chapter 3
[Angelica]
Standing in the middle of Ashford’s on a Sunday was the last place I wanted to be on my day off. But seeing as I had a Christmas list a mile long, and I’d do anything for Aunt Gertie and Gran, I’m here.
The retail destination is dripping with holiday decor.
Vibrant red carpet covers the classic tile.
Dozens upon dozens of evergreens decked out in silver and gold ornaments are on raised daises.
Garland drapes around register counters.
Giant brass trumpets line the ceiling in the entry and practically bleat a holiday greeting despite being ornamentation.
The glitter and glitz are almost spellbinding.
And I’m taking that moment I didn’t get the other day when I entered the iconic store to stand in the exact center of the first floor, looking up at the glass-domed ceiling, some eight stories above me.
It might be dangerous to stand still in the middle of a busy location, people bustling by me with bags hanging off wrists and phones in hands, oblivious to others with their minds focused on their own holiday lists . . . but I take this minute for myself.
The intricately designed gold railings surround each level as the store climbs higher and higher are mesmerizing.
Their color is reminiscent of a long-gone time.
The sensation is almost dizzying, and my body sways a bit, but I don’t stop staring once I reach the almost crystal-like dome, highlighted by the winter sunshine outside.
Rays beam down toward me like being here is a religious experience, not a shopping nightmare.
“If you get trampled in my store, I’m not footing the bill for an ambulance trip.”
My head snaps forward, causing my neck to crack as I spin to face Jude Ashford, upright and dressed in a suit certain to cost more than six months of my salary.
No man should look so good in a bright blue suit and simple white dress shirt minus a tie.
A slight dusting of hair along his jaw appears artistically designed and not naturally grown.
“What are you doing here?” I can’t seem to help my smile at his sudden presence, nor the surprise in my voice when I say, “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
My statement shouldn’t sound as breathless as it does.
Jude pats over his heart. “Doc says I’m as strong as an ox.”
“Are you certain he didn’t say, as stubborn as one? Because you should still be resting.”
The corner of his mouth twitches again. Sadly, the dimple isn’t as prevalent with another day’s growth of facial hair in the way.
“You know, not many people can get away with talking to me like that.”
I tilt my head, cock my hip, and place my fist there, like I’m prepared to throw down with the man.
“Good thing I’m not many people.” I don’t know where the confidence or sass comes from, but something about this man has me on edge. Not a negative one, but more like a teetering one, like I’m standing on the tip of ballet pointe shoes, my ankles wobbling. Any minute, I might topple over.
After all these years, I’d like to believe Jude has grown up, changed a bit from the spoiled, rich kid act, he’d once been.
The man once ruling high school hallways has a more meaningful position amid the levels of his department store after all.
Yet, I don’t have any proof that he’s matured emotionally.
My foundation for change comes from me. I’m not that girl anymore who might have stepped out of his way when I was seventeen. A girl who might have stared at someone like Jude and wondered what it would be like to be near him. At thirty-seven, I’m made of stronger stuff.
And Jude Ashford cannot intimidate me.
Still watching me, he finally states, “Actually, I just needed a few things from my office.”
“And you needed to wear a suit for that?” I arch a brow, scanning down the fit of a one-button suit jacket and the slim pants cropped at his ankles, in the modern style.
He’s almost too pretty.
He scoffs, the sound becoming familiar. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
“So, no sweatpants for you,” I tease, glancing down at myself wearing black leggings with a rip in the knee and an oversized, holiday-green sweatshirt that reads: HO-HO-Oh No!
Dammit, why didn’t I dress up like Gran used to make us do as kids?
Then again, I’m not here to impress a man I didn’t know would be present. This outfit is my day-off uniform.
“Anyway, don’t you have an assistant for that?” The pretty raven-haired woman comes to mind. “Or a courier service could have brought you your things.”
This busy city is teeming with service providers. If only I was comfortable enough to take up the service of hiring a date. Which I’m not. And reminds me I have a shopping list to complete.
I’m distracted once again when Jude runs a practiced hand through his dark hair that has the smallest hint of gray, like snowflakes randomly sprinkled among the dark strands.
He, on the other hand, avoids looking at me, eyes pinched while his head is turned away from me.
For a second, he almost looks . . . lost. He could be any average shopper.
Someone popping in during a weekday lunch break to quickly pick up a gift.
Only it isn’t during the middle of the week or lunchtime, and he is anything but average.
“What were you looking at?” he abruptly asks.
I flinch like I’ve been caught gawking at him, which I had been doing. He tips his chin toward the ceiling, and I spin a little before glancing upward once more.
“I love that ceiling.” My voice is a little strained due to the awkward angle of my tilted head. “There is something magical about it, almost mystical,” I admit, dreamily. “Like the Sistine Chapel’s greatness, even if it’s only a glass ceiling in a department store.”
I risk a glance at Jude, who has stepped closer to me to avoid the path of a harried shopper not watching where he walks. With Jude this close, I catch a whiff of something expensive and sharp coming off him.
He stares up at the ceiling as well, as if he hasn’t seen it a thousand times already in his lifetime. He is Ashford’s royalty. Heir to this shopping kingdom that his great-something-grandfather began. But maybe he no longer notices the majesty of the dome.
Gazing back up at the ceiling, sun beams pierce the glass, making a kaleidoscope pattern on the upper levels.
Eventually, Jude says, “Ever find that date you needed?”
My head snaps forward again, cracking my neck one more time. Any more whiplash in this store and I might need medical assistance after all.
I scowl at him.
“When you mentioned picking a date from Ashford’s, I vaguely remembered a conversation in the ambulance. Or maybe I dreamt it.” His brows pinch, questioning his own memory. “Another man was asking you out, but you declined.”
His typically cold eyes focus on my face, causing my cheeks to heat, certain to be turning as red as the carpet beneath our feet.
“That was Trey Maddix, my partner. He was driving the ambulance.”
Jude glowers. “Seems inappropriate for an ambulance conversation.” He shifts again to avoid another frantic holiday shopper, bringing him closer to me. “I could have you fired for such behavior.”
“You wouldn’t.” My eyes widen with shock, before narrowing with reality. I can’t get fired for an innocent discussion. And my hope for transformation within Jude Ashford is suddenly dashed with disappointment.
“Wouldn’t I?” Those damn eyes of his instantly shift back to cold and dangerous.
“Why would you?” I argue, then decide I don’t need an answer. Sparring with this man feels like trying to shovel snow in a snowstorm . . . unproductive, and I have a list of things to do today.
“Anyway, I should prob—”
“I have an offer for you.” Those eerie eyes focus on mine, pinning me to the red carpet like the North Pole itself. Or Jack Frost wielding some wicked winter spell.
“I promised you anything from the store yesterday.” He hesitates for a second but doesn’t look away from my face. “How about you pick me . . . for your date?”
I snort, the sound sharp and loud, and totally unladylike. “I couldn’t afford you.”
He wrinkles his nose. “You aren’t purchasing me.”
Still, I continue, “What’s the going rate for a millionaire anyway?” I mean, he makes millions, right? And my brain drifts to all the ways those millions could help people. Libraries. Hospital wings. Homeless shelters. All the toys for tots . . .
“I’m free.” He straightens his shoulders and holds his head high.
I blink. Then blink again, processing his word choice.
Pick him. Not purchase.
Somehow, I doubt anything about Jude comes without a cost.
He clarifies as if he read my mind. “I’m available.”
“You don’t even know the date,” I counter. Nor why I need a partner for the evening.
Jude arches a brow, hinting I should enlighten him.
“My younger brother is getting married on December twenty-third.” Which will totally eclipse Christmas, which is so like Beau.
Like Sam’s sister in Sixteen Candles, planning her wedding on Sam’s sixteenth birthday.
A salacious grin curls Jude’s lips. “I’m your man.”
The statement should not do funny things to me, like bring on the joy of twinkling lights beneath dark winter skies.
“How would that even work?” I counter, knowing the idea of him being my date is preposterous. I could never explain him to my family.
“I need a favor in return,” he replies, ignoring my question.
And here it is. The price tag.
“A Christmas party. My board expects me to bring someone, but I need someone . . . respectable.”
He eyes me up and down, taking in my slightly inappropriate sweatshirt.
“Someone without ties to me,” he adds.
“Like no strings attached.” I smile at my own joke, but Jude’s face hardens, like I’ve hit a nerve.
“I recall a certain dark-haired woman cooing over you beside your hospital bed.” I hitch a brow, suggesting it’s his turn for more details. “She’d look pretty on your arm, all wrapped up with a bow.”
Jude digs his teeth into his lower lip and slowly rolls his gaze down my body again. “You would look pretty in ribbon.”
With my curves and flatter chest, there isn’t a spot on my body a ribbon could cover.
I’m not the buxom bombshell he had draped over him in the hospital. The same woman whom I’m certain was doing nefarious things to his body before he went into cardiac upheaval. A woman who apparently came with strings.
On that note, I’ve lost my desire to be standing in Ashford’s. I’ll find another store to shop in. State Street is full of them.
“You should be home in bed, and I have gifts to purchase.” I hold up my phone, which contains my list.
“Would you come be my nurse?” The corner of his mouth twitches again, reminding me that a dimple exists, but this isn’t a smile. He isn’t being playful, even if he sounds flirtatious.
If anything, his question almost hurts my feelings.
“Now you’re just being rude. I’m not a nurse. I’m an emergency medical technician.” And he’s a casualty my heart cannot handle. I don’t need some prissy, pretty man thumbing his nose at me while tossing out flirty comments and suggesting I accompany him to a Christmas party.
He tilts his head, practically admitting he doesn’t know the difference between medical positions. As for me, I’m just done with this conversation.
“Have a nice life, Mr. Ashford. It was my pleasure to save it for you.” I brush past him, preparing to exit Ashford’s, hoping this interaction doesn’t tarnish all the golden memories I have of being here as a kid.
However, Jude catches my wrist, causing me to spin and face him again.
“Wait.” One singular word and I’m stalled, because his voice has reached a new pitch. Desperate.
He swallows thickly. “Please.”
I doubt that word has ever graced his vocabulary. Not when his eyes pinch closed, and his chin tips upward. A pained expression etches into his chiseled cheeks.
“Why?” I whisper, my gaze flitting around his face, equally desperate to understand him. Just a sliver of a bit.
He lowers his head and opens his eyes, shocking me again with their coldness. “Because you saved my life.”
I chuckle, acidic and rough, tugging at my wrist, which only ends with me being pulled closer to him. His breath mingles with mine. My gaze falls to his lips, parted and too close. I lick my own and notice him watching the motion.
“It doesn’t work like that.” My voice hardly sounds like mine. “I save your life, and now I owe you a favor?”
“You saved my life.” He pauses, glancing back at my mouth a second before meeting my eyes. “And now I need your help to live it.”
With those icy eyes and the divot to one side of his mouth, he has me stunned, like a snake in summer grass.
Because my Rikki-Tikki heart wants to help him somehow, and protect his fragile, broken one.