”
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.”
“For God’s sake. It’s his company!” More than that, Trumbull Toys was Elliot’s life. Chase expected Owen, of all people, to understand that.
“It was his company. Now it belongs to the shareholders.” Owen took delight in adding, “You were the one who convinced him to take Trumbull Toys public.”
A move that had made good sense six years earlier, but one Chase regretted now.
“Then they need to be made to see reason.”
“What they’re seeing are the most recent sales projections. My father...has lost his edge.”
“He hasn’t lost anything.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Owen replied with a hint of sadness in his tone. “He lives in his own little world half the time.”
“It’s called being a creative genius. It’s what makes him so good at coming up with new toys.”
“And so lousy at being a father,” Owen shot back.
“Is that what this is about? Family grievances?”
“I wish!”
“Do you?”
“Look, his memory, his judgment, both have gotten worse since my mother died. When are you going to admit that, Chase? You may not think so, but I’m looking out for the future of Trumbull Toys. Dad needs to step down.”
“He needs...he needs a little help.”
“On that much we agree. Meanwhile, he’s not up to leading the company.”
“He built it from nothing. Without his vision and creativity, there would be no company. How can you side with the stockholders and those board members who believe he should be ousted?”
Chase hated to consider it, but he couldn’t help wondering if Owen might be responsible for the dementia rumors that were only succeeding in making a bad situation worse.
“It’s not personal. It’s business. And it’s a fact, Chase, that Trumbull Toys is no longer setting market trends. We’re following them.”
“I tell you, there’s a leak. Someone inside the company is selling us out to our competitors before our new toys are officially launched.”
It was one of the reasons Chase had tightened up the loose, anything-goes atmosphere that his uncle had allowed to flourish. Chase knew he was viewed as a tyrant as a result. Even his uncle complained that the new policies went too far and took all of the fun out of the office. But Chase wasn’t sure what else to do. He owed it to Elliot to try everything possible to protect the legacy the older man had built.
“There’s no friggin’ leak!” Owen countered, his tone surprisingly adamant.
“How do you explain the fact that Kellerman’s managed to come out with its remote-controlled dinosaurs just two weeks before we did?” Chase replied.
Kellerman’s was their biggest rival in the industry. At one time, its founder, Roy Kellerman, not only had worked at Trumbull, he’d been one of Elliot’s closest friends. They’d parted ways decades earlier after a falling-out that, from what Chase gathered, had been more personal than professional, as it involved his Aunt Isabella. Her funeral marked the first time the two men had spoken since becoming business rivals. Elliot claimed they’d buried the hatchet. If that were true, Chase was pretty sure it had been buried in Elliot’s back, because not long after that Trumbull’s business woes had begun.
Owen replied, “They did their research. They knew that’s what boys in the five-to ten-year-old demographic wanted.”
“They stole our idea!” Chase insisted.
Two remote-controlled dinosaurs, one named Chomp-a-saurus Rex and the other called Chomp-action T. rex, was more than a coincidence or savvy market research.
“There’s no evidence of that. Look, Chase, I love my father, too, but he hasn’t been the same since Mom died. He’s slipping. This wake nonsense is just one more example. He’s no longer fit to lead.”
Chase ignored the weariness in his cousin’s tone. It was easy to do since Owen seemed so damned eager to slide into the top spot, despite the fact that Elliot had made it plain he wanted Chase to be his successor.
Even with Elliot out of the way, Owen would need the board’s backing to take the helm. More and more, it appeared he had it.
Elliot’s wake could very well be the final nail in his professional coffin. In Chase’s mind, it didn’t bode well that it was being planned by a woman who believed in lucky pennies.
* * *
The following Tuesday, Ella splurged on a taxi to get to her appointment with Elliot. Since she was taking a cab rather than hoofing around Manhattan, she decided to wear her favorite pair of high heels. They were black patent leather with silver detailing on the vamp. They added four inches to her height. Unfortunately, if she wore them for too long, they also left her hobbling. But, damn, they looked great paired with the hot pink skinny jeans and printed peplum top that she’d gotten for a steal at a sample sale in the Garment District.
The door to Chase’s office was closed and the man in question was nowhere to be seen when Ella arrived on the seventeenth floor. She told herself she was relieved, since he made her so nervous. But she called herself a liar when the door to the office next to his opened and he stepped out. Her pulse took off like the miniature race cars in Elliot’s office.
He turned then, and she blinked in confusion at the stranger who stared back at her. The man was the same height and build as Chase. His coloring was similar, too. But his features were sharper, his nose slightly longer. No cowlick mocked his tidy hair.
“Well, hello.” Piercing blue eyes lit with interest when he smiled.
“Hi. You must be Owen Trumbull.”
“That’s right. And you must be Ella Sanborn.”
His smile was friendly, if flirtatious. He shook her hand, holding it a little longer than was necessary. Owen certainly had none of his cousin’s reserve.
“Yes.”
“My father tells me you’re going to throw quite a party for him.”
“Yes. I’m here to go over some of the plans.”
Owen smiled again. “Mind if I sit in?”
“That’s up to Elliot.”
Chase’s presence the other day had made Ella nervous, since it was clear he didn’t approve of the wake and, for that matter, didn’t trust Ella not to take advantage of Elliot. Still, she found herself glancing toward his door.
“He’s out,” Owen told her. “Won’t be back for a while.”
Just as well, she thought, refusing to be disappointed.