Page 13 of Elf-ish

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.