GOOD ELF GONE WRONG

Prologue

“Santa, baby, don’t come down my chimney. I want you to go through the back door.”

What in the fresh Christmas hell?

I almost dropped the Christmas-morning cinnamon rolls that I had left to proof in the oven. I glanced at the clock. It was 11:48 on the night before Christmas, and my freshly divorced grandmother was watching holiday-themed porn in the living room.

“Why can’t she watch Hallmark movies like normal grandmothers?” I complained under my breath.

My parents’ house was large, and Granny Murray had the TV volume in the living room turned way up on account of her hearing aids. The woman who was getting her Christmas present early was moaning loudly, accompanied by a rhythmic slap slap noise. 

I wiped my hands. The rest of my large family was already asleep, dreaming of the big day tomorrow.

“Yeah, Santa! Give me your huge cock,” the porn star gasped.

I ground my teeth. Christmas was my absolute favorite holiday, and a big part of that was because it was wholesome. The yuletide season took me back to a time when things were simple, when my grandmother would host lovely Christmas dinners and not porno viewings. Now Gran was ruining it by “making up for lost time after a waste of a marriage,” as she put it.

“She’s probably triggered that you’re having the wedding of your dreams with the man of your dreams tomorrow. Cut her some slack.” I tried to talk myself off the ledge as I walked quickly through the historic house.

The sex noises echoed through the decorated hallways. Granny Murray was going to wake up everyone, and I needed people well rested on Christmas, and not just for opening presents. My dream wedding was happening in fifteen hours, and it was going to be a packed day. I’d been planning my holiday wedding since I was a little girl, and nothing was going to ruin it for me.

Strangely, when I walked into the living room, Granny Murray was nowhere to be found. The room was dark, the TV off, the only light coming from the Christmas tree in front of one of the large windows.

The porno noises were loud and clear, though.

I peered in the dimly lit room. Was it a smart speaker? Was my little brother playing a prank on me?

“Oh, Santa!” a woman cried.

My mouth fell open.

“Kelly?” I whispered in confusion as I looked down.

My sister didn’t hear me because she was getting her jolly holiday on with some guy who was half hidden by the oversized Douglas fir.

My face burned, and I stepped back, balling my hands up in fists.

“Hit me harder, Santa!”

My sister was going to wake up my mother, who would freak out, though probably on me for allowing my sister to bring some random guy into the house.

Ever since we were children, I had been blamed for my sister’s mistakes. Kelly was the problem child—spilling juice all over the floor, coloring on the walls, sneaking out for parties, and bringing home strange men who had trashed the house and stolen my stuff. My parents had never done anything about it except tut-tut and ask me to keep a closer eye on Kelly and be a better role model for my little sister.

As if my sister could change.

This, however, was a bridge too far. It was Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake!

I straightened up. Well, not too much. I was in my Christmas PJs and braless. Things were a bit saggy, but I was going to be a married woman tomorrow, gosh darn it, and Kelly could not ruin Christmas or my wedding with her hookups.

“Kelly,” I said in my best eldest sister voice, not that Kelly had ever paid it any mind. “You cannot bring strange men here, especially not on Christmas.”

My sister responded by begging for her hookup to work her clit.

Said hookup was wearing a Santa hat that bobbed as he grunted rhythmically. He was partially blocked by the Christmas tree, but I could make out the slight pouch of his stomach as he increased the pace. His Rudolph boxers, custom embroidered, were down his pasty thighs. Come to think of it, those boxers looked an awful lot like the ones I’d made for James last Christmas …

“What the—”

“Fuuuuckkk!” My curse words were drowned out by James’s orgasm. My fiancé groaned as he emptied his load in my sister. Yeah, no condom apparently, because we were putting all our faith in St. Nick this Christmas Eve.

“You—you’re—” I stammered.  

“Oh my god,” my sister slurred as she orgasmed with a performative scream. “Oh my god, that was sooooo goooood, James!”

Her fur-lined Santa hat drooped over her head. She balanced on one arm to brush it and her hair back while my fiancé grunted.

“Damn. You’re a better fuck than your sister,” James wheezed as he grabbed my sister’s ass. “You always give me a hell of a workout.”

Kelly laughed drunkenly. Then she peered at me blearily in the soft, colorful light from the Christmas tree.

“Oh, fuck, Gracie. I thought you were asleep,” my sister slurred as she tried to use the Christmas tree to pull herself upright. She tugged at her party outfit, a skimpy, glittery, wine-red dress, because of course she skipped out on the family Christmas Eve dinner to go to a club.

I stood there feeling like I was about to puke up all the Christmas cookies and milk I’d consumed earlier that evening. My mouth opened and closed.

“You always go to bed early. Why are you awake?” Kelly demanded.

“I had to check on the cinnamon rolls,” I finally whispered.

James poked his head out around the Christmas tree. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit, James.” My chin wobbled.

I couldn’t process what I had seen, didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that my fiancé was just having sex with my own sister underneath the Christmas tree.

“This isn’t what it looks like, muffin,” he said defensively, using the pet name I secretly hated because he always liked to poke my stomach when he said it. He reached out a finger for my midsection. I slapped his hand away.

“I always made sure you had a home-cooked meal when you came back from work even though I was working too,” I warbled, the tears making the lights on the Christmas tree blur and spin. “I clean the apartment, take your clothes to the dry cleaners, and hem your pants.” The words were coming out in ugly, heaving gasps. “I don’t understand how you could do this to me, James. I love you.”

That was a lie. I did understand how he could cheat on me.

It was because of my sister.

Men always found her sexier, prettier, more exciting than me. Shoot, it wasn’t just men—family, friends, even random retail workers—everyone flocked to my extroverted, pretty sister. She was my dad’s favorite. Even though she ruined my stuff and had slept with my last two boyfriends and now my fiancé, I was expected to turn the other cheek, be the bigger person.

“You promised you liked me better than her,” I cried to James, the words sounding small and petulant.

“Maybe if you weren’t so boring and stuck-up, Gracie, you’d keep a man.” My sister rolled her eyes.

“I am not stuck-up,” I yelled at my sister. “You just ruin everything.”

“I’m still going to marry you,” James said, sounding annoyed as he pulled on his pants and tucked his shirt back in. “Don’t worry.”

I shuddered. He didn’t even wash off his penis.

Then I had a horrible thought.

“You don’t have sex with Kelly then come to bed with me, do you?”

“You’re such a nag,” James complained.

“Do you even shower after?” I screeched.

“Hell no,” my sister scoffed, fumbling around for her clutch and pulling out a makeup compact. “He goes straight to sleep. He likes to smell me on him. Don’t you, big boy?” She reached behind her to squeeze James’s Christmas package.

My breath was coming out in hysterical gasps.

There were footsteps on the stairs. My family was awake.

The part of me that liked to pretend that everything was A-OK and under control just wanted to sweep my sister and fiancé off to bed and tell my parents we had only been enjoying a late-night Christmas movie and bonding.

I am supposed to get married tomorrow. Isn’t it best to just pretend that this is all a bad dream?

“Who’s having sex?” Granny Murray asked with way too much energy for someone in her eighties. “It smells like a strip club in here.”

“Mom,” my mother, Bethany, scolded.

My mom wrapped her robe around herself then peered at me. “Why are you down here with no clothes on, Gracie? What is all this commotion, you three?”

My dad patted me on the arm then saw my sister and rushed to give her a hug. “You’re back, Kelly! I was so worried about you, out late at night.”

My brother yawned. “Gracie, is the casserole ready? I’m starving.”

“The breakfast casserole is for brunch. I can heat up some leftovers for you,” I offered, my voice sounding far away.

Just keep the peace.

I was the eldest daughter. When the boat started to rock, I steadied it. I was the mature one, the third parent, the good child who made it all worth it.

“Did you check on those cinnamon rolls?” my mom asked. “The dough’s not getting too big, is it? It could overflow in the oven.”

You make one mistake when you’re eight …

“Whose underwear is this?” Granny Murray asked, using a candy cane to pick up a pair of lacy black panties.

There were more footsteps on the stairs. My aunts and cousins were piling into the living room.

My cousin Dakota gave me a worried look. “Why are you crying, Gracie?”

You can still have your dream wedding, I reminded myself, trying to keep it together.

But James was no longer my dream groom.

“Gracie, are these yours?” Granny Murray waved the panties in my face.

“They’re too small to be hers. Those are Kelly’s,” my cousin Connie said loudly.

Several of my female cousins gasped.

“Gracie,” James warned.

“And I would be careful, Gran,” I said, my voice taking on a shrill tone. “Those panties are a biohazard and soaked with James’s fresh, hot cum.”

My brother made a gagging noise. One of my aunts clapped her hands over my younger cousin’s ears.

“Gracie,” my mother scolded. “Why are you borrowing Kelly’s underwear? You received a lot of nice pairs at your bridal shower.”

Are you freaking …

St. Nick save me.

“Kelly and James were fucking under the Christmas tree,” I said loudly and pointed at my sister and fiancé.

“I’m sure it was a mistake, right?” my dad asked desperately. “Too much eggnog, eh, James?”

“They’ve been having an affair.” I sobbed.

“I’ll get the shotgun,” one of my uncles said with a chuckle. “We’ll have roast cheater for Christmas dinner.”

Finally. For once, my family was rallying around me.

But it was not meant to be.

James put his arm around Kelly.

“I just want you to know,” he said, in a voice that for some reason I was just now noticing was annoyingly whiny, “that I’m sorry you all had to find out about me and Kelly this way. I think of all of you as family. We were going to wait until after Christmas season was over to tell everyone, but it’s out now. Kelly and I are in love.”

My sister beamed at me.

“What do you mean, after the Christmas season?” I said, hyperventilating. “We are supposed to get married tomorrow, James. You mean you were going to tell everyone after we got married that you were in love with another woman?”

James sighed heavily, like I was the problem here, like I was the one making things difficult and being childish.

“I was going to let you have your little Christmas wedding moment, Gracie,” he said to me condescendingly, “then offer a quiet annulment.”

“Bullshit!” I screamed at him. “Bullshit! You were going to keep fucking my sister behind my back until she got bored of you and bounced. Then you were going to mope around like a man-child and force me to take care of you and stroke your ego back into some semblance of function, just enough for you to attract some other pretty airhead with fake tits.”

James scoffed. “Her breasts aren’t fake.”

“Yes, they are. My dad bought them for her for her eighteenth birthday.”

“Kelly has self-esteem issues,” my dad fretted.

“No. She has the issue of sleeping with someone else’s fiancé.” I turned on James. “I was going to marry you, you lying rat. And if I hadn’t walked in on you coming in Kelly’s chimney—excuse me, back door—then I never would have known. I would have married you and been blissfully unaware that you had no fucking respect for me.”

“Gracie,” my mother chastised, “can you please watch your language?”

“No, I won’t, because James is a fucking asshole.” I twisted the engagement ring off my finger and threw it at him. “This was supposed to be the best Christmas ever. I was supposed to get married.”

“This was a very expensive ring,” James scolded, bending down to pick it up.

He walked over to me, pretending like he was going to hand it back. As he did, he hissed in my ear, “Unless you want your big secret to get out, just shut the fuck up and smile.”

My big secret? After the night I’d just had, having everyone know my secret was going to send me over the edge. I’d drown myself in peppermint hot chocolate.

My family looked at me in concern.

“I might have been too hasty. It is Christmas,” I said weakly, feeling dizzy. “And the holidays are about family, so if James and Kelly are happy, I’m happy.”

“Really?” Dakota was appalled. “Gracie. I know you’re a doormat, but come on.”

“I’m sorry, Dakota.” My stomach was churning.

Maybe I did need to cut back on the holiday sweets.

“She’s gonna puke,” my brother hollered while my male cousins all freaked out.

I looked around desperately. I had just cleaned the living room rug, goddamn it, and the stockings had already been filled.

“Gracie, go outside,” my mom yelled.

“Open a window!” my brother shouted as my male cousins hooted.

Granny Murray handed me a novelty ceramic Santa boot.

As I puked my guts out to cries of disgust from my family, the grandfather clock began to chime.

It was December 25th, and my life had completely imploded.

Merry freaking Christmas.

Chapter 1

“Only two and a half weeks until Christmas,” I announced, opening up the door on my Advent calendar decorated with smiling mice celebrating the holidays, to reveal a mini wheel of brie.

Pugnog, who was my sister’s reject Christmas present two years ago, woke with a snort and made grunting noises, begging for a treat.

“One of the budget airlines is offering cheap flights to the Bahamas,” Dakota said to me as I took a bite of the cheese and tried to rally myself.

“I cannot spend Christmas on a beach. That’s not very festive. I need snow and cold and spiced wine to recharge. A person only has so many Christmas seasons on this earth, and I want to make the best of them.” I gave the pug a bite of cheese.

“There’s a happy medium between going to the Caribbean for Christmas and planning and executing a yuletide wedding for your sister and your ex-fiancé. Why don’t you compromise and go to a ski resort?” my cousin coaxed. “Hot cocoa, hot tubs, hot ski instructors.”

“Gracie.” James poked his head out of his corner office.

I shrank in my seat.

“You need to rage quit,” Dakota whispered. “You should have stormed out eleven months ago.” She was my cousin and best friend since before I could remember, and she was angrier than I was at James and Kelly.

“It’s my dad’s company. He begged me to stay on and help,” I reminded her.

“Then Uncle Rob needs to pay you more.” She shook my chair armrest.

I made a face at my cousin then scurried into James’s office. Though he did the least amount of work, James had the biggest, nicest office on the floor, with a view down to the snowy Manhattan streets.

My ex-fiancé was sitting at his desk, scrolling through tour packages for his upcoming honeymoon.

No one would admit it, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was just recycling our honeymoon plans for my sister.

You’re in a work environment, I reminded myself. Sure, it’s your dad’s company, but let’s try to stay professional.

“How can I help you, James?”

“Just want to make sure that everything’s good to go for the next few weeks. We can’t drop the ball with Roscoe Energy Solutions. They’re our biggest client.”

Correction. They were our only client.

“Did you have anything specific you were concerned about?” I asked James, pausing to watch him flounder for a response.

My ex had no idea what went on at EnerCheck Inc.

He waved his hand. “We just need to make sure that we’re hitting the benchmarks and that we’re on schedule for delivery. We can’t let anything fall through the cracks over the holidays.”

“We offer software monitoring solutions, and we don’t have any big rollouts planned,” I said to him slowly. “The last big update went out in early November. Next one is scheduled for March, so …”

James scowled at me.

“Okay, then why did you ask me if you already know?”

“You’re the boss, and you called me in here,” I reminded him, resisting the urge to tidy up his desk for him and pick up the empty cups of coffee.

I am not a doormat. Well, not a big doormat. I am a small one.

“I called you in here because … I need you to …” More angry floundering.

Maybe Dakota was right and I should just quit and leave him in the lurch. Unfortunately, my dad had a number of our less-success-inclined extended family members on payroll, and they relied on the money. Not to mention the eldest daughter in me couldn’t just tank the company like that.

“I need you to … the maintenance guys are coming by to check the heating, and you have to make sure they have access to … what they need access to.”

I glanced through the glass wall of his office, where I saw a man wearing gray coveralls and carrying a ladder. He plodded toward us through the rows of empty desks.

I opened the office door and called out, “We didn’t call in a work order. You all have a glitch in your system. I told your colleague who was here last week, and he promised to get it fixed. I’m sorry you came all the way down here, but you need to leave.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, setting down the ladder next to the door. “I called and confirmed with your boss.”

“He doesn’t know what goes on around here,” I said, before I could stop myself.

“The assistants always run the show, don’t they, man?” The maintenance worker grinned at James.

“Actually, I’m a project manager,” I corrected.

The man muttered an apology and backed away.

“Just let him look around.” James blew out a breath.

“I’m not letting the company get charged for work we didn’t order. Merry Christmas,” I told the maintenance man firmly and directed him back to the front door.

James rolled his eyes.

“You’re so nitpicky.”

“I’m trying to keep this business afloat.”

“It’s fine.”

From James’s point of view, the company was fine, but the rest of us employees were working overtime for no pay to keep up with the demand from the big energy company that was our bread and butter.

“Did you think about my idea for giving out Christmas bonuses?” I asked him.

“I said I’d think about it, didn’t I?” My ex crossed his arms.

“You’ve been saying that since Halloween, and here it is, Christmas—”

“I told you that we can’t afford it,” he snapped.

“Actually,” I said, tapping on my tablet, “we could afford it if you would just—”

“I have a wedding to worry about,” James interrupted, standing up and reaching for his fancy ski jacket that was hanging on the coatrack. “Your mom wants to know what time your bus gets in. She has the big holiday party planned and needs your help.”

“You know how the buses are,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “I’ll get there when I get there.”

“I’m tired of your attitude,” James scolded me while I struggled to keep a professional face. “This is Kelly’s big moment, and you need to be a good big sister and support her. Remember—”

“I know.”

A few hours after I had discovered James doing the reindeer nasty with my own sister, he had proposed to her, in front of the Christmas tree, on Christmas morning, just like he’d done with me. And I’d just sat there and taken it, pretending I was happy for them. Because the alternative was even worse humiliation. 

He hadn’t used the ring he’d given me. Not out of respect for me, of course. When I’d went to have the diamond ring appraised, the jeweler had told me the stone was cubic zirconia and basically worthless.

Somehow, he’d convinced my mother to let him use her great-aunt’s vintage ring, the one I had wanted that he had claimed my mom wouldn’t give him. My preferred ring would have been Great-Grandma Cecelia’s, but that had been stolen and sold by one of her daughters in the ’70s.  

“I’ll see you at the party, Gracie,” James said. “Bethany promised you’d make my favorite lobster dip, too, so don’t forget to stop at the store for what you need. I have to go. Traffic’s getting bad.”

He didn’t even offer to drive me up to our small hometown in Rhode Island. Not that I wanted to be stuck in a car with him, but still. 

I steamed as I went back to my desk. I did not have a window view and instead looked at the men’s bathroom door that no one ever freaking closed.

“There was a suspicious lack of quitting,” Dakota said.

“If I left, no one would manage the company,” I reminded Dakota, “and your job would be toast.”

“I have no problem going down with the ship after you set it on fire,” she assured me.

Because of my sister’s upcoming wedding, the office was empty, with the few cousins that actually did come into the office begging off with the excuse that they needed to get hair, nails, and spray tans done.

“You sure you can hold down the fort for the next few days?”

She shrugged. “Roscoe Energy Solutions slows down in December because everyone has to burn their PTO.”

“Must be nice to have an actual PTO system instead of people just randomly leaving for a three-week vacation with no notice, and then when you complain, they tell your mom,” I said tartly.

I sat down at my desk to compose a strongly worded email to the maintenance company about showing up at the office when I hadn’t authorized any work. Then I responded to a few questions from our client and made a grocery list.

“Look,” Dakota said, turning her laptop screen to me. “Two hundred dollars to fly to Switzerland. Ski resorts, fondue. You could meet a rich Swiss count.”

“Or I can ride on a very slow, very smelly bus, go back to my parents’ house, and make lobster dip for James.”

“You have got to show some backbone,” my cousin sighed.

I rubbed my forehead. It was greasy. “You know I can’t.”

“Your secret’s not that bad.”

“I just can’t, okay?”

I stood up. The pug followed me to the break room.

“Seriously,” Dakota said, racing after me. “You need to go scorched earth. Shoot, sabotage the wedding.”

“I can’t do that,” I said quietly as I pulled my Advent cheese calendar out of the fridge.

I opened the paper door for tomorrow’s cheese. “There, see? I’m living on the edge,” I said as I shared the wedge of cheddar with Pugnog.

“Girl …”

My phone chimed with a photo from Kelly of her wedding dress, along with a list of demands from her describing, among other things, how some of the lace was fraying and she needed me to fix it because the seamstress wanted her to pay for more alterations.

“I see the theme of this wedding is holiday wedding skank. Did Kelly chop that dress up to pieces and hot glue on some silk?” Dakota asked, looking over my shoulder.

I frowned at the photo. Then FaceTime started ringing.

“Why aren’t you responding?” My sister was snappish on the video call. “I’m getting married, and it’s a disaster. I cannot believe that seamstress ...” My sister didn’t even say hello.

“I thought you were wearing Great-grandma Cecelia’s dress?” Dakota interrupted.

“This is her dress.” Kelly fluffed out her hair. “I upcycled it. Isn’t it amazing?”

I pressed a hand to my chest and sat down heavily in a chair.

“I just made a TikTok post of the before and after.” My sister texted me a link.

The first photo was a black-and-white of our great-grandmother in 1912, wearing an elegant Edwardian white wedding dress flowing with handmade lace. The classy portrait then transitioned into the holiday skanktacular.

Tears were threatening to spill.

“That was my dress, the dress I was going to wear to my wedding,” I said quietly. “Everyone knew that ever since I was a little girl, I had wanted to get married in that dress. I planned my wedding around that dress.”

Of course, when Kelly stole my fiancé, she also decided that she just had to be married in that dress.

“I can piece what’s left together into a veil or a handkerchief or a small bag maybe,” I said, trying not to panic.

“Well, you can’t tear up my dress for that.” Kelly made a face.

“That’s fine. I’ll use what’s left.”

“I didn’t need the rest of the dress, so I tossed it.”

“Kelly, how could you?”

 “God, you’re so emotional,” Kelly snapped. “You didn’t even fit in that dress. Besides, it’s cool to upcycle. I got a ton of comments on my post.”

“You don’t upcycle a vintage dress,” Dakota shot at her. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Kelly turned her nose up. “My astrologist said to expect that there were going to be people out there trying to tear me down and make me feel small because they were jealous that I was getting married. Mom already promised that you would fix my dress, Gracie, so I’m putting everything in your room. You’ll see where the lace isn’t attached right.”

“Does Grandma Astelle know about this?” I choked out. She had jealously guarded that dress.

“Daddy talked to her and convinced her to let me upcycle it.”

Ah, the life of the favorite youngest daughter of a favorite youngest son. With their powers combined, my sister would have anything she wanted.

“Kelly, do you want the red or—” I heard my mom ask.

My sister hung up abruptly to talk with her.

“Did you know?” Dakota said in alarm.

“No,” I sobbed. “I didn’t know she was going to destroy it.”

“Maybe you can piece it back together. You know how to sew, right?” Dakota rubbed circles on my back.

“Not like that.” My shoulders shook as I sobbed. “I can’t believe Kelly did that.”

“That fucking bitch. Sorry, I know she’s your sister, but she is a fucking bitch,” Dakota said defiantly. “You can’t let this go. Stealing your fiancé is one thing. Honestly? James kind of sucked, and I never liked him. Kelly did you a favor. But destroy a hundred-plus-year-old dress? That bitch needs to be cunt punted into next Christmas.”

“I can’t.” I wiped my eyes.

Pugnog pressed his cold nose against my ankle.

“Stop being such a pushover,” Dakota rallied. “Shoot, I’ll dump marinara sauce all over that wedding dress if you want me to. Just say the word.”

I shook my head numbly.

“Seriously?” Dakota yelled, banging her hand on the table. “You’re just going to let this slide?”

“No,” I said, ripping open another door on the Advent calendar. “But only because I don’t want whatever’s left of my great-grandmother’s dress to smell like oregano. Besides, Kelly deserves so much worse.”

Chapter 2

Gracie

What in all honesty could I do to Kelly?

I was her unpaid wedding planner; therefore, I knew all the vendors had already been booked, decorations ordered, catering menu approved, and cake deposit paid. There wasn’t much left to sabotage.

“Just face it,” I told myself angrily. “You’re not going to do anything. You never do anything. You’re going to eat the rest of the cheese in this Advent calendar, then you’re going to go home and hide in the kitchen while your family talks shit about you losing yet another boyfriend to your sister, and then come the New Year, you’ll be back at your desk doing everyone’s work for them.”

It wasn’t fair that my sister could ruin my life over and over and everyone still loved her and catered to her and gave Kelly everything she wanted.

I blinked back tears. A long-haul bus trip was bad enough without being the crying girl.

Just my luck, it was a full bus. I wasn’t even going to get a row to myself.

“Watch it!” a woman snapped at me as I pushed my way to the back of the bus, looking for an empty seat.

There was only one open seat in the back.

An angry-looking man in a worn leather jacket and heavy boots was manspreading in an aisle seat, arms crossed, reading a book. He ignored me when I stopped in front of him.

I cleared my throat.

“Excuse me.”

Pugnog barked, though since he was a pug, it was more of a wheeze.

The man acted like he didn’t even hear me.

“Excuse me,” I said, louder this time. “Is this seat taken?”

The man, wearing a black skullcap, looked up at me, annoyed.

I shivered as his pale-gray, almost-silver eyes met mine. There was a scar on his forehead and another under his jaw.

Dakota’s right. You need to grow a backbone.

“Could you scoot over so I can sit?” I asked firmly.

The man sighed in annoyance and made a big show of closing his book and standing up. He didn’t even offer to put my bag up above on the rack and instead stood there, arms crossed, and watched me struggle with it.

What a dick, I thought as I wedged myself into the window seat.

The man sat down beside me and resumed his reading and manspreading.

I hugged the window as the bus rumbled to life and we turned out of the bus depot.

My seat neighbor read, I stewed, and Pugnog snored loudly and drooled as the bus drove at a snail’s pace north from New York City to Rhode Island.

I bet James was halfway there already, driving the company car, because, of course, my father was going to side with my ex-fiancé over me, his firstborn child.

I didn’t even get paid enough to take the train. Whenever I had asked my dad for a raise, he hemmed and hawed and say that it would mean he’d have to take money from someone else in the family. Like that was some great loss. Shoot, Kelly was on the payroll, and she barely did anything besides sleep with my fiancé. Now she’d gone and torn up that dress.

Even though I knew it was going to make me cry, I opened my phone and stared at the photo of my great-grandmother in the handmade lace wedding dress, her hair piled high on her head in an Edwardian pouf.

Dakota was right; my sister needed to pay. I’d suffered because of Kelly for the last twenty-five years. A woman had to take a stand. Lines needed to be drawn.

A plan, a plan, Gracie, you need a plan.

I fished out my Advent calendar, bumping Mr. Leather-Jacket with my elbow.

He gave me a dirty look.

“You can stay on your side of the armrest then,” I muttered under my breath.

See? Growing a backbone.

I pulled out the calendar and opened another door. This one had Muenster cheese.

It wasn’t fair, I thought as I angrily chewed the cheese. James wasn’t even Kelly’s type. I stuffed some of the cheese in Pugnog’s stunted jaw, and he chewed noisily, snorting like a piglet and drooling.

I could feel the anger radiating off of my seat neighbor.

Kelly liked bad boys, guys like, well, like Mr. Manspreader over there, whose knee was practically halfway over my seat. I scrunched closer to the window, which only served to allow his legs to splay even more.

Was it too late to book a vacation? Christmas in my hometown of Maplewood Falls was my favorite time of year, but instead of being a newlywed with a baby on the way, I was going to watch my sister marry my ex while all my nosy aunts asked me when I was going to start dating again.

Tears dripped down my nose.

I ripped open another door on the Advent calendar, much to Pugnog’s delight and Mr. Leather Jacket’s annoyance. I took a bite of the sharp Manchego. This time next year, Kelly was going to be pregnant. I’d have to listen to everyone make comments about how they always thought I would be the one to give my parents their first grandchild because I was the one who liked to bake, sew, take care of people, and decorate. My mom would declare Kelly her favorite daughter ever, and I’d have to listen to my sister be insufferably smug about motherhood.

Bet she steals my baby name, too, and butchers the spelling, just like she did that vintage dress.

I straight up ripped off three more doors and stuffed a fistful of cheese in my mouth.

Pugnog slobbered and whined then fell backward onto the lap of Mr. Doesn’t-Respect-Other-People’s-Personal-Space.

“Can you control your mutant dog?” he snarled in a deep voice, deeper than I was used to after dealing with James and all the Manhattan suits all day long.

“Can you control the location of your knees?” I shrieked, cheese flying out of my mouth.

Pugnog ran for it, leaking slobber everywhere.

“This is disgusting.” My seatmate’s mouth twisted into a snarl.

“Take the train next time,” I snapped at him.

It was very unlike me. Usually I tried to be nice to everyone, but today had been a very bad day.

Focus on your revenge.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the type of person who dreamed up elaborate revenge plots. Instead, I planned my dream house—a historic Victorian with a garden and a big fancy kitchen and lots of children.

Now all of that was going to my sister. Ten years from now, I would still be sitting on the bus with a selfish, egotistical seat neighbor while my sister waltzed through life, stomping all over my dreams and ruining my Christmas.

I cannot deal with her being pregnant next year, I decided. It’s going to trigger a mental breakdown, and who knows what I might do? I have to break up their relationship. I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for the world. I must find a way to stop that Christmas wedding from happening.

And suddenly, like reindeer on a rooftop, an idea appeared. An awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea, because I was now in my Grinch season.

My sister was always boy crazy. Unlike me, who wanted to settle down with my soulmate, my sister was always looking for the next big thing, and that next big thing usually resided in the pants of a hot male, preferably one with lots of tattoos, a terrible attitude, and no respect for authority.

James was not her type. I had a hunch that she was disappointed with his bad jokes, his pudgy shortness, sweater vests, and lackluster bedroom performance. The only reason she was with him was because of the excitement of stealing something that belonged to me and the drama surrounding the whole situation.

But that was last year. As we counted down to Christmas, this was officially the longest relationship my sister had ever been in. The wedding excitement was waning. Kelly was staring down the barrel of a boring suburban life, because that’s what James wanted—a housewife to take care of him, suffer through his demands, and suck his dick every once in a while. My sister wanted glam, drama, screaming fights in the middle of the street, jealous men, passionate sex, and a whirlwind romance.

All I needed to do was slide an ideal man in front of her, one who looked like he had stepped out of her wildest fantasies, a tall, muscular, tattooed bad boy who would give my father a heart attack and make James jealous. To make it extra enticing though, I needed that bad boy to be my boyfriend. My sister couldn’t resist blowing up her marriage to steal something of mine.

It was the perfect plan. Muahahah!

My villain origin story, complete with a bug-eyed sidekick and all the cheese I could eat. Well…

I looked down at the empty, torn-up Advent calendar.

Some wine would be good with this.

The only problem with my epic revenge plan? I didn’t have a bad boy.

Mr. I-Hate-Pugs was stoically sitting next to me, ignoring Pugnog’s snorting and reading his book. He’d removed the book jacket, and I couldn’t make out the title. It was probably one of those how-to-be-a-sociopath-to-pick-up-women type of books.

Don’t ask him. Find someone on Craigslist or the Meat Market app. You need a professional.

I wished I’d had this brilliant idea when I was still in New York City. Then I could have hired an out-of-work actor. If I tried to hire anyone in my hometown, word would for sure get back to my sister.

I chewed on my lip and tried not to look at the tall, broad-shouldered man in the seat next to me.

He flipped a page in his book.

My mouth was dry.

Grow a spine.

I turned and studied him.

He was handsome; the scar made him seem rugged and mysterious. With the straight nose and strong jaw, he was totally my sister’s type. To be fair, he might be any woman’s type. Not mine, though.

I bet he’s wearing that skullcap to hide a bald spot, I thought uncharitably.

Mr. Bad Boy flipped another page in his book then turned his body slightly toward me.

I quickly crossed my arms and faced the window.

You cannot ask a strange man to be your fake boyfriend, I scolded myself. That’s … well, it’s rude.

Besides, I’d have to pay him, and who knew how much money you had to pay a man to be your fake boyfriend. What was the going rate for that these days?

Maybe it wouldn’t be too expensive. If he was riding a bus, then he must need money.

No, this is crazy. Just distract yourself with planning the postwedding Christmas brunch and do some knitting.

I pulled out the doggy sweater I was making. I was in the process of knitting holiday outfits for the local animal shelter to use to dress up their wards for Facebook posts and hopefully help find the dogs new homes.

The needles clacked as I knitted. Every so often, I glanced over at Mr. I-Insult-Pugs. Outside the bus window, dirty snow was piled on the side of the highway. This was the scene I was going to witness every Christmas from now until eternity, because I’d lost my one chance of getting a halfway decent boyfriend, and none of the men at that speed-dating event Dakota had dragged me to had written down that they wanted to keep talking to me, and I was going to ride in this slow, smelly, too-hot bus every Christmas forever and ever, and never have a house or a family or wear that dress.

I dropped a stitch. Dammit.

Do it.

I licked my lips; my mouth was dry.

Knitting clutched in my hands, I turned to the bad boy sitting next to me.

“Do … um …” I cleared my throat. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

His finger paused on the page he was turning. He fixed those pale-silver eyes on me, a dusty gray like the winter sky.

“No. Why? Are you offering?”

“Sort of. See, I kind of need to break up my sister and her boyfriend. She’s dating my ex. He’s a jerk. It’s complicated. But I need you to be my boyfriend so I can ruin her wedding. I don’t know if you do that type of work?”

I smiled hopefully.

The book closed with a loud thud.

He looked angry.

“Er, never mind,” I squeaked and held up my knitting. “I’ll get started on those baby socks. Forget I said anything.”

But he didn’t go back to his book.

“So you want a fake boyfriend.”

“Um, yeah. I mean that was the plan. But plans change …”

Those ghostly eyes still locked on mine, he leaned over, his huge body crowding my space.

I scrunched against the window.

“You sure you can handle it?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice. He smelled like leather and the winter wind.

No. No, I don’t think I can.

I swallowed. The empty Advent calendar was digging into my side.

“Yes,” I squawked.

“Prove it,” he said, his breath cool on my cheek.

He twisted out of his jacket, the ridges of muscle under the tight gray T-shirt flexing and rippling as he shrugged off the garment.

“Give me a hand job.” The baritone voice deepened. “I have my jacket on my lap. No one will know. Just go for it.”

My eyes were about as big and round as Pugnog’s and ready to pop out of my head.

“Unzip my fly,” he breathed against my mouth, “and stroke my cock.”

My stomach was flip-flopping. The air between us was supercharged, and my skin felt tight and prickly.

“I-I can’t,” I stammered.

He huffed out a laugh, smirked, and pulled his jacket back on, the leather creaking. 

“Thought so.” He sat back in his seat and opened up his book. “You’re weak. You have an elaborate revenge plan all mapped out, yet you clearly can’t handle having a fake boyfriend.”

“I just wanted you to show up at dinner and brood and scowl.” I flapped my hands.

No man had ever been that forward with me, especially not one who looked and sounded like this one.

“Have you ever planned anything more complicated than a dinner party in your life?” he asked, lip curled up derisively.

“I have a job,” I protested.  

“I was in the military,” he retorted, “and as someone who was paid to destroy things for a living, your plan to get back at your sister sucks. You’ve failed before you even started.”

The tears were threatening again. I blinked them back. I should have bought two cheese-filled Advent calendars.

“Tears don’t win wars, Sugarplum.” He opened his book. 

I angrily wiped my eyes.

“You’re such an asshole,” I said.

Those eyes flicked up from the page. “Excuse me?”

“You’re perfect,” I said determinedly. “Kelly’s going to love you and dump her fiancé like that.” I snapped my fingers.

He snorted and continued to read his book.

I shoved the knitting in my purse that was on the floor between my knees.

In for a penny …

I flexed my fingers then leaned over and reached for his zipper.

He swore loudly and slapped my hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m showing you I can do this,” I said stubbornly, going for his crotch again. “I can complete the mission. I’m committed.”

“I don’t want you to give me a hand job in a bus,” he snapped. “I just wanted to see what I was working with. Besides, you look like you give terrible hand jobs.”

“You’re so rude.” I smiled at him. “When can you start?”

He fixed that snowy gaze on me.

“What would be your, ah, going rate?” I asked. “I’m thinking definitely I need you at the wedding kickoff party and the holiday party and to just hang around the house a few nights.”

“You think I regularly date women for money?” He set his book down.

I shrugged helplessly. “The economy is rough right now. I could do a flat fee, maybe $600. Is that too low?”

I winced when he looked at me, incredulous.

“Do you take credit card?” I fumbled for my wallet.

Mr. Bad Boy took the credit card from me, face softening.

“Actually, I think we can help each other out. I have a rich grandmother I need to impress with a pretty girlfriend so I can get my billion-dollar inheritance.”

“Oh, really?” I cried. “That works out perfectly then.”

“No,” he snarled and threw the credit card at me. “This isn’t a fucking Hallmark movie, Sugarplum. I want cash: $5,000.”

I sucked in a breath. “You sure you don’t want that hand job?”

He gave me a wolfish smile.

“Fine. You dress up in a sexy elf outfit and let me have you however I want for a weekend, and we’ll call it even.”

Chapter 3

Hudson

“Relax, Sugarplum, I’m just kidding,” I said as she stammered. “I hate Christmas, and like I said, you look like you’d be a terrible lay. How about I put you on a payment plan? First date’s free.”

Grace O’Brien—Gracie as her family called her and the name she used to register for store loyalty programs, according to the file I’d put together on her—stared at me with wide brown eyes.

You pushed too hard.

I didn’t allow the fear to skitter across my face; I was too well trained for that.

She’s going to balk, and then you’re going to have to go back to HQ, tail between your legs.

And after I’d given the other guys so much shit about getting thwarted by one dumpy little office girl and her overweight pug.

I read her file. I knew her, knew her better than she knew herself.

Trust the plan.

Gracie wavered.

I gave her a derisive look.

“Deal.” She stuck her hand out. It was small and soft in mine as I shook it.

“Let’s talk strategy,” Gracie said, pulling out a notebook covered in green, red, and white fuzz that immediately began shedding all over my black canvas work pants.

She wrote in a loopy cursive at the top of the page:

Fake Boyfriend Operation

I grabbed the notebook from her and ripped out the page, crumpling it up.

“First rule, don’t write anything down. No creative notes, no lists, no text messages, no emails.”

Gracie saluted.

“Got it. No evidence, no witnesses.”

“Second, you do what I say, when I say it. No questions. ”

“What if—”

“No questions,” I interjected.

“But what’s the plan?”

“The plan is total annihilation, by any means necessary.”

She gulped.

“Do you want to win? Do you want to wipe the floor with your ex’s corpse?” I demanded.

“Um, no. No, that is not what I hired you to do,” she said, waving her hands.

“Metaphorically, I mean.” I gave her a toothy smile.

She shivered.

Pugnog drooled.

“Third, you need to keep that dog away from me. He smells bad, and his eyes are pointing in two different directions. He’s an affront to intelligent life.”

“He didn’t mean it, Pugnog.” Gracie scooped up the pug and squeezed it hard.

His eyes bugged out of his head so far I thought one of them was going to pop out and start rolling around on the bus floor.

You are getting a very lucrative payday out of this, I reminded myself. Just play the part that she wants you to play.

Grace squirmed in her seat. “Do I need to tell you about my family, you know, give you an information download?”

“No,” I said then mentally hit myself. She didn’t know I’d spent the last few months digging up dirt on her family. Or trying to anyway.

“I’ll know what I’m working with when we have our first family gathering together,” I backtracked.

Sloppy.

“Don’t worry, Sugarplum. I’ll break up your sister’s relationship, and you can have you ex back.”

“I don’t want James back,” she said in a rush.

“Of course you do,” I said, crossing my arms. “It eats at you that he chose her over you, that he loves her and not you, that he wants her and not you.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “You want him to wrap you in his arms, tell you you’re his one and only, to beg for your forgiveness, tell you he loves you and beg you to take him back.”

“No, I don’t,” Grace said forcefully, but the slight tremor in her voice told me she was lying.

“Don’t feel bad, Sugarplum. It’s because you have low self-esteem.” I rubbed my thumb on her chin.

“Asshole.” She faced the window.

“That’s why you hired me.”

I turned back to my book.

Love was a weakness. And Gracie was weak.

Unlike me.

I wasn’t motivated by love. I was motivated by money. When my father left my mom and siblings to run off with the family’s money one Christmas—what was left of it anyway—I saw love for the scam it was. Love made people irrational and ineffective. That was why I’d been able to wrap Gracie around my finger, because she had been weakened by her love for her ex.  

I glanced over at her. She was staring dreamily out of the window, watching the snowy Rhode Island countryside pass us by. Other men would probably find her soft femininity alluring, but not me. Gracie’s only attractiveness was as a means to an end.

I mentally plotted my next steps as the bus rumbled into the small town of Maplewood Falls. The bus terminal was on the wrong side of town, the side where I grew up.

I’d signed up for the military as soon as I had turned eighteen, needing to escape the town by any means necessary. Yet I had never been able to completely shake its hold on me.

Gracie, as I knew from her file, had grown up on the right side of town, gone to the good school, lived in a nice house in a desirable neighborhood. What I hadn’t been able to figure out, when I’d been compiling my research, was why her parents made her take the bus home.

Guess you’re about to find out.

Gracie was awkward when the bus pulled up under a 1950s-style awning. The terminal numbers had fallen off years ago, leaving only the shadow of the number five on the peeling white paint.

“I’ll let you know when the first family event is,” Gracie said quietly as the passengers jostled to escape the cramped bus.

“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.”

Chapter 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.

Chapter 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.”