chapter 5
[Angelica]
I shouldn’t be embarrassed by the mention of the ladies’ intimate department, as Gran calls it. I wasn’t even entering the section for myself. But admitting that I was shopping for my great Aunt Gertie would be awkward.
For the adult gift exchange within my family, which reduces the number of presents to be purchased per person, I’d gotten Aunt Gertie.
I always get Aunt Gertie. The rule for presents is fifty dollars or less, and the gift can be anything.
Aunt Gertie takes the option literally, and every year she requests an item I’d rather not purchase in front of Jude.
“I can help you find the right item,” Jude suggests. That dimple of his pops out, a little more playfully this time.
“I think I got it.”
“Angelica,” he counters.
“Jude,” I snipe back.
We eye one another before he finally breaks, scanning down my body with those cool eyes. “I’m very good at selecting a perfect fit.”
“I just bet you are,” I mutter. And the last thing I want to think about is Jude Ashford picking out lingerie for me.
After another awkward minute, where Jude refuses to leave me alone, he states, “Maybe we should head to the evening wear department first anyway. You’ll need to know what your dress is like before you pick something from the intimate persuasion.”
“Evening wear?” I question.
“Yes. The company Christmas party is a formal affair.”
What the Christmas trees?
“I didn’t agree to the date exchange,” I remind him.
“But you will.” He winks. Pure devil-don’t-care is in that flinch of his eyelid. Like he’s a man used to getting what he wants, and he strangely wants me to agree to a date with him.
Me and my sassy mouth. I should have known Jude didn’t have a sense of humor when I was joking that Ashford’s had dates as a commodity.
Plus, does he not see me? I glance down at my outfit to notice the smear of toothpaste near one of the HOs and the widening of the hole in my leggings.
I can’t afford an evening gown. I’m already sweating over all the items he piled up from the various departments we visited and had sent down to gift wrap, where I will cash out later.
“Jude,” I groan, like his name says everything; No, and never happening, and get over yourself with this idea.
“Look, you need a date and so do I,” he attempts to reason. “It’s equally beneficial, and I’m an equal opportunity employer.” He smooths his hand down the front of his crisp shirt, as if proud.
“Well, I don’t work for you. And if I agreed, it would only be because it also benefits me. You aren’t the boss of me. I’d be cooperating, not submitting to you.”
“So, is that a yes?” A flare of something bright sparks in those cold eyes, lessening the icy effect of them. The corner of his mouth twitches once again, the flash of that dimple whipping out like a rare beam of light in a dark night.
“Maybe.” I sigh, knowing I don’t need a date, but it still would be nice to have one for Beau’s wedding. A little buffer from the family and their well-meaning but incessant questions about my lack of a love life.
“Fine,” I groan. I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this exchange.
“Excellent.” The excitement in Jude’s voice is surprising and a bit alarming. He’s a child who has gotten exactly what he wanted from Santa. “And, as it’s my party, I’ll pay for your dress.”
“You don’t have to do that.” As an EMT, I make decent money, but not money to purchase an evening gown that I’ll only wear once in my entire life. Still, I can pay for my own things.
“I insist. And you’ll need to tell me what to wear for your brother’s wedding.”
Beau’s shindig is being thrown together by me because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and volunteered to help the newly engaged couple in their rush to wed. Which means, I’ll be put in charge because Beau is lazy like that.
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I admit.
“Formal wear department, then?” he arches one of those perfectly sculpted brows, and I nod, relieved to leave the lingerie section behind. I can always get Aunt Gertie something from the retail site that shall not be named.
Following Jude into the evening wear section, he enters like the boss he is. The women, one young and one older, simper a little at his appearance.
“Ladies,” he greets them, and I swear they sigh in unison. “This is Angelica. She’ll be needing a dress for a holiday affair. When she’s finished, send the bill to my office.”
This causes an arched brow from the younger woman, and a scowl from the older one.
Jude then turns toward me. “Angelica. The day has been a pleasure. I’ll be in touch.”
He bows—freaking bows—and steps back, retreating like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
What the hell was that?
A pleasure? Ha!
I don’t know how to describe this morning, other than a mental rush.
With every gift option he suggested, I grew more excited for the holidays, envisioning the expressions on my nieces’ and nephews’ faces.
The puzzles and games. The stuffies and crafts.
The kids did not need the electronics on the list. They needed the unique and unusual.
I wanted something special for each of them.
My sister, ironically named Christmas, has three boys, and my older brother, Dane, has twin girls. Gran’s apartment will be bursting with excitement come the morning of December twenty-fifth.
This moment, however, is apparently about me, and I turn toward the older woman, who offers me a warm smile.
“Guess you’ll be helping me doll up.”
“Honey, you don’t need any help looking special.”
Her comment alone makes me feel exceptional, and I smile as she asks me about size, cut, and colors for a dress.
When I finally enter the gift wrap section roughly two hours later, I’m sweaty from taking my clothes on and off, and suddenly worried about the exorbitant bill I’m certain to have accrued.
Sticker shock. It’s real.
The dress I picked out cost more than my paycheck, and I’m still not certain it’s right for me, but Zaleya, the older woman, insisted the gown would make men worship at my feet.
I didn’t really need a man to worship my toes, which are in serious need of a pedicure, but the compliment was still nice.
I’m fumbling for my wallet, hands still trembling for some reason, when the gift wrap clerk says, “It’s all taken care of. Happy holidays.”
She gives me a knowing look, because she clearly knows something I don’t.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t paid for anything yet.” While I’d love to believe there’s a mix-up that doesn’t cost me thousands of dollars, I’m honest to a fault. I find a penny on the street, and I look around to see if someone dropped it.
The older woman with a cute bob cut tips up her shoulder and tilts her head. “Santa took care of it.”
“Santa?” I choke before realizing Santa isn’t the jolly man dressed in red velvet, but a grumpy one wearing a blue suit.
“Oh, hell, no,” I mutter, taking the gift receipt from the clerk.
As a former scholarship kid, I take pride in being able to afford things now.
I’m grateful for that step up back then which led me to being to the independent woman I am today.
Which means, I pay my own way, and I don’t need some man whipping out his credit card, aiming to lure my affection because I saved his life.
Plus, I’m not one of those women. The ones who want a man to fund their lives.
Jude has a reputation for aligning himself with such women, and I am not like that.
Leaving my packages behind, I head for the elevators, which will take me to the seventh floor. Offices are on the eighth, and we had privileged access when we arrived for Jude’s medical emergency the other day. Today, I need to exit on the seventh floor and take the stairs to the next level.
By the time I slam through the emergency exit on floor eight, I’m out of breath. Without a receptionist in sight, I help myself to wander the narrow hall leading to a final set of doors.
The same doors Maddix and I entered on Friday.
“What is this?” I rattle the pile of gift receipts in my hand, shaking my fist at Jude, who is seated smugly behind his large wooden desk that looks as old as this building but in pristine condition.
“You’re welcome?” he counters, tipping his head to the side.
“You can’t pay for my Christmas presents.”
“Consider me Santa’s helper.” The corner of his mouth quirks, more mockery than generosity.
“I don’t want Santa’s help.” I sound ungrateful and ridiculous, but I’m pissed. “Look. I can pay for my own Christmas presents.”
“And while I’m certain you can, I’d still like to cover the cost. As a thank you.”
“I already agreed to a date,” I fire back at him.
“Because I agreed to date you,” he counters.
“What?”
I spin at the sudden gasp from a female voice and face the raven-haired beauty who’d been in Jude’s office and then by his bedside in the hospital.
“Sabrina,” Jude groans, pressing his fingers against his forehead.
My heart crashes to the floor like a broken vase. Even her name is beautiful. And there is clearly something going on between them. Why isn’t he taking her to the company party?
Respectable, he’d said. Not exactly a glowing compliment, and standing next to this lovely creature in her crisp pant suit, I don’t feel like anything other than a hole-y mess.
“I need to go.” I tip my chin at Jude and smile at Sabrina. Let Jude fix this disaster. I don’t need a date bad enough to ruin someone else’s relationship. And I definitely don’t need a date with Jude.
Turning in a rush for the door, I then fly to the exit stairs, taking them in record time to the seventh floor. The elevator line is long, and I search for the escalator instead of waiting for the lift.
“Angelica, wait.”
Spinning around, I catch Jude racing after me. He appears only slightly winded, and for half a second, I worry about his heart.
“You shouldn’t be running.”
“I wasn’t running. I was chasing.”
“Chasing?” I counter. Chasing after me?
Jude is already waving his hand. “Look, I can explain Sabrina.”