chapter 6
[Angelica]
“Where are your bags?” Jude asks when he arrives at my apartment a few minutes before four-thirty on Friday. He’s early and I’m running late.
My one-bedroom apartment is in a quaint three-story, three-sided, brown brick building that surrounds a courtyard with a small fountain.
Of course, the fountain is off in the winter months, so the landlord stuffs it with festive greenery, redwood twigs, and glittery silver swirls.
One day, I hope to have a house. For now, I’m just grateful I no longer live in Gran and Aunt Gertie’s three-flat, and we are stuck in my narrow entryway because I haven’t invited him further into my place.
He hasn’t mentioned how I’m not dressed for the party yet. However, he is wearing another deep blue suit with a patterned shirt minus a tie, looking a little too casual for a formal affair. Still, my darn curiosity wonders if he owns clothes other than suits.
“Why would I need a bag?”
“Because the party is out of town?” Jude gives me a puzzled look like I should know this fact when I clearly do not.
“What?”
“The party is in Wisconsin,” Jude clarifies. He’s acting like he told me this information when he only sent me one text confirming my address and telling me when he’d pick me up.
“Wisconsin,” I grouse. “What’s in Wisconsin?”
“An inn.”
“Wait a minute.” Just wait one cheesehead minute. “An inn?”
“Yes. We’ll be staying overnight.” He flips his wrist, glancing at a silver watch that probably cost four times my paycheck, and then states, “We have a few minutes. I’ll wait while you grab some things.”
“For what exactly?” Not the first question I should be asking, but I’m curiosity jumped the line.
“Casual drinks. Maybe a walk outside. Hot tubbing.”
It’s thirty degrees with the threat of snow, and Wisconsin is at least ninety minutes from here.
“Sleepwear optional,” he deadpans, because he knows as well as I do we are not having sex.
“This was not part of our deal,” I remind him. “One night for one night. Not an overnight,” I emphasize.
“Well, I need two nights,” he counters, not looking the least bit chagrined.
“Look,” I sigh, biting back the irritation tickling my throat. “I get that you are a man who evidently gets his way easily and often, but I’ve had a week.”
My brother’s wedding is not coming together as easily as he’d hoped, which shouldn’t be surprising because he doesn’t have a plan.
Plus, I’m hosting the breakfast with Santa at my Gran’s church.
And, I have copious lists of random holiday responsibilities, like cookie baking, Christmas decorating, and more gift shopping.
Not to mention, I worked my typical schedule this week and took an extra shift to cover one expensively lavish evening gown.
I’m determined to pay Jude back for the purchase, and that extra shift is why I’m running late.
But this . . . this business about an inn and two nights . . .
“I’m tired,” I admit. All I wanted to do was make an appearance at Jude’s party and then snuggle up with peppermint ice cream and a decent holiday rom-com afterward.
“You can nap in the car.” At least, he looks a teeny bit chagrined by this suggestion.
“What if I have to work tomorrow?”
“Do you?” His brows lift, those chilly eyes looking only slightly innocent, almost apologetic, like he hadn’t considered my job. Which means he hadn’t thought of me.
Even if I fortunately have tomorrow off, spending the night in Wisconsin is not on my Christmas bucket list, let alone two nights there. And I don’t have the patience for a man-child thinking he can get his way without giving me all the details.
“Maybe you should call someone else.” He probably has a list of women on speed dial.
Jude steps closer to me, sending me a step back into my apartment. “I don’t want someone else.”
The words should have no effect on me. He doesn’t intend them the way they sound, like I’m the only person he wants by his side. The thought is ridiculous.
“I don’t think I’d be a very convincing date.” Even though everything between us would be pretend, I’m not certain I even like Jude right now. I’m not sure I could fake my way through a date with him.
“You’re perfect.” His eyes drop down to my mouth for a second and then flick back to my eyes, holding firm.
Again, the compliment should not sneak into my bloodstream, slinking toward my heart. He’s only spewing words. He’s a charmer. I know this about him. I remember him.
“Why do you even need a respectable date?” The question feels a little too late to ask, considering we’ve had a week to discuss this situation.
And that word, respectable. It’s like saying someone has a nice personality to cover for lacking looks.
Jude sighs, swipes a hand through his hair, and glances toward my front door, which is still open but somehow a barrier between us. He hasn’t made it further than the entryway because I haven’t invited him further inside my place.
“The Ashford’s board of directors thinks I’m reckless. A wild card. Bad for the company. And I need to show them I’m settling down. I’m . . . different.” He hangs on the word before he sighs and lowers his head a little bit. “Something happened to me with the heart attack.”
“Stress cardiomyopathy incident,” I clarify for him. “A broken heart.”
He shakes his head, dismissing the concept. “I want them to see that I’ve changed. I’m turning over a new leaf.” His tone lightens as he lifts his head, and he almost convinces me, but a man in sales is a persuasive man.
I refuse to be duped.
“If I don’t convince them I’ve transformed, they’ll vote me out of the company. The one with my name etched on a historical landmark placard on the side of the building.” He slaps his hand against his chest and pauses.
Recalling his teenage behavior, Jude is good at acting, but this doesn’t sound like something in a play. Jude looks seriously concerned about his name and his company. His life is on the line in another manner here. Proving himself to his board members sounds urgent.
And when I’d asked Jude before who was there for him during an emergency, I remember his answer.
There’s no one.
With a heavy sigh, I state, “I have to be home Sunday morning for a breakfast with Santa.”
I’m still put out and upset, but I can also be reasonable. Or stupid.
“Ashford’s isn’t hosting their annual holiday brunch until next weekend,” Jude states, looking a little stunned. Whether that’s over my agreement to give him two nights or the idea of attending a breakfast for the man in red is to be determined.
“But I’ll have my assistant call you and reserve tickets for whomever you’d like to attend.”
I’d call bullshit because I know for a fact that the Ashford’s breakfast with Santa books up almost the day after the previous year’s event. But I’m not talking about an Ashford’s activity.
“It’s at my Gran’s church. I’m hosting it.” Two nights? I want to remind him. I don’t conveniently have two nights, and I have plans Sunday morning.
“What?” Jude’s brows lift before he narrows his eyes.
Glowering back at him, I hold my ground. “And if you get two nights, I want the rehearsal dinner tossed in as well.”
Then again, maybe this date for a date isn’t such a good idea after all.
I’d never be able to explain Jude to my family.
I simply wanted a companion for Beau’s wedding, so I didn’t look like the loser sister for the evening while my younger brother dry humps his new wife on a dance floor.
If we can even find a dance floor, because everywhere I’ve called has been booked for years because of the holiday timing.
“Done,” Jude announces, surprising me and extending his hand.
I’m reminded of how he refused to shake mine when I first visited him in the hospital.
Still, I slap my hand against his, and he firmly grips mine, holding on a little longer than necessary, causing that cold crackling sensation over my skin again.
The odd combination of ice and heat collides once more.
“Deal.”
With the devil, probably. Or more like a holiday grinch.
+ + +
Our drive to the inn in Jude’s sporty car is quiet at first as we muddle through Friday evening traffic out of a city with constant construction on its surrounding highways. When we finally pick up speed, my eyelids lose their fight to stay open.
“Set the seat back a little bit. Take that nap,” Jude suggests, sounding surprisingly considerate, and I give in to sixty restless minutes.
When I finally rouse myself, I straighten and stretch in the comfort of his heated, leather bucket seats.
“Warm enough?” Jude asks when I rub my hands up and down my arms.
I nod, while staring out the window, and ask, “Where are we?” We’ve definitely moved away from cities into what appears to be flat, empty farm fields blanketed by the cold, winter night. However, the stars are abundant and bright in the sky.
“We have another half-hour before we get there.”
I nod again, then turn my gaze toward Jude. “So how will this work? Am I a date for hire?” I wiggle my brows at the salacious thought, then remember I’m supposed to be respectable. “Or your new girlfriend?”
Jude rolls his head in my direction and gives me a tight smirk. “Girlfriend works.”
He pauses another second while returning his attention to the dark highway in front of us.
“What does being your girlfriend mean?” Has he ever had one? A meaningful one, not the on again off again woman in his office.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had one.”
The answer should surprise me, but it strangely doesn’t. It also makes me a bit sad for him. There’s an aloofness to Jude, suggesting he doesn’t allow people to get too close. A girlfriend would definitely want in his space.
“But in this case, it means . . .” He clears his throat. “That I might have to touch you.”
What? Imagine my foot hitting the brakes on this moving vehicle.
“Maybe a hand on your back or an arm over your shoulder.”
“Okay,” I whisper, drawing out the word. Okay. Maybe. I guess. I mean, I can handle that. Casual touching is acceptable. It won’t mean anything.
“And maybe a kiss or two . . . on the cheek,” he clarifies. He glances toward me, but his gaze stalls on my lips. Quickly, he yanks his attention back to the road, and he rolls his tight grip over the steering wheel.
Jude does not strike me as a cheek-kisser.
“Okay.” Still, my voice quivers and hesitates. How difficult can it be?
But a glance over at Jude, his features highlighted by the lights on the dashboard, has me swallowing hard.
That sharp nose. The smattering of facial hair. The glow of those luminescent eyes.
I’ve definitely sparked a deal with a devil.
+ + +
When we finally arrive at the quaint inn, we’re met by the soft glow of a million lights.
One minute we are in complete darkness other than the headlights of Jude’s sports car and the stars overhead, and then, like an oasis in the desert, this beacon of brightness illuminates.
The inn looks like something one might find in the French Alps, not amid Wisconsin farmlands.
The sprawling chalet-like structure is a combination of Old World and modern flair with its white stucco and dark timbered accents.
Inside, the lobby features rich, walnut paneling and antique furniture that looks plush, facing a large fireplace where welcoming flames crackle.
Large lit candles decorate the wide, stone hearth.
A large circular table fills the center of the lobby near the registration counter, and a giant winter floral arrangement of pine boughs, redwood twigs, and berries on branches explodes out of a low-bowl container.
The place is inviting and cozy, bordering on romantic, and standing here, we encounter another dilemma in our dating exchange.
“There must be a mistake,” Jude argues with the front desk clerk, a young man no more than twenty.
“I’m sorry, sir. Only one room was booked.”
I sigh and hang my head. This cannot be happening. I cannot stay in the same room with Jude.
“And there’s only one bed?” Jude confirms.
My head snaps upright. No. Absolutely not.
“Jude.” The deep masculine call of his name causes Jude and me to spin toward an older gentleman with a wet smile. “So glad you could make it.”
He holds out his hand to shake Jude’s, clapping him on the shoulder for extra effect before he turns toward me.
“And who do we have here?” the man addresses me. His white hair is cut short, and his eyes are bloodshot and watery.
“Walt. This is . . . my girlfriend, Angelica.”
“Angelica.” Walt raises his brows. “What a lovely name for a lovely woman.”
“Thank you, sir,” I answer.
He leans forward, placing a clammy kiss on my cheek. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Fighting a shudder, I simply respond, “Oh.”
When Walt stands upright again, he claps Jude one more time on the shoulder, visibly squeezing tight. “Looking forward to a drink later this evening.”
Walt nods at me, then looks at the clerk who has been standing still, watching our introductions.
“Is there a problem, Mickey?”
“No, sir, I was just assisting Mr. Ashford with his reservation and the issue with—”
“No issue,” Jude interjects, sharply cutting him off. “My girlfriend and I are happy to take our room keys now.”
Mickey looks from Jude to me and back before finishing our registration.
For one room with one bed.