Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

“In a shocking turn of events, Richmond Electric has bought EnerCheck,” the host on the business news channel was saying.

“It’s not that shocking,” the analyst replied. “After all, Grayson Richmond now owns the data of his biggest competitor. For $30 million, that’s a steal. What’s shocking is naming Grace O’Brien as the new CEO. Is this just a vanity position before he sucks the marrow out of the company, or does Grayson Richmond Electric have bigger plans for EnerCheck?”

I felt a rush of pride for Gracie for not backing down from Grayson. Then I felt sick.

If Grayson agreed to the price, that meant he probably did it because he liked Gracie, because he wanted her around him. There was no way she was going to be able to resist him. Grayson had stepped into the cultured billionaire persona like he’d been born for it. You wouldn’t know upon meeting him that he came from an even worse background than I did. Women fell all over themselves for him.

At a nearby table, Grayson was chatting with several other suited Wall Street types. I turned my attention back to the TV hanging on the wall in the Lower Manhattan bar that was frequented by slick Wall Street bros.

I was wearing a suit to blend in. Some asshole had set the radio to play jazz renditions of popular Christmas carols.

I adjusted my tie. I felt constrained by the suit; I just wanted to rip it off.

“After the break, we’re going to look at what this takeover means for stock prices,” the TV anchor said.

“Let’s just say the CEO of Roscoe Energy isn’t having any kind of Christmas,” her cohost joked.

Grayson was finishing his business meeting. He shook hands with the other suits and paid his bill.

I waited until they had left then grabbed Grayson as he was walking out and shoved him into a booth.

He didn’t seem fazed as he straightened his jacket.

“You must really like this girl if you debased yourself enough to put on a suit just to harass me,” he said, tone light. “Drink? They serve $500 glasses of whisky here. My treat.”

“Someone’s happy,” I snapped.

Probably because he realized just how wonderful Gracie was. Grayson was one of the apex predators in Manhattan. He was in the market for the perfect mate, and I’d just delivered Gracie to him on a silver platter.

Of course she’s going to want him more than you. What woman wouldn’t?

“I like to win. Also Gracie is …” His smile seemed softer, less feral.

I wanted to kill him.

“You’re such an asshole,” I snarled.

“You knew what you were getting into with me.” He sat back in the booth as the waiter set down two identical glass tumblers in front of us.

“Nothing like drinking in a bar on Christmas Eve,” Grayson remarked, taking a sip. “Cheers.”

“Did they wear gloves to pour this?” I asked, scowling at the sparkling glass, then drained it.

“You’re supposed to savor it,” Grayson said with a slight smirk.

He handed me his still-full glass. “You look like you need it.”

“I don’t.” I drained it anyways.

“Now that you’ve called me an asshole, you going to call me a prick too?”

“I mean, you are a prick. You don’t need me to say it.”

“I’m an effective prick,” he concurred.

“Was this your plan all along?” I asked him.

“As soon as you gave me the initial report, I had the outlines of the plan made,” Grayson admitted. “When I met Gracie, I knew I made the right choice. You are correct—she is something else.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I had more of that expensive whisky.

Grayson was an asshole, a coldhearted piece of shit, but he could also have moments of warmth. I knew with Gracie in his life, he’d be perfect for her. He’d give her everything she always wanted, and he wouldn’t lie to her.

“Her grandmother tried to feel me up,” he continued conversationally, “and her pug gets toted around in a baby carrier.”

“Did its eye pop out?”

“Got pretty close in my office.” He signaled for another round. “She brought a plate of brisket and mashed potatoes with her and insisted I eat it.”

“Of course she did.” My heart was breaking.

Kill him.

Or just let her be happy. You already ruined her life once.

“Please take good care of her,” I choked out. “Gracie deserves someone who loves her.”

Grayson crossed his arms and regarded me.

“The coldhearted military man in love. I almost don’t believe it.”

“Fuck you.” My heart wasn’t in it.

“She really did a number on you, huh?”

“Stop rubbing it in, asshole.”

“Can’t even complete his mission.”

“What mission? I got you everything you wanted,” I said bitterly. “Even the thing you didn’t know you needed.”

“We go way back, don’t we? You did me a good turn once, you remember?”

“Hell, like I’m going to charge some snot-nosed kid a bunch of money so he can find his little brothers.”

“You always looked out for me in the group home,” Grayson concurred. “It’s funny. If I was the type of person to have them, I might have called you a friend.”

He reached out and set a small black box in front of me.

“You told me the plan was to get engaged at Gracie’s sister’s wedding, a nuke from orbit, as you put it.”

“The wedding’s already off,” I said, running a hand through my hair.

“You know, my secretary has really been on point lately. I asked her to find a ring that looked like Gracie’s great-grandmother’s,” he said, pulling an envelope out of his breast pocket. “It seems she found the exact ring. It has the serial number and everything, plus paperwork of when and where ownership was changed. I have, of course, written it off as a business expense already—no refunds, apparently. Unlike the car. Those Ford F-150s really do hold their value.”

I frowned at the box.

“Gracie already left town,” Grayson said pointedly. “So you’ll have to forgo the cinematic race through the snowy New York streets. But you are free to take my plane.”

I squinted.

“Or you can take the bus.” Grayson smirked.

“Oh shit.” It finally dawned on me. “But you don’t—doesn’t she—”

“We have a chilly working relationship.”

“Damn right you do.”

“It’s shocking you’re able to write your own name,” Grayson said with a slight chuckle.

“Fuck you,” I said and grabbed the ring box.

“Merry Christmas, Hudson.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”