Page 10 of Elf-ish

“You okay?” Angelica asks, her eyes full of concern. She almost looks like a cartoon character. A popular Irish princess doll Ashford’s had sold years ago.

“I’m fine.” However, my reply is terse; my jaw still too tight. I concentrate on her again. The warmth in her eyes. The soft mix of red in her hair. The freckles that decorate her nose and cheeks.

“Where should we begin?” I ask again, clenching my back teeth to keep me calm. I need something to distract me, and shopping appears to be the immediate answer.

Angelica sighs. The slump of her shoulders and hanging of her head suggest I’ve ensnared her. Acquiescing, she opens the Notes app on her phone.

“Toys.” She glances back at me. “I need lots of toys.”

“Level five, it is, then.” I wave my hand, implying I’ll follow her lead, and she spins for the . . . escalators.

“We have elevators,” I snark.

Glancing over her shoulder, she says, “Yeah, but the escalators are more fun.”

As she walks in front of me, I shamelessly admire the curve of her hips. The way that hideous Christmas sweatshirt covers her ass but does nothing to disguise the shape of it. She’d be a handful, and I want my hands on her.

Quickly, I dismiss the thought. She’s not here to get me off. I need a date. A wholesome, respectable, board-unknown woman who can play the part of a doting girlfriend, albeit a temporary one. Just enough of one to draw attention away from my past and their doubts about my future.

We begin the laborious ride up one floor in silence. The holidays are still weeks away, but everyone wants a deal. This weekend, our Black Friday sales attempt to capture as much profit as we can. December is always our best month, and I need this year to end with a bang.

Retail shopping is on the downswing, even if coming to Ashford’s is considered an experience. A popular destination when visiting Chicago. I pride myself on the fact we pulled it off. We flipped our flagship store from one of many in a chain to a sole destination.

Think Liberty in London. We have Ashford’s in Chicago.

I am Ashford’s.

We exit one set of moving stairs and immediately round to the next, and my gaze falls to Angelica’s backside again as she stands two steps higher than me. Her name suits her, only she looks like a wild angel. One who would be both a blessing and a curse.

When we exit the final set of escalators, I reach for Angelica’s lower back, then pause, not allowing myself to touch her. Strangely, I want to show possession of her. Like that girl in The Nutcracker, obsessed with her new toy.

Angelica is mine.

I can admit I’m a selfish man.

When we reach the cashier counter, I greet the young salesclerk.

“Hello . . . Jennifer.” I read her nametag. “This is Angel.”

“Angelica,” she corrects.

With the sternness in her voice, I realize—that’s it. She’s my angel. The whisper pulling me back from death.

But that couldn’t be right.

“Angelica here is shopping for . . .” I arch a brow, pushing aside my reckless thoughts and flipping them to more concerning ones. “Her children?”

Fuck. Is she married? I hadn’t seen a ring. But she could still be a mother.

“Nieces and nephews,” she clarifies.

I relax a little. I have nothing against kids; I just don’t have any nor want any. Children are messy, both physically and emotionally.

However, Angelica smiles warmly at the mention of her young relatives.

“And we need to complete her shopping list.” I address Jennifer while nodding toward Angelica’s phone, still in her hand. “Anything she needs, let’s find it for her.”

Jennifer jumps at the chance, knowing her commission is about to soar. We offer extra compensation in the form of bonuses for our salespeople, in addition to their hourly pay, and Jennifer looks eager to score some points.