Good elf gone wrong a ho.., p.4
Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy, page 4
“Call me,” I reminded her, taking her notebook and jotting down the number of a burner phone I’d bought for this specific purpose.
“Wait,” she said and looked around furtively. “What’s your name?”
“Hudson,” I replied, “Hudson Wynter.”
“Grace O’Brien, but everyone calls me Gracie.”
I knew that, of course, but said, “We’ll be in touch, Gracie.”
The much-smaller woman struggled to extricate herself, her dog, and all of the shit she’d brought with her.
“Aren’t you going to help?” she grumbled.
“Helping is extra,” I breathed in her ear, just in case someone her family knew overheard. “Besides, no one told you to pack this much. Are you moving home?”
“I haven’t sunk that low yet,” she muttered.
Pugnog yelped as Gracie accidentally banged him in the head with her laptop case.
I took pity on her and grabbed the overstuffed carry-on from the overhead rack then slung my rucksack on my back. I didn’t have much in it—it was just for show. Everything I needed had already been stashed in town.
“You don’t have more luggage than that?” Gracie asked me as she followed me off the bus, her bags thumping against the empty seat backs as she passed.
“I travel light,” I replied, setting her bag on the icy sidewalk.
The bus driver was standing beside the open underbus storage, smoking a cigarette.
“I have a small animal,” Gracie said defensively as she headed for the storage bay to retrieve another overstuffed bright-pink suitcase, sliding on the icy asphalt as she tried to drag it out.
I strangled a curse, stalked over, and grabbed her roughly before she and Pugnog could crash to the sidewalk.
My client was not going to be pleased if I couldn’t fulfill the contract because I’d let Gracie crack her head open on the pavement.
“I’ll get it,” I growled.
“Oh, look. He does have manners.” Gracie sounded slightly breathless.
Probably all that cheese she ate.
“You have anyone coming to get you?” I asked as I picked up both of her bags.
“They have wheels,” she huffed as I carried them toward the dilapidated, small-town bus station.
I ignored her.
“My family is busy,” she said, trotting after me, “but I called an Uber.”
Inside the too-warm building, a bored bus station employee was watching sports on his phone. Christmas carols played, tinny over the ancient speakers in the terminal.
“An Uber,” I repeated.
“Do you have anyone coming to get you?” she asked behind me.
I did, but I didn’t need her to know that.
“I work around here,” I lied.
“Oh.” Her phone chimed with a notification from Uber.
“Come on, Pugnog, we need to go to the store.” She was talking to the pug in a high-pitched voice.
I threw her bags into the trunk of the Uber then slammed the car door closed when she was safely inside.
“Call me.”
“Are you …” she began in a small voice. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We shook on it,” I said and smacked the side of the car.
As I watched her drive off, I pulled out one of my burner phones and dialed a number from memory.
“I assume you are calling me with good news.” Grayson Richmond’s voice was dry, emotionless.
“I’m in,” I reported. “We’re still on schedule.”
4
GRACIE
“There you are,” my mother said, exasperated, when I stumbled through the front door, dumping my luggage on the floor.
I didn’t have the budget for an Uber, but I hadn’t wanted Hudson to feel like he had to babysit me. The five hours I’d been trapped next to him in the bus had been intense. All I wanted were some Christmas cookies, a glass of wine, and a hot bath.
Instead I got the holiday chaos of my family.
Two younger cousins raced by, high on sugar cookies and holiday excitement. I let Pugnog out of his carrier to join the fray.
“Did you buy the ingredients for lobster dip?” my mother asked. “Sandy, I don’t want to use those plates tonight. We’ll use the other ones.”
“Why couldn’t you convince Dakota to come?” my aunt Babs asked, coming over to me and giving me a huge hug.
“Someone has to manage the office.”
Aunt Giana sniffed. “You smell.” She sprayed me with Febreze, making me cough. “Why do you insist on taking the bus?”
“I don’t know.” My mother threw up her hands. “James offered to drive her, but she refused. I don’t know why you can’t forgive him, Gracie.”
“No, he—”
“It’s been a whole year, and he and Kelly are so in love,” my mother lectured. “James is trying, Gracie. You’re going to have to get over it at some point. Kelly’s going to have children, and you want to have a relationship with your nieces and nephews, don’t you? She wants a big family, you know.”
No, I wanted a big family. Kelly wanted to party.
“The fish needs to go in the fridge, and can you make the custard for the Boston cream pie?” my mother continued as she shook out table runners. “Your uncle Bic asked me at the last minute if we could serve it, and I need to set up for the buffet. Oh, Gracie come here and help me figure out where to arrange the tables.”
“I told you the buffet needs to go on the back wall, and we can seat people in the dining room and living room,” I told her, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice so my mom didn’t scold me for having a tone.
A mopey-looking young woman in a crop top, Ugg boots, and leggings, slouched into the room, followed by my brother.
“I just wanted to make sure that there are going to be some vegan options for Piper,” Logan said over my mother shouting at my aunt to not drop a goblet.
Bethany threw up her hands. “Vegan options?”
“She ate steak the last time she was over here,” my uncle Eddie remarked as he and another married-in uncle moved the tables to where I directed.
“No, that wasn’t Piper. That was Pippa,” my brother corrected.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I said before I could stop myself from volunteering. “I’ll make sure Piper has something to eat.”
It was a compulsion to help make my mother’s life as easy as possible—the curse of being the firstborn daughter.
In an ill-fated attempt to lose the pounds accumulated in the post-being-cheated-on fog of sadness and self-loathing, I had tried to be vegan. It had lasted all of two weeks and had ended when my sister had posted photos of herself in a thong bikini on the beach with James, her engagement ring front and center.
A woman needed a cheeseburger and a bourbon milkshake after a social media post like that.
On the bright side, I had assembled a repertoire of plant-based dishes.
“I’ll make you a very tasty zucchini ‘spaghetti’ dish with fresh spinach, pine nuts, and other winter veggies,” I promised.
“Um, I don’t actually like vegetables all that much?” Piper said, twirling her hair.
“She doesn’t like the texture,” my brother explained. “When we go out, she always orders an Impossible burger.”
“French fries, Oreos, and imitation sausage links it is then.”
Piper brightened. “Sounds great!”
“Thanks, sis!” Logan hugged me. “We’re heading to the park to shoot some hoops.”
“Great. I’ll just be here throwing a dinner for forty together,” I said under my breath.
It’s Christmas, I told myself firmly. You’re with family. That’s what’s important.
It was Hudson, with his lack of respect for my personal space and his military metaphors and his sexually charged comments, that had put me in a bad mood.
I pulled out my great-grandmother’s cookbook. It was one I had designed from a collection of her recipes that I had carefully typed up, tested, and photographed then given to the family one year as Christmas presents. It had the best custard recipe.
I opened the fridge.
“Where are all the eggs?”
“Your aunt Janet used the last of them,” my mother said as she swept through the kitchen.
“You could have told me. I was just at the store.”
“Gracie, don’t use that tone,” my mom chided. “I have a full house here. I’m trying my best.”
“Don’t scowl like that. You’ll get wrinkles, Gracie,” Aunt Sandy told me. “A single woman can’t afford to get wrinkles.”
“You’ll have to go to the store and buy some eggs,” my mom told me.
“She needs to go to the store and get a man,” Granny Murray said from the doorway.
I rushed to hug her.
Granny Murray admired me. “Your tits look great.”
“Really?” My mother frowned and pulled at my top. “I think your bra is too small.”
“I’m too busy to date,” I said to Granny Murray as I pulled self-consciously at my clothes.
Nothing seemed to fit right. No wonder Hudson wanted cash instead of a hookup. He had been positively repulsed by the idea of sleeping with me.
I felt nauseous thinking about my big plan.
He’s going to balk, I assured myself. No man in his right mind was going to pretend to be the fake boyfriend of a girl he met on a bus. That was absurd. Hudson was probably just pulling my leg, passing the time. A slow bus ride makes people do crazy things. He gave me a fake number, which was no problem because I was not going to call him. Ever. Instead, I was going to pretend this whole thing never happened.
Granny Murray lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I heard the lesser grandma”—meaning my father’s mother—“talking smack about you, saying that she would be surprised if you were even going to show your face this Christmas. You need to get a real home run of a man, shut them all up.”
“It doesn’t hurt my feelings,” I promised Granny Murray. “I’m an adult. I can take it. And I don’t need a man to be happy. That’s what you said when you threw that divorce party last year, remember?”
“I’m not telling you to get married. I’m telling you to find a hot piece of tail, fuck him in the back seat of a Camaro, parade him around, and shut up that gossipy old woman.”
“It will have to wait until I’ve gone to the store.”
“I added onions and flour to your list,” my mother called as she sailed through the kitchen, carrying a soup tureen into the dining room.
I picked up my coat from where I had draped it over my bags.
“Also, can you do something with that dog?” my mother added as she floated back, carrying a tablecloth to the laundry room.
One of my younger cousins, who was probably trying to be helpful, had put down a dish of water for Pugnog. The chunky pug had inadvertently tipped over and was drowning in his water bowl.
I righted him, picked up the water dish, dumped it out, and gave the dog a few whacks on the back.
“You’re going to the store, Gracie?” my dad asked hopefully as I walked through the den. He was watching the football game with several of my cousins and uncles. “Could you pick up some ice cream? Pistachio if they have it, though it’s not as good as yours.”
Hint. Hint.
“I can make you some,” I offered weakly.
It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, I chanted.
“Can you pick up some chips and salsa?” another cousin asked.
“And some of those jalapeño poppers?” another added. “We need snacks for the game.”
“Of course,” I said, jotting it down on my quickly ballooning grocery list.
I stepped out onto the back porch and trudged through the snow to the detached garage with the mother-in-law suite above, where Granny Murray lived.
Both of my parents’ cars were gone, and Granny Murray didn’t have a car because she had lost her license after getting in a police chase.
“Guess we’re walking,” I forced out between my teeth as I grabbed the wheeled cloth grocery cart hanging on the wall of the garage.
“You need the exercise. It’s a beautiful winter day. We’ll walk to the store, taking in all the Christmas lights. It will be grounding, centering, meditative.”
But it was no use. I felt no Christmas joy, no holiday cheer.
Twenty more days ’til Christmas.
For once in my life, I wished the Christmas season could just be over and done with already.
5
HUDSON
“That’s how we do it!” Jake whooped when I climbed into the back of Anderson’s SUV.
I leaned back in the cracked leather seat, allowing myself a small smile.
“She practically crawled right in my lap. I didn’t even have to use any of your idiotic pickup lines.”
I could still feel the phantom touch of Gracie’s fingers trailing over my zipper.
Focus.
“Women can’t resist that handsome face.” Jake grabbed my jaw and shook my head.
I let my little brother manhandle me for a moment then pushed him off.
“Eyes on the prize, men.”
“It’s going to be a good Christmas this year,” Jake crowed, leaning over the center console and turning on the radio, then punched buttons until Christmas carols blared out of the speakers.
As the second to youngest, Jake preferred to shirk as many responsibilities as I, the oldest, would let him get away with, which of course wasn’t a lot.
I turned off the radio.
“Thank you.”
Like me, Anderson, the second-oldest Wynter brother, was not a fan of Christmas. Always seeking ways to optimize his life, Anderson had followed me into the Marines, and he’d been an asset in the military and was an asset at my company.
“You two,” Jake said, turning the radio back on, “need to get in the holiday spirit. Especially you, Mr. Casanova. You’re dating a Christmas-loving woman and her Christmas-loving family. Time to pack up the family trauma and rediscover your inner Frosty the Snowman.”
“Never.”
Anderson glanced over at me.
“You better not fuck this up. It’s not just money, but our reputation is on the line. This contract has already taken longer than it should. If you have to dance around a Christmas tree in nothing but an inflatable reindeer costume to complete the mission, then you’d better do it.”
He drove us to one of the warehouse buildings I owned in town and where we’d set up a makeshift field office. I needed all hands on deck for this one.
“Gracie doesn’t want a Christmas-loving potential husband,” I reminded them. “She wants a bad boy with a dangerous streak.”
“Thankfully, you’re a grade-A-certified asshole,” Jake said as Anderson parked by the loading dock door.
Inside the field office, several large monitors were set up on tables. The stale smell of coffee hung in the air. Lawrence and Talbot, the third and fourth youngest, stood in front of a large TV where drone footage played.
Elsa, our little sister, was up in Harrogate with our aunt and uncle, helping them with the Christmas rush at their lodge.
This job should have been a straightforward corporate espionage contract. Robert O’Brien’s company was a family office, and there was no HR, no IT, and no corporate structure. The whole thing was held together by a shoestring. It should have been like shooting fish in a barrel.
Except that Gracie’s cousins hadn’t had anything on the laptops my men had managed to gain access to, Gracie kept blocking access to the office, and all of my team’s attempts at using phishing to gain access to the EnerCheck computer system hadn’t worked.
I had a sinking suspicion that Gracie, with her soft, pretty mouth, big innocent eyes, and curvy body was not, in fact, a dumb, coddled daddy’s girl like I’d originally thought.
No matter. I’d taken down men ten times what Gracie was. I’d deliver her and her family wrapped in a bow before Christmas.
“The O’Briens are having some sort of big family gathering,” Lawrence said, showing me live drone feed from outside of Gracie’s house.
We watched as Gracie entered the frame, lugging a heavy rolling grocery sack behind her up the icy walkway.
“Wait. She has a baby?” Anderson asked in alarm. “There wasn’t anything about a baby in the file.”
I suppressed a growl as a familiar stunted black snout poked out from under her scarf.
“That’s just her pug. She’s overly attached to it.”
I frowned as I watched Gracie haul the bags up to the porch. She pushed up her skirt and pulled up her tights then adjusted her bra.
Probably because she thinks no one is watching.
I scowled.
I don’t feel guilty.
“Gracie and Hudson sitting in a tree …” Jake sang softly under his breath.
“Watch it,” I snapped at him.
“K-I-S-S-I—”
“Shut up,” I growled at Jake.
“So what’s the plan, chief?” Lawrence asked.
“Hudson has to wait for her to call him,” Talbot said with a smirk. “Like a good little lapdog. Gracie’s collecting quite the menagerie.”
“Do not compare me to Pugnog,” I growled.
Jake slapped the table, doubled over laughing. “Is its name really Pugnog?”
“Yes.”
“Dude.”
I worked my jaw.
“I am not letting this chance slip through my fingers.” I grabbed my motorcycle helmet. “I’ll be back later. I’m going to a Christmas party.”
6
GRACIE
“No. No no no no.”
I looked out of the upstairs bathroom window. I was quickly trying to shave my legs so that I could wear the dress I had planned on for tonight.
My mom’s holiday party was in full swing.
“Gracie!” my mom shouted up the stairs. “Gracie, I need you to make sure the spinach turnovers aren’t burning.”
