by Jessica Hart
She’d had both a housekeeper and a cook while growing up, but she’d learned as an adult. Neither skill would put her fashion merchandising degree to any better use than the sales gig at La Chanteuse, but Ella couldn’t afford to be picky.
“I do not believe he seeks either a housekeeper or a cook,” the fortune-teller said with a shake of her head. “I see the two of you at a social gathering.”
“Like a party?”
“I believe so. He is wearing a tailored dark suit and the two of you are drinking champagne poured from a bottle with a fancy black label.”
Ooh. It must be some shindig if the host had sprung for Dom Perignon. Momentarily sidetracked, Ella scrutinized her palm.
“Am I wearing the fuchsia cocktail dress with the ruched waist that I got on sale last month?” The tag was still attached to the sleeve and she’d been debating returning it. She really couldn’t afford the designer original, even if she’d gotten it for a steal. But if she had someplace to wear it— “No. Never mind.” She shook her head for emphasis. “I’m not going to be attending any parties. I don’t need to improve my social life. What I need is a job. Better yet, I need a career.”
A sales job in retail was definitely the bottom rung of the ladder when it came to a career in the fashion world, but her well-connected ex-stepmother knew a lot of people in the industry. People whose ears she’d bent with vicious gossip and outright lies. No one wanted to hire Ella if it meant crossing Camilla. Whatever. Ella wasn’t averse to working her way up as long as she was working.
Madame Maroushka frowned, causing the drawn-on mole just above her mouth to dip into one of the lines that feathered out from her lips. “This...this is most unusual.”
“What?”
“I see the party as your career.”
“What? Do you mean I’m like a party planner or something?”
“Could be,” the older woman allowed.
“I like parties. I’ve been to enough of them.” Both the fancy variety in her previous life as the daughter of a high-powered Wall Street wheeler-dealer and the casual, keg-of-beer kind since her father’s fall from grace. She nibbled her lower lip, an idea hatching. “How much do you think people get paid for planning them?”
Madame Maroushka shrugged. She was back in Jersey when she said, “Beats me. It probably depends on the kind of people you plan the parties for and the kind of parties they want you to plan. Know what I mean?”
In other words, the deeper their pockets, the more they would be willing to pay. That made sense.
“I know a lot of people with deep pockets,” Ella murmured half to herself. Until her father filed bankruptcy, she’d even called some of them her friends.
Madame Maroushka glanced at her watch, her tone brisk and all business when she said, “Time’s up. Thanks for coming. Here.” She handed Ella a coupon.
“What’s this for?”
“The printing place two blocks up on the opposite side of the street. My nephew owns it. He is handsome and single,” she said with a smile. When Ella just stared at her, Madame Maroushka said flatly, “He’s running a special on business cards. You get five hundred for the price of four with this coupon. If you want to be a party planner, you’ll need cards and lots of them.”
Why not? Ella thought. What did she have to lose? She paid Madame Maroushka and headed to the print shop where she blew the last of her meager savings on business cards and promotional fliers, which she then spent the following two days distributing all over Manhattan.
Two weeks later, her efforts appeared to have paid off. She had a meeting with a client, and a very deep-pocketed one, too. There was only one downside to the job and it was a doozy. The party she was being asked to plan was a wake.
Copyright © 2014 Jackie Braun Fridline
ISBN-13: 9781460324202
MR. (NOT QUITE) PERFECT
Copyright © 2014 by Jessica Hart
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