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“You’d have to kill me first.”

“I can make that happen,” she says, hanging the Sexy Santa suit back up. “If you want to make this harder for yourself, fine. I can do this all day. Or at least for the entire hour we have here.”

“Payne, I got this,” I say, shooing her away. She doesn’t budge, so I carefully scoop her up and bring her over to a small couch. Heat radiates off her body. “You’re like a little furnace.”

“I’m the temperature I’m supposed to be.”

“I could make s’mores off of you.”

She laughs once. “Then at least you’d be making yourself more useful than you are now.”

“Sit and rest.” I set her down gently. “Please. Don’t move more than you have to.”

“Don’t make me regret telling you, Lambros,” she says. “That, right there, is what I was trying to avoid.”

“What?”

“That.” She points at my face. “The look you’re giving me. Like I’m some kind of wounded bird that you want to put in a shoebox.”

I neutralize my expression. “That’s not how I’m looking at you.”

“Oh yeah? Then how would you say you’re looking at me?”

“Like you’re being a stubborn pain in my ass who won’t take the time to heal properly.”

“Haven’t I always been that for you?” she asks. “The word is right there in my name.”

Not always, and she knows that.

“Okay, fine! I’m sitting,” she says when I give her another look. She lowers herself down to the seat. “I promise you I’ll rest in the new year once this Con’s over.”

“Not in the new year,” I push back. “As soon as we catch Santa.” Which I’m planning on doing well before the finale so this person can get what they deserve for hurting Scarlett and threatening her life.

We’ve been here long enough. I flip through the hangers and grab three suits I think will work. They’re a classic Santa look, but that’s what we want. Something boring, something that will blend in. I’m not trying to win any fashion contests here.

I try on each one, and Scarlett insists I model them for her. She laughs so hard throughout it all. “I never realized Santa’s pants fell right below his knees, have you?” she asks.

“Can’t say I’ve ever noticed, no,” I mumble. “You’re taking way too much pleasure in this.”

She draws an imaginary line in the air. “This is where you think my pleasure is,” she says before lifting her hand above her head. “This is where I actually am. It’s just the right amount, I think. Don’t forget the beard!” She tosses me a curly white beard that I’m supposed to clip around my head.

I sigh. “This is below my pay grade.” Still, I clip on the beard.

“Give me a little twirl,” she says, spinning her finger around.

I make a face, but she can’t see it behind the mountain of white curls. “You twirl.”

“Twirl, dammit!”

So I do, because this is not a hill I’m going to die on. Scarlett leans forward in her seat with a serious look on her face, analyzing the movements of the suit.

She nods. “Raise your arms and give me a lunge.”

I do those things, too, adding in a few push-ups for good measure.

“This is the one,” she says, feeling the material on the back of my jacket when my arms are extended. “It’s flexible and durable. Okay, I get it, you can do a million push-ups!”

I finish my set. “See all you need to see?”