Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 7

As my parents sat in front of me, my father cleaning his silverware with his napkin, I was met with the sudden realization that I was woefully unprepared for this meeting.

Why, oh why, were we even here?

As the parents of seven kids, my folks didn’t want to be like those other big families—you know, the trashy ones like the Svenssons where the parents just let the kids run around feral and didn’t even know their names, let alone anything about them.

My parents prided themselves in always making time for their children as individuals.

Hence the mandatory quality time.

Great in theory, especially for golden children like Henry, Declan, or the triplets.

For yours truly?

You ever had one of those interviews where you know from the moment you step into the room that you are so not getting the job offer? But it’s too late to turn around and walk out?

Yeah. That’s this.

Maybe we would all just psychically agree to sit here in uncomfortable silence—a continuation of the world’s most uncomfortable car ride ever.

Perched on the edge of my seat in the stuffy country club dining room, I reached for my cardstock-printed menu, sending a fork crashing to the floor.

My father took a breath.

“I see that you have been baking a number of holiday confections in the last week that are different from your usual fare. What inspires you to create new recipes?”

And so it begins.

“That’s really a great question,” I said, stalling.

Normally, before my mandatory quality-time days, I prepped funny anecdotes, practiced my “I’m interested and happy to be here” face, and tried to anticipate the congressional-inquiry- level questions my dad might ask.

Between holiday delusions of grandeur, blackmailing an extremely dangerous man, and pretending like I wasn’t getting thrown onto the streets Christmas morning, I’d been a little preoccupied.

“I’ve just been drinking leftover wine and trawling through TikTok at night.” This was not the right answer but the only one that my brain seemed able to supply.

“Studies show that excessive social media use, especially short-form content, has a negative impact on your attention span.” My father frowned.

“If you used the energy you spend on social media looking for a job, you’d have one right now,” my mother added, unfolding her napkin and placing it neatly in her lap. “Don’t think your father and I won’t hold this boundary. You have to replace a job by Christmas, or you’re moving out.”

“Hence the social media,” I joked, my mouth running away from me before I could think. “I just need to attract a man who has a good job and wants a stay-at-home girlfriend.”

My dad’s frown deepened. “Evie, that is not a plan. It’s not realistic. You’re not a classic beauty. I work with single men who have well-paying jobs. They desire a wife who’s highly educated, who prioritizes health and fitness. They don’t want a college dropout raising their children. Now, you need to get serious and replace a job. You like baking. Why don’t you go work at a bakery?”

“Gran says I have amazing tits and could make a killing on OnlyFans.”

“You do that, and we will send you back to the orphanage.”

“Ha ha!” I laughed awkwardly then screamed bloody murder as a tattooed hand grabbed me under the chin and a rough jaw nuzzled my neck.

Everyone in the posh dining room turned to look at me.

Anderson gave me a self-satisfied smirk then set glasses of water down in front of me and my parents.

“Is this why you suggested the country club?” my mom demanded.

Friends, it was not. Had I known that Anderson worked here, I would have suggested a long, cold, miserable hike in the sleet.

“I just wanted eggs benedict and those crispy potato stacks.” My voice was faint.

The tattooed hand slipped into his apron pocket and pulled out a leather-bound notepad. He briefly tapped me on the head with it then scrawled out my order.

“Do you want anything to drink with that besides water, Gingersnap?”

Out of instinct, I turned my head to speak to him then snapped it back, eyes forward when I came face to well, bulge of his crotch.

“Mix all of the alcohol you have back there with orange juice, please.”

“And for you, Dr. and Mrs. Murphy?”

“I want to be placed in a different section.” My mother had had too much Botox to frown, but she was scowling in spirit.

“All the sections have been reserved. You’re free to go elsewhere,” Anderson’s deep voice rumbled.

I sat ramrod straight, trying to ignore the heat, testosterone, and aggressive male energy radiating behind me.

“I do want to kindly remind you that there is a monthly minimum spend on food and drink at the country club, and you placed a reservation, and that has a cancelation fee. I’m happy to process all of that for you right here. Shall I put it on your tab?”

“Hurry up and order!” an elderly woman hooted from two tables over.

“Mel, why is your mother here?” my dad grumbled.

“Hey, Hot Stuff!” Granny Doyle hustled over to our table.

“While my daughter tries to fight her inner Karen and get you fired, I need you to bring a couple pitchers of mimosas for the table.” She lowered her voice. “If I have to listen to Shelia tell the story about how her so-called hot doctor stuffed her prolapsed uterus into her abdomen one more time, I’m going to lose it. I’ve met her doctor. You wouldn’t catch his hand up the snatch of my cold, dead corpse.”

She grabbed Anderson’s arm, pulling him down, and looked around furtively.

“Now, listen. You gotta tell the kitchen staff not to lump me in with these losers. Nothing but stuck-up old people. I hate bridge. I hang with the cool gals. We just drink and talk shit about the other members and trade porn links.” Granny Doyle slapped Anderson on the very firm behind.

“You should think about doing porn. You’d make a killing. More than working at this joint, I bet.”

“Gran…”

“I need to replace the manager and get your boyfriend’s schedule, Evie. I’m only coming here when he’s working from now on.”

“Gran, you can’t sexually harass the wait staff.” I regretted the words as soon as I said them, looking up guiltily at Anderson.

But there was only malicious delight in his eyes.

“You sexually harassed me.”

My dad wanted to die.

“Evie, you’re going to get us all banned from the club,” my mom complained.

“I didn’t—”

Anderson’s hand was possessive on the back of my neck. He leaned slightly forward over the table.

“That’s how I met your daughter last summer. She jumped me while I was cleaning the sauna. Didn’t even ask my name, just knelt down to suck my cock then got on her hands and knees and told me to fuck her up the—”

I lunged for his arm to stop the next word and only succeeded in banging my knee on the underside of the table, spilling my ice water in my lap.

His large hand tipped my chin up. His thumb ran over my lower lip.

“I saw she was back in town. Got in contact.” The tattooed hand slipped down my shirt for a brief moment and squeezed me through the bra. “She was just as good a fuck as I remembered.”

He released me then clicked the pen.

“We have a grilled monkfish with beurre blanc sauce and roasted turnips. Today’s special.”

“That’s fine for them,” Granny Doyle interjected while my parents tried to recover from their shock. “Bring a stack of those peppermint chip pancakes for the table too. You need to eat something, Melissa,” Gran said to her daughter. “A man wants a woman with some meat on her bones. Dammit, Peggy.” She stood up to hustle over to her table. “People come late, then they want to take other people’s seats.”

I busied myself mopping up the water that was soaking into my dress so that I didn’t have to look at my parents, steaming in fury at Anderson as he left to put in the order.

“I hope,” my mother began, “that you are using protection. You don’t want to end up like your birth mother—pregnant with a degenerate’s baby, chained to man who has no job, no prospects, and who’s going to abandon her. Because I will tell you right now I am not taking care of that ingrate’s child.”

“You don’t get pregnant doing anal, so no worries there,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

“I think now we know why her behavior has taken a nosedive,” my father said, carefully nudging his silverware so that it was evenly spaced next to his plate. “Anderson is a terrible influence on you, Evie. You are the lowest common denominator of the company you keep.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” my mother declared. “Look at her. She’s completely obsessed with him. She can’t keep her eyes off him.”

It was hard not to look at Anderson.

The biceps in his crisp white shirt bulged as he carried two heavy trays on his massive shoulders.

Unlike the last time I’d seen him, his hair had a severe side part and was slicked into place, the savage beast tamed, at least for a little bit.

With the black slacks, the shiny dress shoes, and the tie, he was looking a little too close to my type for comfort.

No. Not my type.

Anderson was going to help me clear my name, so help me St. Nick, then I was kicking him to the curb.

Also, he was not going to keep treating me like a little sex toy.

“I need to get some paper towels from the restroom. I’ll be right back.” I excused myself, pretended like I was going to the restroom corridor, then hung a right to the kitchen.

“Back for seconds?” Anderson thrust the empty tray he was carrying at another waiter with similar coloring to him.

Then the huge man grabbed the front of my sweater, hauling me toward him.

“Get off.”

Anderson’s large hand covered my mouth, and he dragged me to a little alcove, cornering me against the wall.

“You here to give me the riot act, order me to clean up my act, stop the sex talk in front of your parents, Gingersnap?”

“You’re rude and horrible and—”

“And I’m making you fucking wet, and you can’t handle it? Is that it?”

“You’re not—”

“Please.” Those ghostly eyes narrowed. “Like you don’t lay in your bed at night, your fingers under your panties, and fantasize about me destroying your pussy.”

“You’re the one who’s fantasizing about me.” I fought back. “You’re the one who can’t stop touching me, who can’t stop telling me about all the humiliating things you want to do to me. You’re the one who’s obsessed with me and my family.”

His head tipped back, and he let out a hollow laugh.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gingersnap.”

“I bet you jack off in the shower like a teenage boy.”

He grabbed my hand, fingers large on my wrist, and pressed my palm to his mouth.

“You think you make me hard? You think I’m obsessed with you?” The words were hot against my fingers.

Still gripping my wrist, he slipped my hand down his chin, down his chest, down the silk tie slippery under my fingers. My breath caught in my chest.

“You think you make me hard for you?” he crooned as he forced my hand lower… lower.

I swallowed noisily as my hand scraped over his belt buckle to rest on the heavy canvas of the black apron.

“You feel that?” he whispered in my ear. “Do you feel it?”

“Um…”

His hips rocked into my hand, and all I could think about, because I was a horrible person, was those hips doing that into me.

“I said do you feel that?” He pushed me back against the wall roughly.

“Um, no?”

“No. That’s right. You do nothing for me. I don’t desire you. But you?” His head raised so he could stare into my eyes. “I’d bet my whole paycheck that you’re soaking wet right now.”

“I am not,” I croaked.

“I bet if I put my hand in your panties, your cunt would be so fucking juicy for me.”

“Not true.”

“You want me to replace out?”

Yeah. Yeah, I did.

“Anderson!” barked a man with a military-short haircut and crow’s-feet around his eyes.

I scrambled away from him.

When I looked over my shoulder, the older man was chewing out an unrepentant Anderson.

Those gray eyes pierced mine, and he drew his hand across his throat like a knife.