Filthy Scrooge

“That would be correct.”

I closed my eyes. Breathe. In and out. I could do this.

I reached down next to me and pulled my bag onto my lap, then reached for the little black zipper pouch I kept for emergencies.

“This is why you’re my goddess.” Mel’s eyes were locked on my hands.

I paused with the striped tights in my hand. “Because I keep elf stockings in my purse?”

“No. Because you always have a Plan B.” Mel tugged out the rubber band at the end of her braid. “Now, we just have to get you all elf-ified.”

“You know, I started my own business so I wouldn’t have to be an elf anymore.” I kicked off my red, suede ankle boots. “And we still need a Santa.”

Mel dug out her makeup. “One disaster at a time.”

3

Scrooge

“You have to make an appearance.” Parker folded his arms and leaned back in his wide, black leather chair. He was in a charcoal vest with a tasteful red noose around his neck. A white dress shirt—perfectly pressed and probably starched—was buttoned all the way up, and his jacket hung off the back of his chair.

The perfect corporate face of our company, that was my brother.

I was the one who ended up in the warehouses when there was trouble. I liked to be more hands-on with the company. Parker preferred his numbers and spreadsheets. Handily, he was the CFO by default. Which was fine by me. I’d rather get out of the office when I could.

As it was my office was barely used. Have laptop and iPad, would travel. Again, fine by me. I preferred to be in a monkey suit as little as possible. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be the CEO if my old man hadn’t passed away. Stress and the eternal butt spread of sitting at a desk all day had done him in.

That was not happening to me.

I eased to the edge of the wingback chair. My brother’s office looked more like a library than a place of business. A wall of books was all I could see beyond his large shoulders. He might be a desk jockey, but he made time for the state-of-the-art gym on the premises.

I didn’t care if we had a superior view of Manhattan’s Sixth Ave, I didn’t want to run on a treadmill. I’d pound the miles out on the pavement until there were icicles hanging off my damn nose. Or, for the next few days, whatever hiking trails I managed to climb.

Anything to push the blackness out of my brain.

“I have to get to the airport.”

“Your cabin upstate will still be there in a few hours, Lincoln.”

I curled my fingers over the leather arms. I knew my duties as the head of the family, and the head of our fucking company. The annual Christmas party had once been my favorite part of the year.

Once.

For the last three years, I’d escaped after saying Merry Christmas with a wave and a smile. Our employees didn’t give a rat’s ass if I walked around the room and glad-handed everyone while carrying a glass of spiked eggnog.

No, the only people who actually cared were my mother and Parker. Which was the only reason why I wasn’t in the air right now. I made an appearance, slapped on a tight smile, then got the fuck out.

I stood and pushed up the sleeves of my black cashmere sweater. No suit for me. I had a date with a bottle of whiskey and the lake for the next three days. It was Casual Fuck You Christmas for this Murdock.

A brisk knock on the door saved me from another lecture from my brother. I crossed to the door and opened it. The first thing I noticed was the short green skirt and striped red and white stockings on endless legs, ending in sky high boots in a deeper red shade. Boots that definitely did not make me think of elves even if the rest of her outfit screamed Santa’s helper.

I immediately dragged my eyes up to her face. Too many years of sexual harassment protocols had been burned into my brain.

“Oh God.” Her summer blue eyes were huge and her blond hair had been plaited into girlish braids, but there was no mistaking that face. Or that body.

I saw the realization in her face as well.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “So is this why you ran off last night? Had to get back to Santa’s workshop?”