Page 17 of Elf-ish

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.”