After the Party

by Jackie Braun

  “It’s not your fault,” Ella murmured, even as her heart sank. She’d been looking forward to going, not only because she always had a good time, but to pick Mrs. Chesterfield’s brain about the mechanics behind organizing such a large bash. The guest list routinely topped two hundred. Now? She would have to worry about running into her ex and Bernadette.

  Still, to Sandra, Ella said, “Your family’s barbecue is huge. I shouldn’t have a hard time avoiding them.”

  “I have a better idea,” Sandra said. “Bring a date. Bring Chase.”

  This wasn’t the first time her friend had made the suggestion, but Ella declined once again, shaking her head for emphasis.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve already told you. Chase and I aren’t a couple.”

  “You’re just sleeping together?” Sandra arched one eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  No, it didn’t. As a rule, Ella wasn’t casual about sex, but she was trying to be with Chase. He hadn’t said anything about the future, but she knew he had a home in Los Angeles, a job there he would be returning to eventually.

  “I’m not saying I don’t like him.” And wasn’t that an understatement? The more Ella got to know Chase the more reasons she found to fall for him. “But he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Ella?”

  “He’s not. We haven’t even been out on a proper date.” Sampling menu items at The Colton didn’t count. Nor did the incredible sex they’d had twice since then.

  “All right. But you could still bring him to the barbecue, make Bradley jealous.”

  “Please. Bradley is over me.”

  “Okay, make Bernadette green with envy then. Chase is a better catch than Bradley any day.”

  “Point taken.”

  More to get Sandra off her back than because Ella was seriously considering asking Chase, she promised not to rule out the possibility.

  * * *

  Chase tugged at the knot in his tie as he waited for Ella to arrive. According to his doorman, who’d called a minute earlier, she’d been let into the private elevator and was on her way up. When the doors slid open, all Chase saw were flowers and a skimpy skirt that revealed a pair of long and shapely legs. His mouth went slack, even as other parts of his body grew tight. And that was before she peeked from behind the flower arrangement and glossy pink lips curved with a moan-inducing smile.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Gorgeous.”

  Ella nodded at the flowers as she stepped off the elevator. “They are, aren’t they? The florist was worried when the original color I ordered wasn’t available, but I think I like these better actually.”

  He’d been talking about the woman, not the blooms, but he didn’t correct Ella.

  “Let me have those.” He took the flowers from her hands. “I assume they go on the table.”

  “So smart,” she teased as she followed him to the dining room. Once there, however, she instructed him to put them on the sideboard. “They’re one of the final touches to my tablescape.”

  “Your what?”

  “Tablescape.” Ella set a stuffed backpack-style purse on one of the chairs. “It’s...never mind,” she finished on a chuckle. Then, “Don’t you look...formal.”

  “Too much?” he asked.

  It wasn’t like him to worry over wardrobe choices, much less rethink them, but he was now.

  “It depends on the tone you want to set for the dinner party and what your guests will be wearing. The goal of a good host is to ensure that his guests are as at ease in his home as they are in their own.” She laughed. “I read that online.”

  She was taking her new career very seriously, which was good considering all that was at stake for his uncle. Through a great deal of persuasion behind the scenes, Chase had been able to get the board to hold off on the vote to oust Elliot. He hoped to use the time to expose the leak and talk his uncle into getting the medical help he needed. The party, however, loomed overhead like an ominous dark cloud. The seasoned planner he’d hired to shadow Ella would ensure all of the bases were covered. Chase wouldn’t feel guilty about that. He couldn’t.

  “My guests probably won’t be wearing ties,” he admitted.

  The men would be in jackets, but they would leave off the neckwear. Chase reached up to remove his, keeping his gaze on Ella. Her eyes were glued to the knot just below his Adam’s apple. Was she remembering the last time they’d been in this room and he’d removed his tie? He certainly was.

  Then her gaze cut away and she rubbed her hands together. “So, you said you had white linens and place settings for eight.”

  She was eager to begin. Chase was eager, too, but it had nothing to do with setting a table and preparing for guests, which weren’t due to arrive for another three hours.

  Three hours. That left plenty of time for...

  “Linens, Chase.” Her smile, more so than her words, told him she knew exactly where his mind had wandered. “And I’m not talking about bed sheets.”

  “We have three hours,” he pointed out.

  “Exactly. And as much as I wouldn’t mind a repeat of the other day, I need to use the time to get ready.” She swallowed, nibbled her lower lip. “This is important.”

  Of course it was important. It was Ella’s first party as a planner. In a small—very small—way, it was her dress rehearsal for Elliot’s bash. So, with a sigh, Chase reeled in his libido and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

  “It’s going to be perfect.”

  “It better be. If I can’t manage a party this size...”

  For the first time since he’d known her, Ella appeared truly distressed, and Chase realized that while he’d been focused on how much was at stake for his uncle, he’d forgotten how much Ella had on the line. He told his conscience he was doing her a favor by providing backup, albeit covertly.

  “It’s natural to be nervous.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Linens,” he said resolutely.

  Chase had asked Elliot’s butler to go through his mother’s things, which were stored in the estate’s attic, and send over what he needed. Several boxes had been delivered the previous day, but Chase hadn’t opened them yet. Luckily, Dermott had labeled them.

  Chase opened the flaps on the one marked LINENS and pulled out an ivory table cloth and matching napkins that hadn’t seen the light of day in more than two decades.

  “Nice,” Ella murmured, running her fingers over the fabric. “Irish linen with hand-tatted lace.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It’s very elegant. The perfect backdrop.” She unfolded one of the napkins. “It looks like everything will need to be pressed.” She glanced over at him. “Go turn on your iron.”

  “My iron?” He blinked.

  “You do own one, right?”

  “Ella, I send out everything that needs to be pressed.”

  “I should have realized...” She closed her eyes briefly before her expression brightened. “You know what? I’ve got it covered.”

  She grabbed the cell phone from her purse and punched in a number.

  “Sandra? It’s Ella,” she said when the other person answered. “It looks like I need your help after all.”

  While they waited for her friend to ride to the rescue with Ella’s iron, Chase helped Ella unpack the dishes from another box.

  “Your mother had great taste,” Ella remarked, lifting a bone china plate edged in gold from its protective wrapping.

  Chase vaguely recalled seeing it one Thanksgiving. He’d been six or seven years old at the time, and the reason the occasion stuck in his head was because he’d accidentally broken a matching dessert plate, and she’d been livid.

  “Great taste,” he agreed with a nod. “It was ma
ternal instincts she lacked.”

  How else to explain how the woman could leave her child behind without a backward glance?

  He waited for Ella’s apology. Chase didn’t share his story often, but whenever he had this was where women told him how sorry they were. Not Ella.

  She said, “That sucks.”

  Her candor had him snorting in surprise. “Yeah. It does.”

  “My mom was really good at mothering. She considered it her career. She could have had a job. She had a business degree and had worked in a brokerage firm before she met and married my dad. But she chose to stay at home, which of course, she could afford to do. Still, a lot of her friends who stayed home after having kids hired nannies.”

  “I had a nanny,” Chase said.

  “My mom said she didn’t want anyone else raising her child.”

  “She sounds wonderful.”

  “She was.” Ella tipped her head to one side on a sigh. “I always thought it was ironic that even though she didn’t want anyone else raising her child, that was what wound up happening anyway.”

  In lieu of offering condolences, which he doubted she wanted and which were sure to turn the mood maudlin, Chase repeated her phrase.

  “That sucks.”

  “Big time.” Ella’s tone was wistful when she asked, “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your mom had stuck around after your dad died?”

  “I used to. For several months after I moved into Uncle Elliot’s house, I laid awake at night listening for the sound of her heels on the hardwood in the hallway. I was sure she’d come back for me.” Chase swallowed after making the admission. What was it about Ella that made it so easy to share secrets that he’d kept from everyone else? “What about you? Do you ever wonder how things might be if your mom were alive?”

  She nodded. “At first, I pretended my mom was just on an extended vacation. About the year mark, I started telling people that she’d been captured by pirates.” Her laughter was dry but not without humor. “My mom would have loved that. Not actually being captured by pirates, but my imaginative explanation.”

  “She sounds like a lot of fun.” And, from what Chase could tell, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  Ella nodded. “When my dad started to date again, that’s when I finally accepted that she was gone.”

  Chase recalled what she had told him when they’d run into Camilla at The Colton. Ella had wanted a mother, but Camilla hadn’t been interested in being one to her.

  “I think you must have a lot of your mom in you.”

  “Thanks.” Those quirky dimples flashed with her smile. “For as much as my life would have been different if my mother were still around, I don’t think I would be. My friend Sandra and I were just talking about that. I haven’t changed.”

  Chase had to agree. They may not have known one another for long, but it was apparent that Ella’s cup was always half-full. He pulled a crystal wine goblet from the box in front of him. Had he always viewed his half-empty or had his pessimism begun after his father’s death and his mother’s desertion?

  Ella’s gasp drew his attention. He glanced over to see her holding up a spoon and frowning. The filigree detail on the utensil’s handle was hard to make out because of the tarnish.

  “I don’t suppose you have any silver polish?” she said.

  “Sure. It’s right next to my iron.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” She reached for her cell phone again.

  By the time the doorman announced her friend’s arrival an hour later, Ella already had washed the plates, bowls, serving pieces and glasses they would need, and had cleared off the sideboard to make room for an ice bucket and all of the fixings for a couple of trendy cocktails, whose recipes she’d gone over with him.

  She’d moved the vase and a pair of pewter candlesticks that usually graced his dining room table and brought in from the living room a couple of dust-catching orb-shaped knickknacks, all of which had come with the furnished penthouse. Even though he saw them every day, she somehow made them seem new. It was as if they were intended to be showcased together on the sideboard.

  It was interesting to watch her work, to watch the same dimples that winked with her smile dent her cheeks now when, lost in thought, she nibbled her lower lip.

  Just as he had shed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his oxford shirt, Ella had long ago kicked off a pair of dangerously high heels and lost the loose-knit turquoise sweater that she’d layered over a plain white tank top. Barefoot and wearing only the tank and a denim miniskirt, she didn’t exactly look professional, not how he had come to define it anyway. But he couldn’t argue with her results.

  Nor could he argue with the fact that he found her concentration a huge turn-on. Unfortunately, they no longer were alone.

  “Sandra! Thank God!” Ella cried, as soon as the other woman walked into the penthouse. “Do you have everything I asked you to bring?”

  “Iron from your apartment and silver polish from the store. Check.”

  The dark-haired woman directed her response to Ella, but her gaze was on Chase, sizing him up. Her smile told him he’d passed muster.

  “This is Chase. Chase, this is my best friend and your savior, Sandra.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. And thanks.” He took the bag from her arms.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. And you’re welcome.”

  “Um, you don’t need to stick around,” Ella said when Sandra set her purse on the couch. “I have everything under control now.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” her friend replied. But instead of saying goodbye, Sandra turned to Chase and asked, “Has Ella mentioned my family’s barbecue?”

  “Sandra!” Ella’s cheeks had turned fuchsia.

  Curious and a little amused, Chase played along. “Barbecue? No. She hasn’t.”

  “It’s an annual thing that my parents host to raise money for diabetes research.”

  “Sandra’s brother was diagnosed as a child,” Ella supplied. The flush was fading from her face, but her eyes were shooting daggers at her friend.

  “That’s too bad,” Chase replied. “I had a friend in school who had Type I. Insulin shots every day and one very close call when his sugar got out of whack. It was miserable.”

  “Yes. Tony is an adult now, but my parents say they will keep having their barbecue to raise funds until a cure is found. They’ve raised several million dollars so far.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. As is their dedication.”

  Sandra smiled. “This year’s barbecue is the weekend after next.”

  Chase had a pretty good idea where this conversation was heading, but from Ella’s expression he wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  “The food is excellent and my parents always have first-rate entertainment. Isn’t that right, Ella?”

  “First-rate,” she mumbled, looking as if she could kill her friend.

  “Ella wasn’t planning parties yet or I’m sure my parents would have hired her. Anyway, if you’re not busy, you’re welcome to stop by. It kicks off around three and goes till whenever. Silent auction winners are announced at eight, and the live auction starts at six.” Sandra smiled innocently before adding, “You can come with Ella.”

  Chase offered a noncommittal nod since it didn’t appear Ella had planned to invite him.

  Her friend left not long after that, and Ella got down to business ironing the tablecloth and napkins. She shooed him away when he offered to help.

  “You hired me to do this,” she reminded him, pointing the business end of the iron at him.

  Palms up, he backed away. Not long after that, the doorman called to announce the delivery of the food.

  “Oh, my God! It’s early!” Ella exclaimed with a glance
at the wall clock. “Your guests aren’t going to be here for another hour and a half.”

  “I’ll handle this.”

  But once again, she refused. “No. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re getting ready to entertain.”

  Expression grim, she grabbed her cell phone and called the restaurant. Chase pitied whoever had the misfortune of answering.

  * * *

  Ella could have waited till morning to call Chase and learn how the evening turned out. But with excitement and nerves waging a tug-of-war in the pit of her stomach, she gave in and punched in his number just after eleven o’clock.

  He answered on the third ring.

  “I was wondering when you were going to call,” he said.

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “Hardly. Actually, I hoped you would stop in for a late-night snack. I have some of those stuffed portobello mushrooms left.”

  The intimate timbre of his tone had gooseflesh prickling Ella’s arms. She had a pretty good idea what kind of snack Chase had in mind and it had nothing to do with leftovers. But sex wasn’t the reason, or at least it wasn’t the only reason, for her call.

  “Do you have a lot of food still?”

  She hoped not, but if he did, it wouldn’t be because the meat had dried out or gone cold. Ella had verbally chewed out the manager at The Colton for sending everything over early, and she’d promptly sent it back with the delivery man with instructions that the order be made from scratch and arrive at the agreed-upon time.

  Low laughter greeted her question. “You have a one-track mind.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  He chuckled a second time. “The food got rave reviews from everyone. Almost all of the appetizers went. The stuffed mushrooms were a hit, just as you predicted, but I put a couple aside for you.”

  “Thoughtful.”

  “It gets better. I also saved you a slice of strawberry cheesecake.”

  Her mouth watered. “You’re a saint.”

  “Given what I’m picturing us doing after you eat it, calling me a saint is a bit of a stretch.”

  Grinning, she asked, “What about the beef tips?”