Chapter 11
Elle
The rest of the work week was quiet at the office. Since Starr and Dean’s threat, everyone had been appearing busy and insanely focused. Less chatting, more business calls. Elle hadn’t heard so many pitches and follow up calls since she worked at Brightman.
Brightman, where every single employee genuinely meant business. They were highly respected professionals within the industry. No one ever had a problem landing an event. Instead, they competed over who got the biggest.
She poured herself a glass of red wine. It always helped calm her nerves. And it was exactly what she needed that Friday evening. She placed herself on the sofa and flipped thru her on demand movies.
She wished it was Saturday night.
A loud doorbell buzzer jerked her out of her daze. Buzzing her friend in, Elle glanced around the small apartment. She lived on the 3rd level of a walk up on the lower east side. When you made your work your life, living anywhere outside the city didn’t make sense. It was pricey but worth it. Not the apartment—the commute. And getting around quickly certainly was essential.
Elle lived in an apartment within a small brownstone building. While it wasn’t terrible, it certainly was a far cry from the luxury apartments that were springing up all around the neighborhood.
Regardless, it was home and she’d made it her own. The art that hung on her walls came from event giveaways—each piece reminding her of the night’s success.
She evened out the throw pillows on her pale blue tufted sofa, picked up two articles of clothing from the floor and tossed them to the side when she heard the footsteps walking up. She approached the door and pulled it open.
Char, her best friend since college, immediately threw on a bright smile and held up a big brown paper bag. “Thai?”
Elle wouldn’t have thought much of the offer, but Thai was typically Char’s comfort food. She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Why?”
Char blew out an exasperated breath. “Mark broke up with me.”
“What?”
“He said his parents didn’t like me.”
“You mean his mother didn’t like you.”
“I haven’t been known to be moms’ favorite, Elle, you know that.” Char walked the bag across the hall to Elle’s open kitchen. “And he told me all this after I re-heated take out, because, as usual, he was late.”
“Would you rather he waited till after you had fed him?”
“I guess not. So, hungry?”
“For secondhand Thai? Sign me up!”
Char laid out cartons on the coffee table while Elle poured another glass of red for her, covertly happy for the company. She grabbed the chop sticks and met Char on the sofa.
“How’s the new job?”
“Impossibly bearable,” Elle muttered.
Char’s eyes narrowed as she nodded slowly, mocking a therapist.
“I just mean it’s impossible some days but I need the work.”
“Hmm…”
“What?”
“It’s just this job never used to be work for you,” Char pointed out.
“Tell me about it. It’s not the same. Now they’re making everyone hunt down high paying events to work on along with the non-profits they typically book through the holiday season. Which clearly means that they need to start bringing in revenue—fast! Chasing down work to keep working is not what I signed up for.” Elle’s cheeks began to burn with fury all over again.
Char watched her. “Why did you take this job again?”
“Besides being on the verge of eviction? I’m good at it. I’m a good planner; a problem solver. And I am certain there is a better way than sending their entire staff on a project hunt frenzy.”
“Have you tried sharing your thoughts?” Char dug into a dumpling.
“I don’t have any if no one tells me what’s going on. Besides, Dean would hardly listen to me. And why should he? My job has already been threatened twice since I started.”
Char frowned at her friend.
Elle’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, Char. I’ve never been so unhappy and so afraid to lose work.”
“Welcome to the real-world, Elle. Not everyone has a fantasy job where their boss treated them like a partner and every project felt like walking on air.”
Elle took another sip to keep her from coming out of her skin. She thought of the one bright side to the entire disaster her new job ended up being.
Scott.
Charmingly, sexy and completely off-limits. Somehow, during their three separate encounters, she managed to break away from his inviting charisma.
And on every occasion, it was because she needed to get back to work—that was her lifestyle. Not his.
“What was that? Where’d you go?”
Elle gave in. She could use the advice. “Remember that party I ran last Sunday?”
“Make it or break it; take one? Yes.”
Elle went on to describe nearly every detail of meeting the handsome billionaire at the Hayes event. And then again the next morning. Followed by the trick lunch date the day after that. And the one step too far. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”
“Wow. I’m in the wrong business to meet men.”
“That was stupid, right? I shouldn’t have agreed to see him again.”
“See him again? You are now downright dating the man, Elle.” Char sat back as if assessing the situation. “Who thinks you’re what again?”
“I never said. He assumed.”
“Assumed what?”
“That I was one of the party-goers; one of the socialites. A VIP of some major organization…”
“I wonder whatever would make him think that.”
“I am not a fraud,” Elle exclaimed. Elle turned away from Char’s glare. “I just let him believe something that isn’t true.”
Char tilted her head to the side as though to show compassion, which she rarely did. “If he’s that into you, it shouldn’t matter.”
“It does. For so many reasons. And I don’t even know why I agreed to this date. I was running to get back to work. I had to end it somehow. He kind of sprung Saturday night toward the end of lunch. What was I supposed to say, sorry this was incredible but I can’t see you again?”
“Of course not. But now you don’t have to rush out to get back to work. Now you can tell him the hilarious misunderstanding.”
In a matter of five seconds, Elle managed to consider all the horrendous outcomes of telling Scott that she was nothing more than the party planner dressed above her means. And when he noticed her, she was merely trying to avoid disaster. He would most certainly laugh. And not in a good way. Which would no doubt cause a domino effect until she become the laughing stock of the office. And if there was anything that Elle couldn’t bear more than anything; it was the wrong kind of attention.
She breathed out a shaky breath, which made Char pull herself off the sofa and take her friends wine.
“Whoa. Hey. It’s not that big a deal. Listen, if you can’t do it—you can’t do it. No need to break a sweat here. Just be careful.”
Elle sank into the couch. “Char. I think I just realized what a mess this could be. Event planning is my life. I don’t know anything else and my reputation would be toast. And not the kind you put butter on and eat; the kind you throw out because you left it in the toaster too long and it’s burnt to a crisp.”
Char shrugged. “Some people like burnt toast. Some people might use it as breadcrumbs on salmon. Breaded salmon is a big step up from toast with butter.”
Elle laughed. “What?”
“I’m saying when you’re no longer cut out for what you think you’re made for, there’s something bigger and better out there for you.”
Elle grimaced. “So, can I still go on my date tomorrow?”
“By all means. Just be careful.”
Chapter 12
Scott
Saturday night, Scott waited for Isabel insid
e Cooks Place. The small secluded restaurant was a best kept secret on the lower east side. Somehow, Scott thought Isabel would appreciate a more private yet equally high-end restaurant.
It served two purposes if the woman had chosen not to show. She hadn’t given him a phone number or taken his for reasons that she merely spoke around that Tuesday at the tavern. She had reluctantly accepted his dinner offer.
“When can I see you again?” he had asked after their lunch.
Isabel had appeared to be considering. And Scott wasn’t used to that; Anticipating a response from a woman. But he couldn’t let her disappear. And something told him she would. He let her get away that first night and was miraculously given another chance the morning after.
“Okay, I propose this. Either you give me your phone number, or meet me Saturday night at 8 o’clock at Cook’s Place downtown. Should I sweep you off your feet for a fourth time, you give me your phone number.”
“Is there a third option?” she had asked, pursing her luscious lips.
“Something tells me you’ve already made up your mind about Saturday night. So, I’m nixing option three. And thank God because I really didn’t like option three.” He’d smiled his all-knowing charm.
And she took the bait. Even though it completely felt like he was the one on the hook.
She blushed, stood and simply said: “Cook’s Place... eight o’clock.”
Scott smiled and nodded once at her before she walked out of the restaurant.
As the vision of her faded from his thoughts it was replaced suddenly by a burning in his chest at the thought that she wouldn’t show. She wasn’t terribly late, but his disappointment bothered him and that fact in itself was enough for him to consider leaving before she had a chance to break him. He sat up the padded bench just as the host, an elderly man in a tuxedo, approached pulling out a chair across the table.
“Mr. Weston, your party has arrived.” He moved aside and she stood. Her expression blank, yet there was the faintest sign of a question in her brows.
Her flowing navy dress came down just above her knees. An orange scarf draped over her shoulders.
“Isabel.” Scott considered standing but refrained. He didn’t typically do that with anyone else. For some reason, the chivalrous move felt natural to him when it came to her.
Her...who’s last name, job and phone number would remain a mystery for God knew how long.
“Were you leaving?”
“I was considering it.”
“You’re honest to a fault I see,” Isabel took her seat and glanced at the wine on the side of the table.
“Why would it be a fault? Wine?
“Yes, please.”
He poured out a small amount for her to try. “If you don’t like it, we can get something a little less dry, but this one...”
“It’s delicious.” Her expression suggested she wasn’t appeasing him, either. She twisted the bottle and looked up at him questionably. “You’re telling me you’re an honest businessman?”
“There’s no other way for me, unfortunately. I don’t like the idea of having to remember who I said what to,” he took a sip himself. “Nobody’s worth a lie.”
Her brows creased. And then a slight nod, as if she were analyzing him.
“Telling a lie implies you care about what people think. Or that their feelings matter to you.”
“Ah. So, you’ve never told your mother that you meant to call?”
He blew out an audible breath and watched her cautiously.
“What?” She jerked back.
“We’ve been on this date for five minutes and you’re already asking about my parents? Rushing things a bit, Just Isabel?”
“Ooh…oh you’re right. I should be careful—you might decide to flee if I get too clingy. Just so I know, where do you draw the line?”
Scott laughed.
Her eyes shined in the dim light as she smiled brightly at him. “No, really. Tell me. I’m genuinely curious. Calling you on an hourly basis? A singing telegram on our two-week anniversary?” She laughed along.
He watched her for a moment. “I draw the line at lying. I don’t tell them and I don’t tolerate them.”
He noticed her swallow and set down her wine glass, which made him frown. He was so used to the upper hand and setting people straight off the bat. He hadn’t meant to offend her. “I am so sorry. I just crashed our party, didn’t I? Here have more wine.”
She simply smiled and held the stem of her glass out to him. “Thank you.” She attempted to regain composure and looked at him. But he could see the hesitation in her eyes. He noticed how beautiful she was at that moment. Gold tinted lights illuminated her skin. Her dark hair shined.
She took a long sip and a deep breath, shooting a polite smile his way before lifting the small menu off the side of her plate. “What do you like here?” her tone suddenly formal.
Just as she asked, a server approached, placing their appetizers on the table.
“I preordered the apps. I hope you don’t mind,” Scott told her.
He lost her. Why did he have to turn her joke serious? He could fix this. But how? Trying for a woman wasn’t something he ever needed or wanted to do.
In this case though, it was both. “Can I ask you something?”
Her eyes darted up.
“Would you go into business with an old friend?”
The question seemed to have thrown her off. “That seems odd. Would this friend be someone I’ve always been close with and trust or have I not seen this friend in some time and happen to now be involved in a business transaction with them?”
He was impressed with how quickly she followed. “The latter.”
Her eyes wandered as she considered. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve always put business first.”
He tapped his fork on the lined table, satisfied with her response. “Actually I’ve asked the right person! And thank you for confirming my initial thought.”
“Ah, so this wasn’t hypothetical?”
“Not for me at least.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m going through something similar. I just uh…signed a deal with someone I considered…more than an acquaintance but not exactly an old friend.”
He raised an eyebrow, since she appeared to be regretful of the decision. “And?”
“It’s not easy.” Her eyes wandered up and around. “He can be very…secretive about certain business plans and I don’t like to work that way, you know?”
“Sounds like you might need to cut that tie loose.”
“Also, not easy. This one is one of my…highest paid, currently.”
“Anything I can help with?”
She gave him a hard stare while shifting the pendant on her necklace back and forth.
“Sorry, forgot the rules.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have rules. I just don’t like to mix business with pleasure. If I tell you what I do, it would be hard for you not to think about it.”
“I’m super intrigued now.”
“I’m just Isabel. Single, yes. Live in New York City, of course, and I tend to dress for success.”
“Well I thank you for those three wonderful facts, Isabel—and full disclosure, I only found one of those facts kind of wonderful.”
She blushed. He knew he could turn it around. He couldn’t believe how close he came to blowing the evening.
“This dish was truly delicious,” she commented.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Something dark flashed in her eyes and her smile faded. It was so sudden and whatever it was, it was bothering Isabel. She suddenly shook her head and looked at him. “I don’t know why I said that.”
He flinched. “So you didn’t like it.”
“No, I did.” She looked back at him from her plate. “I don’t think it was truly delicious. I thought it very good. I especially enjoyed the olives. And the wine. And the breadsticks.”
Normally Scott woul
d have frowned at such peculiar behavior, but everything about Isabel just intrigued him. He loved watching her. His mouth curved up, as she went on.
“I don’t think I’ve ever uttered the words the dish was truly delicious, to be honest,” she laughed at herself and sat back in her chair. “And quite frankly, I’m pretty full and I think I would prefer to just walk with you and maybe even stop for mint chocolate ice-cream.”
Chapter 13
Elle
Elle couldn’t explain why her heart was thrumming. Elle—no Isabel had always been smooth and quick and easy with Scott. She let Char’s stupid caution to be herself get in her head and ruin everything. She really wasn’t hungry for an entrée and the restaurant, although perfect and so romantic, just felt claustrophobic suddenly.
Sure you don’t want to add that you’d like it in a cone, Elle?
But the man didn’t flinch. He barely took his eyes off her. Scott lifted a finger slightly, and the waiter was at the edge of the table within seconds.
Elle wanted to bury her head. She’d managed to screw up a date with the man of someone else’s dreams.
Scott slipped a few bills to the waiter. “This should cover it. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Sir.” The waiter began to reach for the plates, when he noticed Scott glare at him and scurried off.
He stood and reached out a hand to her. “I know just the place.”
They had taken a very quick cab ride to the west side and then strolled in silence for a few minutes before reaching the downtown park along the river.
“There’s an ice cream shop up the path here. He’s open all year.”
Elle nodded. “I’m sorry about dinner…” she blurted out.
Scott seemed amused. “Oh, please don’t be. Perhaps it was a bit more formal than it needed to be.”
“Perhaps,” she repeated. “You’ve just been awfully quiet since…”
He glanced at her. “I’ve been trying to remember if Pat’s Parlor has mint chocolate chip.” his tone was casual.
She smiled, and was sure she blushed.
“So why ice-cream? I mean don’t get me wrong. It was a stellar idea. But just curious.”
“Honestly, I don’t like to eat much on a first date. I like to walk. The wine was spot on though. Sometimes I need it to…” she glanced at him “feel more at ease...when I’m unsure of something. And the ice-cream, well,” she shrugged, “that’s just my sweet tooth.”
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