Page 23 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“How about just call me what all my friends call me—Jilly?”

“So we’re friends now?”

“No.” I pause because my answer seems harsh. “Maybe. Getting there?”

“There’s no maybe. The whole getting stranded and sharing a loft leveled up our working relationship to friendship.”

“You said last night we were colleagues.”

“That was last night. Today is a whole new day, Jillian.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“All …” I search for the right word while he smirks at me. “Playful. Fun. You aren’t those things.”

“How would you know? You just said we aren’t friends.”

He has a point. The more time I spend with Case, the more of a mystery he is.

And it’s probably best he stay that way.

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Go back to being the stuffy and serious work version of yourself that I’m used to.”

He raises one dark brow, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he shoves his hand in his pocket. “Stuffy and serious—is that how you see me? Is that my vibe?”

“That’s how everyone in the office sees you. It’s a factual observation.”

For a moment, I think I’ve hurt his feelings. When he steps close, I get that feeling again—the one I shouldn’t love so much—like I’m his all-too-willing prey.

He leans close, the breath leaving his mouth in visible puffs that curl toward me and disappear. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint. I am not stuffy, and I’m only serious about a few things.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what things, but then Case leans even closer, his cheek brushing mine as his lips come close to my ear.

“And when I’m serious about something, I am wholly focused and completely consumed.”

There have been several occasions when I’ve wondered if Case was flirting. But it was easy to dismiss them as friendly banter. Teasing. Because I wasn’t lying about how everyone sees him. How I’ve seen him. NOT as the kind of man to flirt with someone like me.

Again, not that I have some weird insecurities. Just that I see the facts—I’m younger and barely above minimum wage in the company. I verbally vomit things like sharing body heat while Case is a master of control.

But there is zero question in my mind about his intentions now. He is flirting.

Unless … he’s hinting at his plans to murder me. Considering he’s had ample opportunity to do so—particularly when Tina died on that empty road—I’m going to have to go with flirting.

As quickly as he stepped close and gave me a dizzying case of vertigo, Case backs up, his face resuming the normal expression of impossible to read.

“Are we going for a drive or not?”

I can’t speak, so I start walking toward the truck by way of an answer. Case hurries ahead of me to open the passenger side door.

Instead of thanking him, I cross my arms.

“You assume you’ll drive because you’re a man?”

---