Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 14

“Merry slutmas!” Brooke Taylor blew into the Murphy house in a cloud of perfume, wearing a big fur-lined designer coat and sky-high heels.

She hugged my mother.

“Mel! God, I’m always so jealous of your figure. Look at you! Your tits are still so perky. You have to give me the name of your plastic surgeon.” Brooke pulled off her matching fur hat, letting down a cascade of glossy curls.

As someone who had soldiered on through middle school sporting ill-shaped, cheap haircuts, I was in awe of how Brooke had tamed her curls.

I resolved then and there to give the curly-girl method another go.

Brooke shrugged off her coat like Cruella de Vil and breezed through the house, calling, “Where are they? Where are the little darlings?”

I picked the coat off the floor, shaking it out.

A harried-looking producer threw himself in front of me before I could follow Brooke and my mother.

“Ms. Taylor requires chilled Perrier on hand at all times with a selection of lime slices. Slices. Not wedges. Not chunks. Slices.”

“Already prepared! I know all her tastes,” I chirped. “I follow Brooke on Instagram. I have pomegranate seeds and mint as well. I also have snacks.”

The producer turned up his nose. “Ms. Taylor doesn’t do anything as pedestrian as snack while she’s working.”

In the living room, Brooke was admiring the decorations, complimenting my mother. “And look at all these cookies! So festive! So fun!”

“It was nothing,” my mom said modestly. “Honestly, I wasn’t going to go all out this year, but I wanted to make sure we didn’t tank your show.”

“You’re such a perfect hostess. Mel does all this, raised seven kids, and has a very successful career.” Brooke gave her famous laugh. “Can you believe”—she turned to an imaginary audience—“that this woman is a grandmother? Spin around, Mel. I mean, look at her.”

“It has been very exciting.”

“And all your little mini-mes,” Brooke cooed at the triplets. “So, so fun! Let’s get started. I’m thinking this shot, Zane. Maybe move this table out of the way.”

I opened my mouth to offer Brooke something to drink.

“Don’t talk to her directly,” the producer hissed, grabbing my arm.

The camera guys rolled their eyes as they set up for the shoot.

I mimed zipping my lips to the producer then tiptoed back to the dining room to set up. After this initial interview, Brooke wanted to get festive holiday B-roll of the family. I had been up since three, cooking dishes that would look amazing on camera.

“Where is Brooke’s water?” the producer demanded, rushing into the dining room.

I set down the tongs I was using to rearrange a tray of Frostberry Delight pastries and wiped my hands. The producer trailed after me as I grabbed the glass bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and placed them on the tray with the garnishes.

“Your water, Ms. Taylor.” I set the tray on the coffee table and smoothed my apron. “I’m also almost done setting up in the dining room,” I added to my mom. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready for inspection.”

Mom waved a hand to dismiss me.

“Thank you, dear. Oh, look at this tiny little spoon for the pomegranate seeds!” Brooke cooed. “Such attention to detail. It’s the little touches that set the professionals apart. I should hire you away!” She gave me a friendly smile. “I’m sure you’re tired of working for Melissa. She was my roommate at Brown. Did you know that? You should have told me you hired a housekeeper, Mel. That’s your little secret.”

My stomach sank.

“It’s a good job, and the family is nice,” I stammered out, not wanting to be awkward and correct Brooke Taylor. “I like working here.”

My mom looked like she was about to have an aneurysm at the lie.

The front door slammed, and a man’s footsteps thudded in the hallway.

“Evie!” Anderson bellowed. “Your fucking dog.”

“’Scuse me,” I mumbled, but it was too late.

Anderson had appeared in the doorway to the formal living room, Snowball held out in one large hand. “You need to take better care of your shit.”

“Can we just go—”

“Seriously. This is insane.” Anderson raised a knife-hand in front of me. “I did two tours in Fallujah with some of the craziest motherfuckers you have ever met, and no one there was as batshit as this dog. I had to pull her off a FedEx truck five goddamn miles from your parents’ house.” His arm extended sharply to the window.

“She doesn’t like the FedEx guy.” I gingerly took Snowball from Anderson and tucked her under my arm like a football.

“No shit.”

“Your… parents’ house?” Brooke’s eyes widened.

Anderson scowled.

My mother pressed her hand to her mouth.

“This is the baby I adopted, Brooke. You remember Evelyn?”

“I am so sorry!” Brooke immediately rushed over to me. “Evie! Of course, Evie! I didn’t even recognize you.”

“I didn’t think I gained that much weight,” I joked.

Brooke let out a peal of laughter. The tension was broken.

“Same girl, same, although mine’s all the stress-drinking from ratings week last month. What are you up to these days? Your mom would not have had these miraculous triplets without you, and I wouldn’t have my top-rated show.” She tossed her glossy curls exaggeratedly. “You know what they say—adopt a baby, and the next thing you know, you’re pregnant. You’re in college, right, in Virginia?”

“I went to college to get my MRS degree,” I joked self-deprecatingly, “and flunked out on both counts, so now I’m just trying to be the neighborhood cat lady, though at the rate I’m going, I think I’ll have to settle for possums.”

“You are so funny! Is it rolling? It was rolling on that?”

Zane gave her a thumbs-up.

Brooke’s bright-red lip caught in her teeth briefly, then she looked Anderson up and down.

On any other man, the tennis shoes, jogging shorts, and gray zip-up hoodie would make him look like a schlub.

Not Anderson.

The muscles in his arms bulged against the gray fabric as he crossed them. Not that I found it in any way appealing—just, you know, stating an observation.

“Seems you didn’t need to go to college at all to replace a husband.” Brooke looked him up and down then back up.

“Evie is going through that phase,” my mother interjected, “where she is attracted to the wrong sort of men.”

Brooke twirled a perfect curl on a French-manicured finger. “That phase is a necessary learning opportunity. You might not be such a stick-in-the-mud if you’d lowered your standards and your panties back in college.” She winked at my mom.

My sisters giggled.

“Once you’re done with him, can I have him, Evie?” Brooke joked.

“Have me how?” A slow smile spread across Anderson’s mouth.

I elbowed him sharply.

Seriously, why were women falling all over themselves for him? The man consisted of nothing but muscles, ego, and disregard for women, for god’s sake! Susan B. Anthony was rolling over in her grave.

“Back up, sister! I’m first in line if he wants a May-December romance,” Granny Doyle hollered, barreling into the room, my father rushing behind her.

“We are not done filming. You were supposed to be babysitting her, Brian.”

My father gave my mom an apologetic look.

“Brian!” Brooke air-kissed him on each cheek.

“I know you and Mel are concerned about Evie and her—” There was that frankly lecherous look at Anderson. “Terrible taste in men. You remember it took me a second to replace myself. I should have dropped out of school instead of wasting money on a journalism degree. If you think about it, Evie’s doing better than me at her age. I had no man, no dog, and tons of student loan debt.” She fluffed out her hair. “Now I buy myself diamonds and hookers for Valentine’s Day.”

“You’re overpaying, then,” Anderson purred to her.

“If you’re buying jewelry, you should get him some for his cock,” Gran added loudly. “I bet you got ornaments all up your dick like a Christmas tree, Anderson.”

The huge man grabbed the back of my neck before I could scream, Your dick is pierced? because if I was his not-girlfriend-slash-hookup, I really should know that.

Anderson palmed his crotch. “Why would I poke a hole through that?”

Gag.

“Speaking of holiday romance.” Brooke turned to the triplets. “Are you three looking for identical hunky boyfriends? That’s next on your checklist of having it all.”

“If any other hot men try to kill Henry, we’re so down,” Alexis joked.

Brooke held up a hand. “Excuse me? Ex-Cuse me?”

“Yeah,” Alissa added, “Anderson is the guy who went to jail for almost murdering Henry in battle.”

“Girls.” My mother’s voice had a hysterical edge.

I longed for the safety of the kitchen.

“Oh my god.” Brooke was immediately drawn to the drama. She shooed one of the triplets out of the chair. “Sit, Evie. Tell me more about dating your family’s enemy.” She tried to drag me into the seat.

I balked. “I don’t think there’s much to tell,” I squeaked. Just because I’d fantasized about being the star of a Brooke Taylor segment didn’t mean I actually wanted to be. I was still in yesterday’s makeup. I was pretty sure I could feel a hair growing on my chin at that moment.

“Dating is a strong word. We’re not putting labels on it. He’s just…” I gestured helplessly to Anderson.

“Of course! How could a girl resist?”

Barf.

“So sorry, Brooke. Maybe another time.” My mother inserted herself between me and her old roommate. “Anderson was just leaving. As you can see, we have a lot going on. Not to mention we’re trying to replace Evie a job, and having all this on camera won’t help that at all. So let’s just delete all that footage, mm-kay?”

“Spoilsport. I always had to drag your mom to have fun, even in college,” Brooke said with a theatrical sigh.

“Evie, finish the dining room.” Melissa snapped her fingers at me.

I shoved Anderson toward the kitchen and slammed the door.

The rest of my family had started arriving. The hum of conversation was muffled a bit by the closed kitchen door. Braeden’s nasally voice could be heard talking loudly in the dining room with other relatives.

I leaned against the kitchen island and faced Anderson.

Cold gray eyes narrowed.

“Brooke Taylor. Your family is fancy.”

“Why are you here?”

“And here I thought you’d be happy to see your hot boyfriend—’scuse me, the guy who bends you over the table and fucks you on the regular.”

For once in my life, I was thankful for my olive completion, because it hid the rush of blood to my cheeks.

His hands came up to circle my waist.

Too close!

“No one is here,” I croaked. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Honestly, Gingersnap?” he whispered in my ear, pinning me against the counter. “Most of the fun for me is watching you fight yourself, fight how much you secretly want me.”

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“I know, but you still want me. Even if you’re a bad daughter and a bad sister, you want me bad.”