could only imagine.
“One of three. I’m Chase. You’re here to see Elliot. He’s my uncle.”
“I am so sorry to hear he’s dying.”
Jaw clenched, he replied, “My uncle is not dying.”
Her brow wrinkled. “But when he called, he said he wanted me to plan a wake. An Irish one. For him.”
Chase rubbed the back of his neck just above his shoulders where a tight knot was already starting to form. “My uncle isn’t Irish, either.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A common occurrence,” Chase remarked.
His uncle’s quirkiness left a lot of people scratching their heads. Lately, he also had become unpredictable and absentminded to the point that some members of the board of directors were questioning his mental fitness and ability to continue as the head of the publicly traded company. Rumor had it that they were close to having the votes to do it. Chase didn’t want to think what the board members who were still on the fence were going to think if his uncle went through with this wake.
Too late Chase realized that Ella thought his comment was directed at her.
“I can be a little naive at times, but I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, my God. It’s all a joke, isn’t it?”
Chase frowned. In the span of a few seconds he’d gone from being contrite to being confused. “What?”
“The job, the supposed interview. Somehow Bernadette found out about my new business venture, and she put you up to this.”
The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor. Three men from the product development department were waiting to board. With one glance from Chase they scuttled away like crabs at low tide.
When the elevator was under way again, he asked, “Who is Bernadette?”
“She’s my stepsister. Ex-stepsister, actually. Her mom and my dad are divorced now.” Ella paused to add a dramatic, “Thank God!” Then, “But that hasn’t stopped her from trying to make my life miserable.”
“Well, this is no joke. My uncle is serious about wanting an Irish wake.”
“Even though he’s not Irish and he’s not dying.”
“He has his reasons.” Ones Chase didn’t quite understand and couldn’t agree with. “My uncle can be... He’s often...” At a loss for how to describe the man who had raised him from the age of ten on, Chase finished awkwardly, “He’s just like that.”
Especially lately.
“Like what?” Ella asked.
Chase clamped his lips closed. He didn’t want to believe the rumors circulating about his uncle’s deteriorating mental capacity. He certainly wouldn’t help spread them.
Greeted with his silence, Ella said, “That’s okay. I’d rather meet him and make up my own mind anyway.”
Unfortunately, Chase had a pretty good idea of the opinion Ella Sanborn would form once she did.
* * *
The elevator dinged, heralding their arrival on the much vaunted seventeenth floor of the Trumbull Toys empire. Several years ago, Ella had seen a television special on Elliot Trumbull and his place of business. It had made toy stores seem drab and restrained by comparison. But when the doors opened, the sight that greeted her left her not only disappointed but baffled.
“Is something wrong?” Chase said.
“This is the fabled Trumbull Toy Company?” she asked before she could think better of it.
Chase frowned. “What were you expecting?”
Well, she hadn’t been expecting beige walls and a nondescript sitting area. Where was the life-size Randy the Robot that she’d seen in the TV special? And the basketball hoops? The foosball table and minitrampoline?
She laughed weakly. “I guess I was expecting toys.”
“Those are gone. I found they were too distracting and sent the wrong message to employees. This is a place of business.”
Yes, and that business was toys. But she decided not to press the point.
Two women and a man sat at a horseshoe-shaped reception desk talking into headsets as they tapped away on keyboards. All three were dressed as conservatively as Chase in the muted colors Ella associated with storm clouds. Admittedly, she liked bright hues and fun prints, hence her zebra skirt and the poppy-red blouse. Still...
As a unit, they glanced in Chase’s direction, but just like the group in the lobby, and the men who’d tried to board the elevator several floors later, not one of them maintained eye contact for very long. Ella’s gaze slid to Chase. She could see why. In his dark suit, perfectly knotted tie and polished wingtips, Chase Trumbull cut an imposing figure. She shouldn’t have found him approachable much less attractive. But she did. Oh, yeah, she did, all right.
She blamed the attraction she felt on his cowlick. She was a sucker for cowlicks, and his was a beaut. That little whirl of sandy hair just to the left of his part simply refused to go along with the rest of his fastidiously styled locks. It reminded Ella a bit of herself. She wasn’t one to go along with the crowd, either.
All sorts of superstitions were attached to cowlicks. Some people saw them as the mark of the devil. Others insisted they were a sign of good luck. Ella’s best friend, Sandra Chesterfield, meanwhile, claimed that men with cowlicks were exceptional lovers. She’d read an article to that effect on the internet. If that was true, a man with one displayed so prominently at his hairline must be...
Ella fanned herself.
“Hot?” Chase asked.
Yes, and that made two of them. But she smiled and said, “I’m fine. Cool as a cucumber.”
His brows furrowed momentarily. Then, to the woman seated on the left of the reception desk, he said, “This is Ella Sanborn. She’s here to see Elliot.”
“Yes. He’s expecting her.”
“My uncle’s office is the third door on the left.”
The door in question was closed. Ella asked, “Should I knock?”
“Just once and then go right in. If you wait for him to answer, you might wind up standing there all day.”
It seemed rude to barge in, even if she was expected. “You’re sure he’s not busy?”
Chase consulted his watch. “Oh, he’s busy. It’s nearly race time.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.” One side of his mouth rose. It wasn’t
