Daddy’s Naughty Elf (Naughty Girls Book Club #7)

Chapter 1

I've always believed in Christmas magic.

The peppermint-scented, snow-swirling, hot-cocoa kind of magic.

The sort that makes people softer and the world look like it's wrapped in twinkle lights. When the snow falls and covers the world in a pure blanket of innocence, when the wind outside bites at the tip of your nose and ears, reminding you of winter’s embrace, miracles are abundant.

But standing in the middle of Santa's Workshop Amusement Park, knee-deep in fake snow that's currently freezing solid over my boots, I'm starting to question my life choices. Maybe there is indeed a point where you can have too much holiday spirit.

"C'mon, baby," I mutter to the peppermint-red sleigh parked beside me. The sleigh's animatronic reindeer, Blitzen, my personal favorite, has decided to give up mid-jingle, his head drooping like he's over this day as much as I am.

"I swear, if one more thing breaks today…" I mutter under my breath. There is more than enough money in this park to keep things up and going. I don’t understand why so many items have fallen into disrepair. If you ask me, the owner should spend a few more dollars on the park and a few less on globetrotting to elite golf courses around the world. No one would ask me that. I’m an hourly employee wearing tights and pointed ears, for goodness sakes.

"Holly!" Mrs. Jensen, the park manager, waves from the North Pole Gate, her coat flapping in the wind.

Unlike me, Mrs. Jensen is a permanent, full-time employee.

She lives not too far down the hill and works not because she has to, but because she enjoys it.

Her favorite is when she gets to play Mrs. Clause.

"We're closing early! Storm's rolling in! "

I blink. "Already? It's barely five!"

"Already," she confirms, already half-covered in swirling snow. "Go clock out, dear. Roads'll be a mess soon."

Great.

I glance around at the empty park. The last guests have already scurried toward the parking lot, clutching cocoa and candy canes like survival gear.

The cheery loop of Christmas carols still plays over the speakers.

“It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” is blasting and honestly, it's beginning to sound a lot like irony.

By the time I make it to the breakroom, flakes are falling thick and fast. My phone pings and I glance down to see the text. Winter Weather Advisory: mountain pass closing by dusk.

Of course.

My ancient Subaru, sitting in the employee lot, doesn't like steep grades or cold weather. She coughs through winters like an asthmatic walrus. But I figure if I leave now, I can probably make it. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe? I look up to the darkening sky and make a quick request to the universe.

I make it halfway through the parking lot when I see it.

My car, with a flat tire. A very, very flat tire.

The treads had been wearing thin for a long while, but tires are expensive, and I planned on asking for them for Christmas.

My dad always demands a wish list and loves gifting practical gifts.

My mom is more like me. I can count on her great fashion sense to bestow at least one or two new outfits. I have the best parents.

I groan and give the steering wheel a defeated tap. "Merry Christmas to me."

I should call AAA. Santa, aka my dad, gifted me a year’s membership in my stocking last year. I pull the card out of my wallet and punch the numbers into the phone and wait. Except, nothing happens. There’s no ringing on the other end. No sound at all. I have a full battery, what is going on?

Dang!

My phone’s signal is already down to one bar. I look around the parking lot hoping to wave someone over. See if I can catch a ride with someone down the mountain.

My heart sinks when I realize the parking lot is empty. Everyone else is already gone.

Everyone except…

A black SUV parked across the lot. Sleek, expensive, snow piling neatly on its roof like frosting on a sugar cookie.

And next to it, a man in a charcoal overcoat and leather gloves, talking into his phone with that kind of calm authority that screams "man in charge."

Justin Bell.

Director of Operations. Aka: Santa's Workshop's resident Grinch. Aka: the owner of the park. The man who spends more time jetting around the world than spending time at the resort he owns.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, thick-thighed and about as festive as black coffee. He walks like every inch of snow should move out of his way on command. I've seen kids literally stop laughing when he walks by. He could end world conflicts with one look.

Not that I'm intimidated. Okay, maybe a little. A tiny bit. A teeny— who am I kidding? He intimidates the crap out of me.

I hesitate for a second. "Well, Holly," I mutter. "It's him or a slow death by hypothermia."

I square my shoulders, give myself a little pep talk and march over.

He ends his call just as I approach, tucking his phone away.

His dark eyes sweep over me, landing on my elf costume of green velvet, striped tights, and jingling hat.

I probably look like Christmas threw up on me.

But hey, if he doesn’t like it, he has the ability to change it. He owns the place after all.

"Miss White," he says, voice low and even. "You're still here."

He knows my name. Why does he know my name? That’s a question for another time. When I’m not standing out here with freezing hands and snow falling all over me.

"Apparently," I reply, trying to sound cheerful and not like my toes are slowly turning to ice. "My car's got a flat. And I have no signal to get ahold of roadside assistance. So… I'm a little stuck."

He studies me for a long moment, snow catching on his lashes. "You live down the mountain?"

"Yep."

"The roads are closing."

"Yep."

As if on cue, both our phones start screeching.

He pulls it out of his pocket as I look down at mine.

The pass is closed. Closed. Impassable. Just like that.

How very on cue for Colorado. Sometimes, we go through every single season in one afternoon.

Sixty and sunny in the morning and two feet of snow in the afternoon.

Do not get me started on the hail storms that pass through leaving six inches of flooded, icy water on the roads.

He exhales, long and controlled. "Come on. We can wait out the storm in the admin lodge. It's heated and stocked."

I blink. "You're inviting me to your secret lair?"

His mouth twitches with what can be described as almost a smile. "It's hardly a lair. Just a small lodge."

"I don't know," I tease. "I've seen your spreadsheets.

Having that many tabs open is villain behavior.

" The man didn’t just make a schedule for us; he made entire spreadsheets.

When, where and how we were supposed to act in each section of the park.

“And everyone knows super villains all have their own lairs.”

His eyes glint. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm nervous."

"Good to know."

Something shifts in the air between us. His voice drops half a degree, lands somewhere I feel in my stomach. Maybe it’s not as cold out here as it might seem.

The admin lodge sits behind the main park, tucked between pine trees and candy-cane fencing. Inside, it's blessedly warm and smells faintly of pine and cinnamon.

I stomp the snow from my boots, trying not to drip on the floor. "So, this is where the magic happens, huh?"

He gives me a dry look. "If by magic you mean budget spreadsheets and maintenance reports, then yes."

I grin, shrugging out of my elf jacket. "Don't knock it. Santa runs a tight ship."

He hangs his coat neatly on the rack, gestures to the fireplace. "There's plenty of firewood to keep us through the night. Warm yourself."

The storm howls outside, rattling the windows. I shiver, even near the flames. "Guess we're really snowed in."

"Looks that way." He glances at his phone. “Service is down but for now the internet is up. We should be able to get messages in and out, maybe use internet calling. Text whoever you need to let them know you are here and safe. I’m going to try and contact the county and see if they have an estimate about the pass.”

I shoot off a quick text to my parents to let them know I’m safe. I might have graduated college in May, and live on my own, but I have an amazing relationship with my mom. If she doesn’t hear from me at least once a day, she worries.

“Good chance the road crew won't make it up until morning, at best. The snow is falling pretty hard, and wind gusts have downed some trees. My guess is we’re going to be here until sometime Sunday, maybe even Monday morning."

"So… you, me, and a weekend full of Christmas spirit?"

One brow lifts. "Something like that."

His tone is dry, but I catch the faintest flicker behind it. Not amusement exactly. Something sharper.

An hour later, we're sitting across from each other at the lodge's little kitchen table. He’s drinking black coffee that matches his personality, and I’m adding marshmallows to my cocoa that’s already overloaded with whipped cream.

It's awkward. And quiet.

I fill the silence by chattering about the park's holiday photo ops, the Santa House upgrades, and how the reindeer in the large petting zoo actually respond to their names. I spend my breaks often wandering around the park. It’s pointless to drive down the mountain, I’d only have about fifteen minutes before I’d have to be right back up here.

Instead, I’ve gotten to know my coworkers and the ins and outs of the amusement park.

It’s unlike any amusement park I’ve ever been to.

Sure, there’s rides spread all throughout the park and the normal carnival type games, all Christmas themed, of course, but there’s something magical about this place.

Christmas music playing, carolers singing, ornament making, snowman building competitions… Then there’s the real-life reindeer and the pajama wearing children with big bright eyes waiting in line to meet Santa.

He listens, occasionally asking a question that sounds half-genuine, half-interrogation.

When he finally relaxes back in his chair, the lines at the corners of his eyes soften. "You really like working here, don't you?"

"Of course." I smile. "This place makes people happy.

That's rare. I like being part of it." Sometimes, I get frustrated when things break down or a child with little consistency or discipline acts like a royal brat, especially if they mistreat the animals, but for the most part, I really do like my seasonal job. “I get all-I-can-drink hot chocolate and as many sugar cookies as I could possibly consume. Did you know that we have an entire bin of mishap treats? There’s always something new going on. Each week there is a new theme, new crafts, and something fun going on. I like the unpredictable chaos that ensues with the different personalities of the guests.”

He nods slowly, like he's trying to understand that. "I like order," he says. "Schedules. Predictability."

"That's… not very Christmassy."

"No." He looks up from his cup. "But it keeps things from falling apart." His facial expression tells me that he’s seen things fall apart before and he isn’t willing to experience that again.

I tilt my head. "You sound like someone who's had to hold things together for a long time."

His gaze lingers on me for a moment, unreadable. "Something like that."

The fire crackles. The wind hums against the glass. For a heartbeat, the world feels very small, and the air between us feels charged.

Then my phone buzzes. The Naughty Girls' Book Club group chat flashes across the screen.

Madison: Where's our elf tonight? Still jingling?

Chloe: Probably knee-deep in tinsel.

Me: Snowed in. With my boss. Send help.

I hit send before realizing how it sounds.

Justin's brow arches. "Everything all right?"

"Yep! Totally fine! Just telling my friends I'm trapped in a blizzard with my terrifyingly serious supervisor." I cover my mouth with my hand. Did I just say that out loud? Of course I did!

He exhales a quiet sound that might be a laugh. "Terrifyingly serious?"

"Don't worry," I add quickly, teasing to cover my fluster. "I'll tell them you're not entirely heartless. Just… mildly frostbitten." When will I ever think before blurting out the first thing that comes to my mind?

His eyes meet mine, calm but intent. "Careful, Miss White. I do still sign your timesheets."

The way he says it in his firm, with just a touch of authority voice, sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature.

I smile sweetly, pretending not to notice. "Yes, sir."

His cup pauses halfway to his mouth. Just for a second. Then he takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim.

"There's a small bedroom upstairs," he says finally. "One bed. I'll take the couch down here."

"You don't have to—"

"I do." He interrupts.

It's not a suggestion. It's a statement. The kind that doesn't leave room for argument. My phone buzzes again.

Lily: WAIT! Your boss boss? Operations guy?

Madison: The hot one????

Amber: Holly you're living a BOOK right now

Me: He's right here. Behave.

Maya: That's not a no about the hot part

I flip my phone face-down on the table, cheeks heating.

Justin's mouth curves, barely turning up in a smile. "Popular tonight?"

"Just my book club group chat."

"Book club." He says it like he's filing the information away. "What do you read?"

My brain shorts out for half a second. There is no universe where I'm telling Justin Bell about the Naughty Girls' Book Club and our monthly deep dives into Daddy Dom romance novels.

"Oh, you know. Romance. The fluffy kind."

"Fluffy."

"Very fluffy. Lots of… feelings and stuff."

His eyes narrow slightly, like he knows I'm deflecting. But he doesn't push. Instead, he stands, rolling his shoulders. "I'll get the fire going upstairs. Make yourself at home."

I watch him move. He’s efficient, controlled and every motion deliberate. He's the kind of man who would never be caught dead in a wrinkled shirt or a mismatched pair of socks.

And yet.

There's something underneath. Something that makes my pulse skip when he looks at me too long. My phone lights up one more time.

Chloe: So what's the plan? Seduce him with cocoa and Christmas cheer?

Me: The plan is SURVIVAL.

Madison: That's what they all say. There’s a genre for this, you know.

Me: He’s not a Daddy!

Chloe: Interesting she jumps to that conclusion

Madison: I was going to say forced proximity but now I need to know…

Maya: Is there something you aren’t telling us?

I silence my phone and stare into the fire.

This is going to be a long weekend.