Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

“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.”