chapter 4
[Jude]
There was something about her I couldn’t place. It was more than just her being the EMT who saved my life. Something deeper. I could feel it in my cold, hollow heart, but I could not recognize the sensation. Or her.
Still, I wasn’t ready for her to depart.
She was right. I shouldn’t be at Ashford’s, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Lounging around my condo wasn’t an option. I was going stir crazy alone there. I needed to get out, be among people, even if it is a faceless crowd.
Imagine my surprise to find the woman with a wild mane of hair, glistening various shades of sienna and auburn, standing in a ray of sunlight shining down to the first floor of Ashford’s.
Her eyes are blue, but everything opposite the color of mine.
Hers are wide and expressive, telling me things I unfortunately cannot read.
Their openness is welcoming, almost inviting, although I don’t have the foggiest idea what she would invite me to do for her. Other than be her one-time date.
And she was focused on that old ceiling, staring up at it with awe, like she’d never seen anything so beautiful.
What the hell does she see up there that I don’t?
I’ve looked at that domed glass a thousand times in my life. It wasn’t special.
“You mentioned you have a shopping list.” I clear my throat, swallowing down her initial rejection. The corner of my mouth ticks upward. “I could help you with that.”
Shopping isn’t my thing, although it’s how I’ve made a living. A lucrative living that’s afforded me a pricy condo on Lake Shore Drive, fancy sports cars, and lavish trips around the world, most of which I write off as a business expense.
Angelica glances at the phone in her hand.
I shouldn’t have grabbed her wrist, but I’d been desperate not to lose her again.
She’d introduced herself yesterday, but I’d wanted to know more about her.
Then Sabrina interrupted us. Eventually, a flustered nurse was able to tell me which firehouse Angelica worked for. The information wasn’t enough.
“What’s on the list?” I nod toward her phone, slowly releasing her wrist, which was warm and strong beneath my grip. Touching her was like holding my hand over a flame—dangerous while awe-inspiring.
“Just . . . things.”
I chuff. “Well, which things should we start with?” I square my shoulders, straighten my suit jacket, and nod again at the device holding her holiday wish list. I’m not a personal shopper, never have been, but I know this store like I know my name, and I’ll find her whatever she needs.
Hell, I’ll even look outside Ashford’s if we don’t have it.
Anything she wants, because something happened to me the other day. Something strange and unexplainable. Something rare and unfamiliar.
I feel . . . different.
Don’t you leave me, Jude.
The angelic whisper in my head causes my back to stiffen. Since Friday, I’ve been restless, anxious even, in a very unsettling way. Like something, or rather someone, is waiting on me, and I’m compelled to turn over a new leaf. A holly one for the season.
Which meant proving my worth to my board of directors.
The same board that’s questioning business trips and expensive dinners. The ones doubting my leadership ability because they question my morals. My behavior. My attention.
Did I even care about Ashford’s anymore?
Of course I cared. I’ve worked here since I was a teen.
I inherited the place when I was in my twenties, and I’ve devoted my entire life to it. Alone.
Without my great-grandfather dictating direction. Without my father by my side.
And I was fucking tired.
That was my explanation for what happened the other day. The near heart attack. I refuse to accept the doctor’s explanation of a broken heart. Stress cardiomyopathy.
I wasn’t stressed, dammit.
I glance at Angelica and take a calming breath.
A breathing exercise a nurse instructed me to practice when my heart began to race and my skin grew clammy.
A second episode was highly unlikely, she’d assured me.
Still, the nurses made me practice the deep inhale and slow exhale, counting to four with each pass.
Concentrating on Angelica seemed to help.
Inhale. One, two, three, four freckles on the right cheek.
Exhale, one, two, three on the left. Oh wait, she has one near the corner of her mouth.
“You okay?” Angelica asks, her eyes full of concern. She almost looks like a cartoon character. A popular Irish princess doll Ashford’s had sold years ago.
“I’m fine.” However, my reply is terse; my jaw still too tight. I concentrate on her again. The warmth in her eyes. The soft mix of red in her hair. The freckles that decorate her nose and cheeks.
“Where should we begin?” I ask again, clenching my back teeth to keep me calm. I need something to distract me, and shopping appears to be the immediate answer.
Angelica sighs. The slump of her shoulders and hanging of her head suggest I’ve ensnared her. Acquiescing, she opens the Notes app on her phone.
“Toys.” She glances back at me. “I need lots of toys.”
“Level five, it is, then.” I wave my hand, implying I’ll follow her lead, and she spins for the . . . escalators.
“We have elevators,” I snark.
Glancing over her shoulder, she says, “Yeah, but the escalators are more fun.”
As she walks in front of me, I shamelessly admire the curve of her hips. The way that hideous Christmas sweatshirt covers her ass but does nothing to disguise the shape of it. She’d be a handful, and I want my hands on her.
Quickly, I dismiss the thought. She’s not here to get me off. I need a date. A wholesome, respectable, board-unknown woman who can play the part of a doting girlfriend, albeit a temporary one. Just enough of one to draw attention away from my past and their doubts about my future.
We begin the laborious ride up one floor in silence. The holidays are still weeks away, but everyone wants a deal. This weekend, our Black Friday sales attempt to capture as much profit as we can. December is always our best month, and I need this year to end with a bang.
Retail shopping is on the downswing, even if coming to Ashford’s is considered an experience. A popular destination when visiting Chicago. I pride myself on the fact we pulled it off. We flipped our flagship store from one of many in a chain to a sole destination.
Think Liberty in London. We have Ashford’s in Chicago.
I am Ashford’s.
We exit one set of moving stairs and immediately round to the next, and my gaze falls to Angelica’s backside again as she stands two steps higher than me. Her name suits her, only she looks like a wild angel. One who would be both a blessing and a curse.
When we exit the final set of escalators, I reach for Angelica’s lower back, then pause, not allowing myself to touch her. Strangely, I want to show possession of her. Like that girl in The Nutcracker, obsessed with her new toy.
Angelica is mine.
I can admit I’m a selfish man.
When we reach the cashier counter, I greet the young salesclerk.
“Hello . . . Jennifer.” I read her nametag. “This is Angel.”
“Angelica,” she corrects.
With the sternness in her voice, I realize—that’s it. She’s my angel. The whisper pulling me back from death.
But that couldn’t be right.
“Angelica here is shopping for . . .” I arch a brow, pushing aside my reckless thoughts and flipping them to more concerning ones. “Her children?”
Fuck. Is she married? I hadn’t seen a ring. But she could still be a mother.
“Nieces and nephews,” she clarifies.
I relax a little. I have nothing against kids; I just don’t have any nor want any. Children are messy, both physically and emotionally.
However, Angelica smiles warmly at the mention of her young relatives.
“And we need to complete her shopping list.” I address Jennifer while nodding toward Angelica’s phone, still in her hand. “Anything she needs, let’s find it for her.”
Jennifer jumps at the chance, knowing her commission is about to soar. We offer extra compensation in the form of bonuses for our salespeople, in addition to their hourly pay, and Jennifer looks eager to score some points.
But, while I listen to Angelica’s requests, I try not to explode when Jennifer isn’t certain where to find the toys mentioned or if we even carry them. We might not be the internet shopping mogul, but we still offer a variety of items. Ones not easily found in big box stores.
Unfortunately, Angelica doesn’t find any of what she wants.
“It’s fine. I’ll just shop on Am—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Don’t even mention their name. That’s sacrilegious in here.”
I offer Jennifer a tight wink. More like an eye twitch, as I attempt to contain my irritation.
Why don’t we have the things Angelica wants? I remind myself Ashford’s has become more of a specialty store, reverting back to our original departments with unique offerings.
Dismissing Jennifer, I place my hand on Angelica’s back and lead her toward a display with stuffed animals and wooden puzzles. Classic games and craft items.
I’m pleased with myself when Angelica finds options for her nieces and nephews.
“What’s next?”
We travel down to the men’s department, for her brothers, I quickly learn.
Then into housewares, where we stall in front of the candy section when Angelica stands in front of a glass display case, admiring the carefully stacked chocolates and old-fashioned candy shaped like fruit slices.
“Would you like something?” I offer. “My treat.”
She’s already shaking her head as she stares at the arrangement. Her eyes are wide, quite literally like a kid in a candy store. Like she can’t decide, because there are so many tantalizing options.
“I never thanked you for the chocolates you brought me,” I say, recalling the treat that was an explosion of mint in my mouth. “What were they called again?”
“Angelica’s chocolate mints. Not very original, I know. I’m still working on a name.”
A second passes before her explanation registers. “You mean you made those chocolates? For me?”
She shrugs, still looking with appreciation into the candy case. “Well, I didn’t exactly make them for you, but I did make them and gathered a small sample to give you. I thought you could use something sweet.”
She glances over at me, offering a soft smile. One that could dismantle my hard edges.
Our eyes remain locked on one another for a long second before I clear my throat. I don’t need to be softened. I force my gaze from her and address the chocolate display. “Anywhere else to visit today?”
“Just one more place, but I can handle it on my own.
“What is it?” I question, concerned that her day hasn’t been as productive as she’d like. And like I told her, Ashford’s has a reputation to uphold.
“Lingerie.”