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
