Two remote-controlled dinosaurs, one named Chomp-a-saurus Rex and the other called Chomp-action T. rex, was more than a coincidence or savvy market research.

“There’s no evidence of that. Look, Chase, I love my father, too, but he hasn’t been the same since Mom died. He’s slipping. This wake nonsense is just one more example. He’s no longer fit to lead.”

Chase ignored the weariness in his cousin’s tone. It was easy to do since Owen seemed so damned eager to slide into the top spot, despite the fact that Elliot had made it plain he wanted Chase to be his successor.

Even with Elliot out of the way, Owen would need the board’s backing to take the helm. More and more, it appeared he had it.

Elliot’s wake could very well be the final nail in his professional coffin. In Chase’s mind, it didn’t bode well that it was being planned by a woman who believed in lucky pennies.

* * *

The following Tuesday, Ella splurged on a taxi to get to her appointment with Elliot. Since she was taking a cab rather than hoofing around Manhattan, she decided to wear her favorite pair of high heels. They were black patent leather with silver detailing on the vamp. They added four inches to her height. Unfortunately, if she wore them for too long, they also left her hobbling. But, damn, they looked great paired with the hot pink skinny jeans and printed peplum top that she’d gotten for a steal at a sample sale in the Garment District.

The door to Chase’s office was closed and the man in question was nowhere to be seen when Ella arrived on the seventeenth floor. She told herself she was relieved, since he made her so nervous. But she called herself a liar when the door to the office next to his opened and he stepped out. Her pulse took off like the miniature race cars in Elliot’s office.

He turned then, and she blinked in confusion at the stranger who stared back at her. The man was the same height and build as Chase. His coloring was similar, too. But his features were sharper, his nose slightly longer. No cowlick mocked his tidy hair.

“Well, hello.” Piercing blue eyes lit with interest when he smiled.

“Hi. You must be Owen Trumbull.”

“That’s right. And you must be Ella Sanborn.”

His smile was friendly, if flirtatious. He shook her hand, holding it a little longer than was necessary. Owen certainly had none of his cousin’s reserve.

“Yes.”

“My father tells me you’re going to throw quite a party for him.”

“Yes. I’m here to go over some of the plans.”

Owen smiled again. “Mind if I sit in?”

“That’s up to Elliot.”

Chase’s presence the other day had made Ella nervous, since it was clear he didn’t approve of the wake and, for that matter, didn’t trust Ella not to take advantage of Elliot. Still, she found herself glancing toward his door.

“He’s out,” Owen told her. “Won’t be back for a while.”

Just as well, she thought, refusing to be disappointed.

The racetrack was quiet when she and Owen entered Elliot’s office. The older man was seated behind his desk rather than on top of it, and a sheaf of papers was scattered over the blotter. He was clad in appropriate, if boring, work attire. Conservative suit. Starched white shirt. His only bow to fun was the tiny hot air balloons that speckled his bowtie.

His eyes lit up when he spied her and a smile wreathed his face, pulling his jowls firm. “Ella! If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hello, Elliot. I hope I’m not disturbing you. We did say nine o’clock?”

“We did.” With that he pushed the papers into a pile to one side and propped his reading glasses on top of his head. “I’m eager to see what you’ve come up with.”

“And I’m eager to hear what you think.”

She pulled a folder from the oversize handbag that was doing double duty as a briefcase, and passed it to him. Rather than opening it, however, Elliot transferred his gaze to his son.

“Is there something you wanted, Owen?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then you may go.”

The request was made with a surprising amount of authority from a man who otherwise came across as easygoing.

“What? I can’t stick around? Offer my advice on your little party?”

Nothing about the gathering Elliot had in mind could be classified as little. But what Ella found interesting, perhaps even telling, was that Elliot didn’t correct his son and use the word wake, even though he had been quite explicit on that point with Chase.

“You don’t care about this party, Owen.”

“Neither does Chase, but when you met with Ella last week, he was here. You told me so yourself.”

Although Owen’s tone was matter-of-fact, his reply struck Ella as petulant, childish. Some form of sticky family dynamic was at work here. Exactly what it was, she wasn’t sure. But if the drama of her stepmother and stepsister had taught Ella anything, it was that she didn’t want to be in the middle of it.

“Maybe I should come back,” she murmured.

Elliot apparently didn’t hear her. His gaze still on Owen, he said, “Chase might not approve of the party, but at least he cares.”

“Right. Saint Chase. For a moment I forgot who I was talking about.” Owen made a mocking bow in her direction. “It was nice to meet you, Ella.”

The door closed behind him with a thud. Elliot stared at it, frowning. When he glanced back at Ella, he seemed perplexed.

“Why are you here again?”

“Your party,” she said slowly.

Elliot continued to frown. About the time she became uncomfortable, he grinned and his expression turned impish.

“Wake, you mean. Let’s call it what it is.”

* * *

Muffled laughter, both masculine and feminine, greeted Chase when he stepped off the elevator.

The sounds emanated from his uncle’s office. Elliot’s laugh brought a smile to Chase’s lips. No one—whether child or adult—was proof against the man’s booming guffaw. The feminine laugh, however, had a different effect on Chase since he had a pretty good idea to whom it belonged.

Ella Sanborn.

She’d been on his mind a lot the past few days. She’d starred in one very explicit dream over the weekend, although that wasn’t the reason he’d nearly called her. He needed to speak to her about a matter that had nothing to do with thigh-high black silk stockings and a lace-edged push-up bra.

With the board’s official vote looming, the party his uncle had her planning had the potential to blow up in all of their faces. In the meantime, Ella was privy to some information that Chase would prefer she didn’t share with anyone...especially the media.

As he approached his uncle’s door, it opened and both occupants stepped out.

“I can’t wait to see the changes to the invitation,” his uncle said before turning to his secretary. “Marlene, did you finish that guest list I asked you to compile?”

“Yes.” The ever-efficient secretary pulled out a large envelope and handed it to him. “Here is a hard copy, and I’ve already sent the file to Ms. Sanborn’s email address.”

“Excellent. Thank you. Reward yourself with some chocolate drops.”

Candy-coated chocolate drops were a staple at the Trumbull Toys headquarters, and Elliot was liberal in doling them out for jobs well done. Marlene, however, remained sober-faced. Chase knew his presence, rather than any concerns over her diet, was the reason. He was a wet blanket, his appearance in a room all that was necessary to dampen the occupants’ enjoyment.

His gaze skimmed Ella then. She looked fresh, lovely...fun. Not exactly professional in those sexy high heels, but definitely approachable. She turned then and caught sight of him. Her smile was reserved but nonetheless lethal, and caused a knot to form in his stomach.

“Hello, Chase.”

When his tongue threatened to tie into a knot similar to the one in his gut, he frowned.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No.”

“Excuse me a moment,” Elliot said to Ella. “Apparently my signature is needed on some papers. I told Marlene she could forge it, but she’s a stickler for rules.”

Thank God, Chase thought, and his frown deepened.

“Do you ever smile?”

Ella’s question caught him off guard. “What?”

“I just realized that in the short time I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you smile. Not once.”

“And you find that odd?”

“Well, yes. I do find that odd. I doubt an hour goes by that I don’t smile or bust out laughing.”

“Because laughter is the best medicine?”

Mismatched eyes narrowed. “You’re mocking me, but yes. Laughter is the best medicine, and it beats the alternative, which is crying.”

“So, I should be grinning like a loon and laughing all the time lest I start bawling like a baby?”

“No, but you work at a toy company. You should be...happy!”

“Wow. Now you’ve determined that I’m unhappy. Are you always so quick with your judgments?”

“No.” She frowned. “At least, I try not to be.”

“But you’ve made an exception in my case.”

“Ooh. I’ve stepped in it good, haven’t I?”

“Yes.” He waited for her apology.

But Ella said with maddening directness, “Am I wrong? Are you happy?”

Who asked such bold questions? Certainly no one else in his uncle’s employ.

“Some of us take our responsibilities seriously. We have to,” he added, thinking of his uncle’s flighty temperament and just how much was at stake. That brought Chase back to his concerns. Some unscrupulous journalists would pay Ella handsomely for insider tidbits about Elliot. God help them if one already had. “Which reminds me, I’d like to have a word with you in private.”

“Right now?”

“If you and my uncle are finished, yes.”

“Ella and I are done,” Elliot replied, coming around the reception desk. “But I thought that you and I had plans.” He scratched his head. “Or did I get that wrong? Don’t tell me I wore this damned monkey suit and canceled my morning walk in the park for nothing.” He smiled at Ella. “I walk rain or shine. It’s good for circulation. Owen bought me a treadmill for Christmas so I wouldn’t have to leave the building to go for a walk, but you can’t feed the pigeons on a treadmill.”

“You’re right, Uncle. We do have plans.” Chase had scheduled a brunch meeting with Sumner Thurgood, one of the few board members who at least seemed hesitant to throw Elliot under the bus. He turned to Ella. “I guess our talk will have to wait.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Her wry smile made it clear that she was lying.

Momentarily lost in those teasing, mismatched eyes, he replied honestly, “So will I.”

THREE

Chase told himself he was merely checking one more thing off his long to-do list when he arrived at Ella’s apartment building later that same day.

He’d found her Lower Manhattan address with no problem, but he hesitated before getting out of his car, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. Maybe dropping in on her without advance notice wasn’t such a good idea. Not only was the hour late for a social call, he wasn’t expected and she might not be alone.

Might? Who was he kidding? A woman who looked like she did wouldn’t hurt for male companionship, even if it was closing in on ten o’clock on a weeknight.

These were sound reasons to head home and call her in the morning to schedule a proper meeting. Instead, he disregarded both common sense and good manners and got out of his car.

Her building didn’t have a doorman. Overall, security was sorely lacking. The main entrance was propped open with a brick, making its antiquated buzzer system obsolete. He removed the brick after entering and made a mental note to mention it to Ella. In the small foyer, he found her name on the bank of mailboxes. Apartment 4C. He glanced around for an elevator, but saw only stairs. It explained a lot about her toned derriere, he decided, as he started up to the fourth floor.

She answered on the third knock. Two things clued him in that she hadn’t used the peephole before flinging open the door: The shock that registered on her face when she saw him and what she was wearing. The cotton boxer shorts ended high on her thighs and the tank top fit snug enough across her breasts to make it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. He willed his gaze to remain on her face as he opened his mouth to speak. He needn’t have bothered. She slammed the door shut in his face.

That made two of them who were surprised.

He was turning to leave when he heard the knob jiggle and the hinges squeak. Ella stood framed in the doorway wearing a neon green hoodie, cropped black yoga pants and a sheepish smile. Even dressed for a cardio workout, she was still way too sexy for his peace of mind.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Trumbull. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“So I gathered. Call me Chase,” he said, even though the courtesy title had helped create a little distance, and he could use as much of that as possible at the moment. “You should use the peephole next time.”

“I know, but I thought you were my neighbor. Her fridge is on the blink, so she’s been keeping some things in mine.”

The explanation made him feel marginally better, but only because the neighbor in question was female. So, he felt the need to point out, “When I came in just now, the entry door was propped open with a brick.”

“Yes, I know. The guy one floor down does that for his friends. He has a band and plays his music so loud that he can’t hear the buzzer.”

“Have you reported him to the building’s super? Anyone could walk in.” And this was the sort of neighborhood where the anyones would be less than desirable.

She smiled. “You sound just like my dad.”

Chase frowned. His advice might seem paternal, but it bothered more than he cared to admit that she was comparing him to her father. He cleared his throat, deciding it was time to get to the reason for his visit.

“I’m sorry to bother you at home and so late, but I needed to speak to you and it couldn’t wait.”

“Is something wrong?”

Before Chase could continue, a man and a woman, clothes disheveled and locked in an intimate embrace, stumbled out of the apartment next to Ella’s.

“You really need to go,” the woman said breathlessly, even as she made no move to release her visitor.

“I need to stay.”

“My boyfriend will be back soon.”

“Then let’s go back inside and finish what we started,” he replied suggestively.

“No.”

Immediately following her refusal, they locked lips again. Moaning ensued. When the woman began to wrap her legs around the man’s waist, Chase figured he knew what would come next. He turned to Ella.

“Would it be all right if we had this conversation in your apartment?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she agreed hastily, backing up to allow him inside.

One step over the threshold and Chase realized that in addition to standing in her foyer, he was also in her living room, kitchen, dining room and boudoir. The one-room apartment was that small. Hell, the walk-in closet off his master bedroom was more spacious. And filled with fewer clothes, he decided after taking a glance around. All manner of apparel hung from hooks. It decorated the walls in place of artwork and spilled from the most unlikely places, including the cubbies in a small writing desk and the metal hoops of a wine rack. He was no expert on female attire, but the garments appeared designer quality and therefore expensive. Ella’s eye color wasn’t the only contradiction.

“This is...cozy,” he amended at the last minute. If he stretched out his arms, he was pretty sure he could touch the walls on either side of the room.

She chuckled, the sound a mix between embarrassment 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 could be something simple, you know. Like a vitamin deficiency.”

“Yeah?”

“My grandmother got a little spacey at one point. Her B-12 levels were out of whack. A few shots later, she was back to being her old self again.”

Chase liked the sound of that, even if getting his uncle to see a doctor would be near impossible. It had been decades since Elliot last saw a physician. He’d refused to go for even an annual checkup since Chase’s father, Elliot’s twin brother, had died of a rare blood disorder. He said he didn’t want to know if he, too, had the hereditary condition. Chase and Owen had both been checked, and, thankfully, were unaffected.

“In the meantime, we still have a problem. The board, or rather, several of its members have raised concerns about his fitness to continue leading the company.”

“I would imagine the recent slump in sales isn’t helping.”

At that, Chase’s gaze snapped to hers. Suspicion coiled like a snake about to strike. “What do you know about Trumbull’s sales?”

“It’s a publicly traded company. For a while, shares held steady even when profits began to decline, but now they are slipping, with some investors anxious about the release of this quarter’s figures.”

“You follow the stock market?”

She answered his question with one of her own. “Does that surprise you?”

“N-no.”

The sputtered denial had barely made it past his lips when Ella started to laugh.

“It’s all right. I know I don’t look like the average broker, and I’m hardly an expert on Wall Street.”

She was right on the first count. “But you obviously pay attention.”

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