chapter 5 #2
“Look,” I snap back at him. “I don’t need an explanation. I’m not into OWD, and I’m not interested in breaking girl code.” I don’t steal other women’s men.
“OWD?”
“Other woman drama.”
Jude snorts. The sound is dismissive and unattractive, and I turn away from him again.
“She isn’t my woman. She isn’t even my girlfriend.”
Spinning back for him, my lips flatline. “That’s awful, Jude.” I remember how he casually dated when we were younger. More like carelessly dated. The whispers in the high school hallway. The tears of innocent girls.
And I recall the woman in his office staring at him with genuine fear during our medical visit and deep concern during her hospital entrance.
Jude swipes a hand through his thick locks and glances away from me before leveling me with a hard stare. “We only went out like three times. The other day, her visit surprised me, and I had that panic attack.”
“Broken heart,” I remind him.
“I don’t have a broken heart,” he argues, his voice rising. Then he exhales heavily. “She . . .” He pauses. “It just isn’t going to happen between us ever again.”
As in, he is never, ever getting back together with her? Doubtful. She’s a beauty, and she obviously cares about him.
“She worked for me, and that’s a line I can’t cross again.”
“She works here?” I shriek. He sees her every day. You cannot ignore that.
“She worked here, past tense. I made a mistake.” He swallows hard like the admission is acid in his mouth. “I didn’t know she was a perfume counter girl when I met her, but once I knew, I stopped everything. She quit in hopes we could be together, but it’s not going to happen.”
Another thought hits me. “What do you mean a line you can’t cross again?”
Jude scratches at the back of his neck and looks away from me. “I had an incident a few years back with the head of HR, but that won’t happen again either.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Can’t or won’t what?”
“Date another employee.”
“Won’t,” he states, holding his head high, but his gaze dips down to my mouth. His eyes narrow as he stares at my lips.
The sternness in his body language should convince me of his conviction, but I cannot read Jude Ashford. He’s a book I’m certain needs to be DNF’d—do not finish—even if I’m a teeny bit curious how it might end.
Nope. Don’t be curious. It harms cats. And I’m shopped out, and over Jude.
“I need to go.”
“Where are you going?” His question shouldn’t sound so worrisome, almost . . . paranoid. Like he’s afraid I’m running away, never to return. Ridiculous.
“Right now. The escalator.”
“Take the elevator,” Jude sighs. “There’s a back one.” He steps toward me, but I turn for the sign that reads ESCALATOR.
“What are you doing?” he snaps.
“Escalator.” I point in the general direction. “It’s more fun,” I remind him of our earlier ride up five floors, then down two and three more.
Jude follows behind me, his hard-soled heels clacking until we reach the automatic staircase leading down a level.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to Sabrina?” Her name is musical, while mine is just a mouthful.
“There’s no going back.” He narrows his eyes and glances over the top of my head as we descend.
I can’t tell if he’s sad about their separation, or remorseful, maybe, or relieved. Either way, the discussion feels closed, and I’m too tired to continue arguing with him.
Shoveling in a snowstorm again. No benefit.
We hit the next level, and I instantly spin for the escalator again.
“You aren’t seriously taking these down all seven floors.”
“Only five more to go,” I admit, holding up my hand and spreading my fingers to confirm my excitement, before continuing my journey, down, down, down.
The slow pace is calming. The descent gives me time to reflect.
Shopping with Jude has been weirdly . . .
fun. He was excited, almost animated, as he pulled toys off the shelf and clothes off the rack.
He seemed to know just the right thing for every age group for my nieces and nephews, and the two men in my life, my brothers.
“Where are your packages?” Jude eventually asks, as we near the lowest level, like he’s finally realized I’m empty-handed.
“I need to pick them up.” In my anger, I’d left them all behind, but now the steam has seeped out of me. Like a holiday bag void of tissue paper and its contents, I’m empty.
Jude continues to follow me in silence until we reach the counter where my presents are stacked, wrapped in pretty paper, and tucked into giant sacks, along with a dress bag hanging from a hook.
For our date.
How did everything get so turned around?
Jude reaches for the dress, carrying it like a bride, while I collect the shopping bags bursting with packages.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I took the train.” And I’ll figure out how to pay for my purchases on another day.
“Let me order you an Uber.” Jude glances at the numerous bags in my hands and the dress in his. He retrieves his phone from the inside of his suit jacket, and one-handedly connects to the car service app.
“What’s your address?”
I groan and begrudgingly give it to him.
Slowly, he smiles after ordering the paid service. “Good. Now, I know where you live. I just need your phone number.”
He holds out his phone for me to type in my number. I set down all the shopping bags and take the device.
“Oh, are we still doing this?” I mock.
“Yes, Angelica. We are still exchanging dates.” He pauses a second. “They have a strict no-return policy.”
I snort, and it isn’t until I’m in the hired car that I realize Jude Ashford might have made a joke.
A sense of humor is even more attractive than the outer shell of a man.