Page 7 of Elf-ish

Eventually, Jude says, “Ever find that date you needed?”

My head snaps forward again, cracking my neck one more time. Any more whiplash in this store and I might need medical assistance after all.

I scowl at him.

“When you mentioned picking a date from Ashford’s, I vaguely remembered a conversation in the ambulance. Or maybe I dreamt it.” His brows pinch, questioning his own memory. “Another man was asking you out, but you declined.”

His typically cold eyes focus on my face, causing my cheeks to heat, certain to be turning as red as the carpet beneath our feet.

“That was Trey Maddix, my partner. He was driving the ambulance.”

Jude glowers. “Seems inappropriate for an ambulance conversation.” He shifts again to avoid another frantic holiday shopper, bringing him closer to me. “I could have you fired for such behavior.”

“You wouldn’t.” My eyes widen with shock, before narrowing with reality. I can’t get fired for an innocent discussion. And my hope for transformation within Jude Ashford is suddenly dashed with disappointment.

“Wouldn’t I?” Those damn eyes of his instantly shift back to cold and dangerous.

“Why would you?” I argue, then decide I don’t need an answer. Sparring with this man feels like trying to shovel snow in a snowstorm . . . unproductive, and I have a list of things to do today.

“Anyway, I should prob—”

“I have an offer for you.” Those eerie eyes focus on mine, pinning me to the red carpet like the North Pole itself. Or Jack Frost wielding some wicked winter spell.

“I promised you anything from the store yesterday.” He hesitates for a second but doesn’t look away from my face. “How about you pick me . . . for your date?”

I snort, the sound sharp and loud, and totally unladylike. “I couldn’t afford you.”

He wrinkles his nose. “You aren’t purchasing me.”

Still, I continue, “What’s the going rate for a millionaire anyway?” I mean, he makes millions, right? And my brain drifts to all the ways those millions could help people. Libraries. Hospital wings. Homeless shelters. All the toys for tots . . .

“I’m free.” He straightens his shoulders and holds his head high.

I blink. Then blink again, processing his word choice.

Pick him. Not purchase.

Somehow, I doubt anything about Jude comes without a cost.

He clarifies as if he read my mind. “I’m available.”

“You don’t even know the date,” I counter. Nor why I need a partner for the evening.

Jude arches a brow, hinting I should enlighten him.

“My younger brother is getting married on December twenty-third.” Which will totally eclipse Christmas, which is so like Beau.

Like Sam’s sister in Sixteen Candles, planning her wedding on Sam’s sixteenth birthday.

A salacious grin curls Jude’s lips. “I’m your man.”

The statement should not do funny things to me, like bring on the joy of twinkling lights beneath dark winter skies.

“How would that even work?” I counter, knowing the idea of him being my date is preposterous. I could never explain him to my family.

“I need a favor in return,” he replies, ignoring my question.

And here it is. The price tag.