She shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t know if I’m going. I have to check with Stina.”
“Check with her then,” Charlotte said, shrugging and heading into the hall.
Ella locked the closet door and shuffled to the elevator, pushing LL for the building’s lower level. Much as she wanted to believe Charlotte’s sudden offer, why was she buddying up to her now?
Ella was tempted. How would it be to dress up in a stunning gown, to show up at the festive ball and feel like a princess for one night?
She thought of her podcast, though. Of the designs they’d been discussing. One had been swimming through her brain, and it continued teasing her mind even now. Her fingers prickled to get a hold of a pencil, to transfer what was in her brain onto paper.
However, if she went to the ball, she didn’t want to go in someone else’s gown, in something picked off the rack. She wanted to go in something she’d designed. In something she had sewn with her own two hands, something she could waltz into that room in and have the pride of knowing it was all her own.
The elevator arrived, and Ella quickened her pace down the hall, eagerness tripping through her. While Charlotte had been many things, Ella had never pegged her as a liar.
Too often in their younger days, it had seemed like a contest between Ella and Pris. A contest where Charlotte was the middle man, torn because she couldn’t be friends with one of them without making it look like she was taking sides. If this was her way of reaching out, Ella knew she needed to let Charlotte know she was open to that. To friendship.
When referring to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day plans, Charlotte had said we. Did that include Ella? Was she actually going to be invited to Christmas lunch with her dad and have the holiday off?
It was too much to hope for, and yet hope bloomed in her chest like a newly inflated balloon.
Ella entered the breakroom. Charlotte, Pris, Wade, and Liam trailed behind her one by one, inserting their time cards into the machine and heading out. Charlotte and Pris gabbed the whole way down the hall after begging their mom for a wad of cash to buy dresses.
Stina lingered, sitting at her desk and scrolling through what Ella assumed was her email.
Ella hesitated. She’d been down this road before, thinking Stina was in a pleasant mood only to make her request and be shot down. But Charlotte had said it. It was Christmas.
Fingers interlocked in front of her, Ella took a tentative step toward the desk.
“So what time is the Christmas Eve party?” Ella asked, handing Stina her keys.
“Party?” Stina’s confusion was evident in her tone and in the crease between her brows. She took the keys and inserted them into the drawer before locking it tight.
Ella gripped her purse strap. Had she said something wrong? It was December twenty-third. That meant the following day was Christmas Eve. “Yeah, your Christmas lunch tomorrow. With my dad. I thought—”
“You’re not invited,” she said with a laugh.
The words, their mocking tone, were a slap. Ella chafed at the instant rejection, skin smarting as surely as if she’d been struck. She wanted to dash from the room, to scurry away and hide and pretend she’d never said a word, but she felt the need to clarify.
“What do you mean? Charlotte was just saying—”
Stina pushed away from the desk with manicured hands. “Charlotte isn’t making a thousand pillowcases for charity. That’s your first priority, isn’t it?”
“It is a priority, but—”
Stina’s bottom lip pouted in false pity. “Ella, sweetie, I know you’ll want to come, but it just isn’t going to happen. There’s too much for you to do with this Sierra project of yours. I didn’t want to put any additional pressure on you. It’s a busy time, especially if you’re wanting to finish in time for the ball.”
It sounded like Stina was being considerate of her, that she was being helpful. Ella knew what a lie it was. She knew this would happen. She knew better than to put her heart and her hopes on the line around this woman.
Still, hope wasn’t getting the hint. Ella pressed on. “So Charlotte was right, you’ve canceled working at Highland Heights?”
“Of course not. You’ll just have to leave the ball early to make it to work in time.”
Leave the ball early. Forget that it would be Christmas Eve. Forget that Ella hadn’t been a welcomed guest at her father’s home for two years. Forget she was just as much a member of the family as Charlotte or Pris.
Well, all right then, she thought sarcastically. Who needed to spend Christmas lunch there anyway? Or Christmas morning, for that matter. She had Grandma Larsen.
Somehow, the consolation wasn’t as soothing as she wanted it to be.
“This is your job, Ella,” Stina went on. “And like it or not, I am your manager. So until you find work elsewhere, you go where I schedule you.”
How she must love this, lording over Ella like she was her own personal servant.
Ella wanted to retort. There was so much she wanted to say, but what good would it do? Stina was right—this was her job.
She swallowed her pride and pushed back the tears threatening at her eyes. “What time do I need to be there?”
Stina lifted her chin, smirking in silent, smug victory. She nodded as if stamping her approval on Ella’s continued doormat status. “I told them midnight,” she said. “That should give you time to enjoy a little of the ball before dashing off. Then you can work and be back for presents with…whoever you celebrate Christmas with.”
No sympathy or remorse came from Stina at being the cause of exclusion from Ella’s own father’s home. Stina waved this last part out as though it was nothing more than an afterthought and began sorting
