After the Party. Jackie Braun

      “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.

      The racetrack was quiet when she and Owen entered Elliot’s office. The older man was seated behind his desk rather than on top of it, and a sheaf of papers was scattered over the blotter. He was clad in appropriate, if boring, work attire. Conservative suit. Starched white shirt. His only bow to fun was the tiny hot air balloons that speckled his bowtie.

      His eyes lit up when he spied her and a smile wreathed his face, pulling his jowls firm. “Ella! If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

      “Hello, Elliot. I hope I’m not disturbing you. We did say nine o’clock?”

      “We did.” With that he pushed the papers into a pile to one side and propped his reading glasses on top of his head. “I’m eager to see what you’ve come up with.”

      “And I’m eager to hear what you think.”

      She pulled a folder from the oversize handbag that was doing double duty as a briefcase, and passed it to him. Rather than opening it, however, Elliot transferred his gaze to his son.

      “Is there something you wanted, Owen?”

      “Not particularly.”

      “Then you may go.”

      The request was made with a surprising amount of authority from a man who otherwise came across as easygoing.

      “What? I can’t stick around? Offer my advice on your little party?”

      Nothing about the gathering Elliot had in mind could be classified as little. But what Ella found interesting, perhaps even telling, was that Elliot didn’t correct his son and use the word wake, even though he had been quite explicit on that point with Chase.

      “You don’t care about this party, Owen.”

      “Neither does Chase, but when you met with Ella last week, he was here. You told me so yourself.”

      Although Owen’s tone was matter-of-fact, his reply struck Ella as petulant, childish. Some form of sticky family dynamic was at work here. Exactly what it was, she wasn’t sure. But if the drama of her stepmother and stepsister had taught Ella anything, it was that she didn’t want to be in the middle of it.

      “Maybe I should come back,” she murmured.

      Elliot apparently didn’t hear her. His gaze still on Owen, he said, “Chase might not approve of the party, but at least he cares.”

      “Right. Saint Chase. For a moment I forgot who I was talking about.” Owen made a mocking bow in her direction. “It was nice to meet you, Ella.”

      The door closed behind him with a thud. Elliot stared at it, frowning. When he glanced back at Ella, he seemed perplexed.

      “Why are you here again?”

      “Your party,” she said slowly.

      Elliot continued to frown. About the time she became uncomfortable, he grinned and his expression turned impish.

      “Wake, you mean. Let’s call it what it is.”

      * * *

      Muffled laughter, both masculine and feminine, greeted Chase when he stepped off the elevator.

      The sounds emanated from his uncle’s office. Elliot’s laugh brought a smile to Chase’s lips. No one—whether child or adult—was proof against the man’s booming guffaw. The feminine laugh, however, had a different effect on Chase since he had a pretty good idea to whom it belonged.

      Ella Sanborn.

      She’d been on his mind a lot the past few days. She’d starred in one very explicit dream over the weekend, although that wasn’t the reason he’d nearly called her. He needed to speak to her about a matter that had nothing to do with thigh-high black silk stockings and a lace-edged push-up bra.

      With the board’s official vote looming, the party his uncle had her planning had the potential to blow up in all of their faces. In the meantime, Ella was privy to some information that Chase would prefer she didn’t share with anyone...especially the media.

      As he approached his uncle’s door, it opened and both occupants stepped out.

      “I can’t wait to see the changes to the invitation,” his uncle said before turning to his secretary. “Marlene, did you finish that guest list I asked you to compile?”

      “Yes.” The ever-efficient secretary pulled out a large envelope and handed it to him. “Here is a hard copy, and I’ve already sent the file to Ms. Sanborn’s email address.”

      “Excellent. Thank you. Reward yourself with some chocolate drops.”

      Candy-coated chocolate drops were a staple at the Trumbull Toys headquarters, and Elliot was liberal in doling them out for jobs well done. Marlene, however, remained sober-faced. Chase knew his presence, rather than any concerns over her diet, was the reason. He was a wet blanket, his appearance in a room all that was necessary to dampen the occupants’ enjoyment.

      His gaze skimmed Ella then. She looked fresh, lovely...fun. Not exactly professional in those sexy high heels, but definitely approachable. She turned then and caught sight of him. Her smile was reserved but nonetheless lethal, and caused a knot to form in his stomach.

      “Hello, Chase.”

      When his tongue threatened to tie into a knot similar to the one in his gut, he frowned.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked.

      “No.”

      “Excuse me a moment,” Elliot said to Ella. “Apparently my signature is needed on some papers. I told Marlene she could forge it, but she’s a stickler for rules.”

      Thank God, Chase thought, and his frown deepened.

      “Do you ever smile?”

      Ella’s question caught him off guard. “What?”

      “I just realized that in the short time I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you smile. Not once.”

      “And you find that odd?”

      “Well, yes. I do find that odd. I doubt an hour goes by that I don’t smile or bust out laughing.”

      “Because laughter is the best medicine?”

      Mismatched eyes narrowed. “You’re mocking me, but yes. Laughter is the best medicine, and it beats the alternative, which is crying.”

      “So, I should be grinning like a loon and laughing all the time lest I start bawling like a baby?”

      “No, but you work at a toy company. You should be...happy!”

      “Wow. Now you’ve determined that I’m unhappy. Are you always so quick with your judgments?”

      “No.” She frowned. “At least, I try not to be.”

      “But you’ve made an exception in my case.”

      “Ooh. I’ve stepped in it good, haven’t I?”

      “Yes.” He waited for her apology.

      But Ella said with