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

I was on coffee-fueled hour seven of blowing up Anderson’s phone with memes, gifs, and pictures of puppies wearing holiday sweaters. All to the number one of his coworkers had given me, which was different from the one that he’d used to send the risqué photo.

I dumped espresso into my coffee as I hit Send on the next batch of text messages I had lined up to fuck with Anderson.

I was on a mission.

I might have rolled over for Braeden, but I was done.

Anderson wasn’t going to boss me around.

At the very least, I was going to force him to get a new number. Then he’d have to update his bank accounts. Muhahahah!

The phone rang.

“Hi, Pumpkin Muffin!” I greeted Anderson with an exaggerated squeal.

I could practically hear him wince over the phone.

“Since you ruined my fucking life, just go ahead and impregnate me so I have a cute baby to exploit on social media and I can afford somewhere to live after I get evicted.”

“I am not and will not ever get you pregnant. You make me want to cut my dick off.”

“No, I don’t. I make you want to come all over my tits.”

Anderson made a noise of deep irritation. “Meet me for coffee. Let’s put this desperate cry for attention from you aside and tackle this problem like adults.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll meet you,” I snarled into the phone, the lack of sleep, the coffee, and the sugar making me feel dangerous and on edge. “I’ll meet you in a dark alley. You need to bring five thousand—no! Manhattan rent is expensive. Ten thousand! Wait… I owe Sawyer money. Fifteen thousand dollars in twenties. Otherwise, this is just a taste of how much hell I can rain down from Santa’s sleigh.” I knocked back the rest of my coffee. “Mutually assured destruction, asshole.”

I needed to be careful. The house creaked as people started to wake up.

Anderson blew out a breath. “I’m not giving you fifteen grand, Gingersnap.”

“Why? Cause you don’t have it? Better get a job. There’s a strip club off the highway exit. Gran goes there.”

“Shirley?”

“What? No. Of course not. Granny Doyle—she constantly spends money there.”

Another snort.

“You could,” Anderson drawled, “let me help you. Wouldn’t you rather see Braeden tossed out into the street, your family on their knees, begging for your forgiveness?”

Stay strong.

I knocked back another espresso. “No dice.”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell your fun grandma that you’re being mean and trying to extort me for cash,” he taunted.

“She’ll choose me over you. She loves me.” I was stubborn.

“I’ll promise her dick pics for life.”

“Oooh, you…” I fumed, the caffeine making me literally vibrate.

“Mutually assured destruction, Gingersnap. I’m texting you the address.”

“No!” I shrieked. “I’m texting you the address. And guess what? I know you’re going to loathe it.”