New Year's Resolution: Romance!: Say Yes / No More Bad Girls / Just a Fling. Leslie Kelly
broiled bologna at every meal. The training for the 10K that had gone well until Suze sprained her ankle. The weeklong cabbage soup cleanse that upon mutual disgust they’d ended after seven hours. If one was going to commit to concerted calorie restriction or sweat production, they were supposed to do it together.
Ashley hung her head. “Suze, I’m sorry.”
“My fat behind is sorrier.” Her friend blew out a sigh over the phone. “Well, as payback, you’ll make an effort with Moose.”
“Moose?” Ashley nearly shouted the word. “He’s called Moose?”
“It’s just a nickname.”
“I don’t only feel sick to my stomach,” Ashley said. “Now I have a migraine.”
“That’s no excuse to avoid the first stop on your year of yes.”
Ashley thought hard, hoping to come up with something better than feigned illness. Because...Moose!
“When are you going to get here?” Suze demanded. “I have all the ingredients for your special dip—you know, the one Jackson loves—and I need you to make it.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “You rip open the packet, pour it into the sour cream container. Stir.”
“With a spoon or a fork?”
“Suze—”
“It’s past time for a change, honey, and that change starts with tonight’s party. Come concoct the dip.”
“I’m at the Bradley estate now. I have to deliver the flowers. After that—”
“It’s yes time.”
With a sigh, Ashley slowly nodded her head, though it felt as if she was agreeing to disaster. Moose. “All right. It’s yes time.”
* * *
ASHLEY DREW OUT a rolling cart from the van and filled it with the first round of arrangements. She cast a glance at the mansion’s side door, certain it was unlocked. The caterer’s truck was parked nearby, the one that read Fare by Fanny on the side. She knew Fanny. Ashley’s stomach growled a little because even as she thought of the other woman, the smell of her famous beef bourguignonne tickled her nose. Maybe she could beg a bite or two after she finished up with her own duties.
The cart rattled across the flagstone drive toward the immense house made of rock, stone and wood. She ducked under an arch and found the door she wanted indeed unlocked. More delicious smells were drawn into her lungs as she entered an expansive, rectangular mudroom. As Ashley continued into the kitchen, pushing her flower arrangements in front of her, Fanny glanced over.
“Happy New Year,” the older woman called out. She wielded a wooden spoon, and a butcher apron was wrapped about her apple-round middle. Her gaze inspected the profusion of floral beauty. “Those look wonderful.”
“Just my first load,” Ashley said. “Everything going all right with you?”
“Well...” Fanny grimaced. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be like other Bradley parties,” she began, only to be interrupted by the musical ring of her cell phone. One finger went up as she half turned to take the call.
Not like other Bradley parties? The warning made Ashley’s brows rise a little, but she shrugged off her concern and kept moving her cart forward. There was dip in her future. Moose. Suze, whom she couldn’t in good conscience disappoint. And after today, two weeks off from work. The florist shop always closed in January to accommodate the owner and her family’s ski vacation.
So Ashley needed to take care of the task at hand and then move...
...on with her life.
Ignoring the uneasiness that idea brought on, she began looking for signs of the Bradleys’ arrival. Nancy had said she and her husband, Arthur, would be arriving only shortly before their guests, but she was an attentive hostess, and Ashley wouldn’t be surprised to find her fussing with the position of the furniture or reviewing the calendar she had planned for the week ahead. A whimsical and charming woman, she was known for the unique parties she organized every year.
The place seemed deserted, however. Ashley strolled about, her heels clicking on the wooden floors as she tucked small arrangements on bathroom windowsills and larger ones on the occasional tables in the cavernous room with the forty-foot ceilings that was referred to as the great hall. Then she moved to the dining room, where she placed centerpieces along the massive dining table that could seat thirty. For all its size, the home still felt...well, homey, with its velvet-upholstered furniture in muted shades and the lovely, mantel-topped fireplaces. There was one in the dining room and another in the library. The third in the great hall took up an entire wall and was big enough to roast an ox. Flames leaped and jumped in them now, splashing golden light to counter the growing dusk.
Cart empty, she pushed it back toward the kitchen. She’d load up and finish the first floor. After that, she’d take the service elevator to the second and third. Another twenty minutes or so and she’d be back on the road.
Fanny was still on the phone when Ashley exited, but was finished with her call when she returned with another round of flower arrangements. She paused, still curious about the caterer’s earlier comment. “So...what’s going to be different about the party this year?”
Okay, so the question was kind of Downton Abbey of her, but face it, wondering and gossiping about the owners of the estate was nearly impossible to resist.
It didn’t help that Fanny cast a look around as if they might be overheard by the lord of the manor. “The Mr. and Mrs. won’t be here this year.”
Ashley blinked. “Arthur and Nancy?”
Fanny nodded. “Grandbaby came early.”
“Well, that’s nice,” Ashley said. “But...they didn’t cancel the party?”
“Nope. It’s an especially important one this year. They just announced Arthur Bradley’s retirement. They want to show their best clients that things aren’t going to change under the tutelage of the new head of the firm.”
“Oh,” Ashley said. “And the new head of the firm is...?”
“Chase, of course.”
Of course. Chase Bradley, Arthur and Nancy’s son. Dark-haired, lean-bodied Chase Bradley, who strolled about with a bone-deep confidence that no woman could fail to admire. She’d never met the man, but on the occasions she’d delivered flowers to the house, she’d caught glimpses of him. While she wasn’t normally a timid titmouse of a person, she’d always found herself scurrying away from his oh-so-masculine presence.
This time she’d do no different, she thought, putting her weight behind the cart. It was time to finish her duties and skedaddle. Then a horrible noise had her drawing up short. Her gaze flew to Fanny. “What the—”
The blood-curdling sound of female frustration and rage came again. Ashley jumped. “Should we call the police?” she wondered aloud.
Thumps sounded, as though a body had been pushed and was now tumbling down the grand flight of stairs. Her hand rose to her throat. “Oh, my God,” she said, and ran toward the sound with Fanny at her heels.
They stopped in the hallway, peering around a corner to the staircase. It wasn’t a body broken at the bottom, but a suitcase, its contents spilled in a profusion of bright colors. A beautiful, sleek woman was on the landing, hands on her hips, the red talons of her nails standing out against her navy peg-leg pants. She was staring at the mess of clothes as if her gaze could ignite them on fire. Then she glanced up to the top of the stairs and hissed.
“This is all your fault.” Her malevolence was now aimed at the calm man standing above her, one shoulder propped against a wall and his ankles crossed, as if he had all the time in the world for the murderous little drama the blonde was clearly preparing as her starring vehicle.
“Who’s