and wry humor. “It’s the size of a matchbox and a little messy right now.” As she spoke, she used her foot to push something small and lacy behind a stack of fashion magazines on the floor. “Believe it or not, this is larger than my last place.”
“You must have slept standing up.”
“If I were any taller that might have been necessary,” she agreed. “As it was I couldn’t fit a bed in it. I had to make due with a foam mattress on the floor.”
“Sounds uncomfortable.”
Which was how Chase felt now that he was picturing her laying on that subpar mattress wearing...
He coughed. To reel in his libido, he focused on what Ella’s home said about her. Real estate was expensive in Manhattan, but between the size of her studio apartment and its location, he was left to wonder how well her party planning business was doing if this place, an improvement over her last, no less, was all she could afford. Of course, maybe she spent the bulk of her income on her designer wardrobe.
She was saying, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. You’d have had a hard time of it, though. You’re what, six-four?”
“Six-two,” he corrected.
“Hmm. You look taller. Probably because I’m not wearing heels at the moment.”
They both glanced down at her bare feet, where the sight of candy pink toenails had a disturbing effect on his pulse. He’d never thought himself a foot man. Until now. They claimed his full attention until she rose on tiptoe and motioned between her forehead and his with her flattened hand, taking his measure. Mismatched eyes regarded him for a moment, making him wonder if he’d passed muster. Then, a few loud thuds, followed by the sound of more urgent moaning came from the hallway. Ella dropped back onto her heels and moved away.
“It’s a little warm in here,” she said.
Instead of taking off the hoodie, she dialed up the knob on the air conditioning unit that obscured most of the view from the apartment’s lone window. The fan kicked on, blowing stale-smelling air into the room and drowning out the sounds coming from the couple going at it in the hall.
“I was just having a glass of wine. Would you like me to pour you one?”
He should say no, but after the day Chase had had, the offer was too good to pass up, even if he didn’t intend to stay long.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“None at all. Have a seat.”
Her request posed a bit of a problem. Unless he wanted to move the stack of folded clothes that were piled on the chair by the desk, the only other surface available was the futon, which was also Ella’s bed. Even with the hum of the air conditioner, he could still hear thumps, grunts and moans coming from the hall. It was unseemly. It was disturbing. Add in a barefoot Ella, with her hoodie no match for either his memory or his imagination, and Chase felt ready to combust. So, he decided to avoid the bed and remain standing while she went to the kitchen for the wine.
Calling it a kitchen was a bit of a stretch. It was half a dozen steps away and the only things that defined it as such were the minifridge and a hot plate that sat on a dinky span of countertop next to an equally dinky sink. She rose on tiptoe and opened the cupboard over the sink. Sharing space next to the stemware were several pairs of pumps.
“You keep shoes in the cupboard.”
“It’s not ideal,” she admitted on a laugh that again sounded more wry than embarrassed. “But I’ve had to get rather creative since storage space is so limited.”
Shoes in the cupboard definitely rated as creative. But Chase found himself wondering once more about her business savvy. Shoes in the cupboard didn’t bode well on that score.
So he asked, “Do you have an office? I only saw this address listed on your card.”
She unscrewed the cap on a bottle of merlot. As she poured them both a glass, she replied, “No. I work from home.”
Chase glanced at the clothes-draped desk and chair. He doubted she got much done there. A laptop was open on the floor, but that appeared to be it for technology. A cursory glance around revealed no scanner or copier or printer. A business such as hers took coordination, organization and lots of contacts. Where did she meet with those contacts? Where did she meet with her clients? Certainly not here.
She handed him the wine and he took a sip. It tasted pretty much how he had expected a vintage that came in a bottle with a screw-on cap to taste.
As if reading his mind, she said, “Sorry. It’s not exactly Chateau Lafite.” He was trying to figure out how she knew about the pricey French label when she asked, “Aren’t you going to sit down?”
Ella pushed pillows and a fuzzy pink blanket to one side and settled on the futon, pulling her feet up beneath her. The spot open next to her looked entirely too inviting.
“No, thanks. I’ve been sitting all day,” he told her, and then found a clear spot on the wall against which he could lean one shoulder.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
For a moment Chase had nearly forgotten the urgent nature of his visit. “It’s my uncle.”
A pair of beguiling, if dissimilar, eyes brightened as she smiled. “Elliot is delightful.”
“He is that.” It was the other adjectives being applied that caused Chase to worry. “When we were in his office last Friday, some of what was said...well, it wasn’t for public consumption.”
“The part about him being forced into retirement, you mean.”
So, she had picked up on it.
Chase nodded. “I brought a confidentiality agreement I would like you to sign.”
The lawyer in him knew that it held little weight since he was having her sign it after the fact, but it was the best he could do.
He pulled the folded document from the breast pocket of his suit coat and handed it to her.
“I hope you can appreciate the need for discretion. If the media were to get wind of such talk...” He took another sip of wine. It tasted just as bad as it had the first time, but it wasn’t responsible for the sour taste in his mouth.
“I understand.”
“Besides, nothing has been decided.”
“Elliot seems to think it has.”
“It’s the rumors.” Chase stared into his wine as she studied the confidentiality agreement. For no reason he could fathom, he heard himself admit, “He’s been acting more erratic lately and getting a little forgetful.”
He swirled the wine in his glass, wishing for something that not only tasted better but was a hell of a lot stronger.
“And you’re worried it’s dementia.”
“Dementia! No! God, no!” He couldn’t bear to think it.
“It
