Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 51

“I need the Idaho case files.”

Aaron looked up. Behind him, beyond the expanse of glass on the upper floors of the Van de Berg Insurance tower, stretched the snowy skyline of Manhattan.

He set down his pen. “Betty said you’d be back after you slept.”

“I didn’t sleep. I’ll sleep on the plane.”

Aaron called up the train derailment files.

This was a legitimate, aboveboard, on-the-books project—no secrecy or late-night bar meetings needed.

Aaron plugged in a blank SD card.

“I need a favor,” I said, helmet clenched against my chest—not too tight. My heart was gone, and if I pushed too hard, my chest was going to cave in the empty space.

“Hudson already voiced his displeasure about the free work you gave Van de Berg. Betty’s processing the payment.”

“No, I need—” Here I went again, sticking my neck out for a Murphy. What the hell was wrong with me? Evie hated me. I shouldn’t care about Ian. She would always turn her back on me. She’d said so. She was a Murphy.

I didn’t have to say it. Aaron read it on my face.

“You think giving her brother a stay of execution is going to make her love you?”

The printer whirred.

“Ian doesn’t deserve to go to prison for something he didn’t do.” I stood in front of Aaron at parade rest. “He didn’t report it because the director promised him a lead role.”

“Those Murphys and their blackmail.” Aaron picked up the papers and slipped them into a folder. “Don’t worry. Ian Murphy’s lawyers have already been in contact with us. He’ll testify against the director, and there won’t be a mark on his record. Van de Berg insures a number of tours for larger musical artists. I’ll have Betty put in a word for Ian.”

“Thanks. I owe you,” I said duly.

Aaron set his pen down. “He’s so sad. And on Christmas too. Here I thought you would have enjoyed my gift.”

“You want me to get on my knees and thank you for not sending my… for sending Evie’s brother to prison?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am trying to not be such an asshole. Apparently, there have been complaints launched—”

“You’re doing a real fantastic job of that, Aaron.” I was exhausted.

“You know, trying to branch out. Betty thinks I need friends who aren’t my brothers. We’re a bit enmeshed. Don’t know if you picked up on that.”

I snorted. “Yeah, join the club.”

“I thought you’d be happy to finally have a chance for revenge.”

“What?” I sat down heavily in the guest chair.

“Revenge.” A self-satisfied smirk settled in the corners of his mouth. “It wasn’t an accident which names were on that list. I knew you’d appreciate ruining the Murphys for Christmas.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I like to know who I’m working with. I read your military file.” He leaned back in his chair. “Trust me. I know when people are lying about the cause of a disaster. It’s not surprising that the US government has a terrible investigation team,” he sneered. “The private sector runs rings around them. Speaking of—the Idaho case.” Aaron handed me the folder.

“I’ll get on this.” I was reeling.

“The plane will collect you at seven a.m. on December twenty-sixth. Rumor has it Hudson has some terrible Christmas celebration planned tomorrow. Ever since they got girlfriends, he and Grayson are really working on healing their inner child. I hate it.”

“I’d rather go to Idaho.”

“Wouldn’t we all.”

“Don’t worry about your friend,” Betty called as I shut Aaron’s door behind me. “Me and Taylor Swift are cool. I texted her about a kickass dancer.”

“Thanks, Betty. Have a merry Christmas.”

“I’d offer you a cookie,” Betty said, opening up her desk drawer. “But I think you need this more.” She handed me a small bottle of vodka. “Merry Christmas, sugar.”

I pocketed it as I rode the elevator down.

The lobby was an empty stage set, decorated impeccably for the holidays with no one there to enjoy it.

My heavy boots echoed in the empty space.

“I hate Christmas.”

I hated it even more back in Maplewood Falls in the field office.

The decorations Evie had made were still up, a reminder of the night I’d told her I loved her, when I’d painted a false picture of our happy ending.

A laugh escaped my throat.

I was so delusional. I was just as bad as Evie.

The man Evie had said she loved wasn’t real. Could never be real.

I picked up the little train I’d fixed up for Evie. The paint was dry. Not that it mattered.

I set up the tracks around the Christmas tree she’d brought and watched it go round and round in circles.

I had wanted to tell her when she opened it that it would be the first piece of the miniature Christmas village I’d make her to decorate our home.

I should burn it.

The Christmas tree spun slowly in its base, lights drifting along the walls, twinkling among the Christmas decorations.

“You have to take this down.”

I grabbed a trash bag, tossed old food containers from the fridge, then hesitated when I reached for the wreath in the window.

I sat down on the couch, bag at my feet.

My life, my future—cold and empty—stretched before me. I didn’t even need a silent ghost to show me that I’d fucked up to know.

When I picked the miniature locomotive off the track, the wheels spun a bit then stopped.

Smashing it with a hammer and walking away would be the smart move.

What the hell was I thinking? That she was going to choose me over her precious family? That the two weeks we’d spent together meant something?

I walked around the garage, train in hand, finally settling on simple brown butcher paper.

I wasn’t as good as my sister, Elsa, who could wrap a Christmas present with her eyes closed in five seconds, but it didn’t look half-bad.

I broke off a piece of the garland Evie had draped over the cabinets above the small kitchenette, stuck the dark-green sprig under the butcher’s string, and set the little package back under her tree.

“I never got to spend Christmas with her.”

There was alcohol in the fridge.

I wondered if that was how my father had started. Had life just been too much, and he’d looked for comfort at the bottom of a bottle of scotch?

I closed the fridge.

I couldn’t stay here.

The Idaho files were still in my bag. If I started driving now, I could be there by Christmas.

The phone rang in my ear headset as I was thirty miles out of town.

“I’m on a job.”

The line was static for a moment, then Hudson sighed, weary. “Grayson told me what Aaron did. Where are you? Come home.”