Page 3 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“Did you ever see that movie, Napoleon Dynamite?” He opens his mouth, but I keep going, talking right over him. “Didn’t think so. Anyway, there was a llama named Tina. I liked her style.”

Case says nothing for a moment, and I settle in, leaning against the door to watch the snow. I almost jump out of my seat when he says, “She did have good style.”

And suddenly, I find myself grabbing his arm. Without consciously meaning to, I’ve lunged across the center console like some kind of apex predator and latched onto the man. I think it’s the first time I’ve touched Case ever, and I’m surprised by the bulk of muscle under my fingertips.

You never know what’s hiding under a man’s button-down shirt, I guess. They’re like office camouflage, nature’s defense against lusty coworkers.

When he clears his throat, loudly and deliberately, I let go of him and return to my side of the car like I didn’t just commit bicep assault.

“What has you so shocked that you’re groping me, Jillian?”

I ignore the groping part. Because it’s true. And I’m distracted by the way his tone sounds less harsh. Almost … teasing.

“I’m shocked that you’ve seen Napoleon Dynamite. You?”

Because I imagine Case to be the kind of man who doesn’t binge series on Netflix like the rest of us mortals. No, he’s watching the stock market. Or, listening to podcasts about the stock market. He’s filing insurance claims or studying maritime law, probably still in a suit in the comfort of his own home.

Definitely NOT watching Napoleon Dynamite.

The man has smiled exactly once in the four years since I’ve worked at Brightmark Studios. And it was because someone got fired. Who smiles at people getting fired? Well, and okay, the guy did embezzle some money, so maybe a smile was appropriate.

But the point is, Case’s sense of humor was clearly an accessory sold separately.

He opens his mouth to answer, but there’s a sudden thump, the car jolts, and we’re careening straight for the trees.

CHAPTER 2

Case manages to wrangle Tina away from the trees and onto an exit ramp, slowing to a safe stop like he’s some kind of professional driver. I’d be impressed, but I’m still screaming.

“We didn’t crash,” Case says, loudly so I can hear him over my shrieks. “Stop that now.”

I do, my mouth snapping shut. My body is apparently very receptive to Case’s commanding tone. A little too receptive. Which is a scary thought. Better not test that theory.

I breathe deeply for a few seconds, then turn to Case. “Thank you. I was stuck in some sort of scream spiral and couldn’t get out.” I glance through the windshield, where I see a very deserted stretch of very country road in front of us. “Um, also thanks for not crashing Tina. Did a tire blow?”

I’m not even sure if that’s the correct terminology. People in movies are always talking about tires blowing.

“Felt that way. When’s the last time you had your tires replaced?”

I think about this, trying to remember buying tires, but I don’t. Wincing, I tell him. “I don’t think I have.”

Case turns his whole body to me. “How long have you owned this car, Jillian?”

“Um. A while.”

“Define a while. In quantitative terms, please.”

It shouldn’t be possible, but somehow hearing the words quantitative terms coming from his mouth is sexy.

Die, crush, die! This is NOT the time.

“I got her my freshman year of college.”

“And how old are you?”

“Shouldn’t you know that, Mr. Bossman?”

“I am not your boss.”

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