He looked up and met Molly’s gaze. She would have said the big, badass Lucas Knight wasn’t afraid of anything, but there was a good amount of fear in his eyes at the moment. She sent him a grin and a thumbs-up.

Two seconds later, her phone buzzed with a text.

I will get even . . .

Oh boy. She risked another peek at him, and even surrounded by trembling gray hair buns, he flashed her a look that had her insides quivering.

Why was it getting more difficult to resist him?

“What do you need me to do?” she asked the two green-capped elves at the front who’d introduced themselves as Shirley and Lorraine.

“Well since you look like the hottest elf anyone’s ever seen,” Shirley said, “you’re on numbers. When it pops up on the screen, you call it. Loudly. Most of the payers are deaf so we also flash it on a big screen. Lorraine will do that. Don’t forget to flirt with the crowd, wink, stuff like that.”

“And shake it,” Lorraine said. “Maybe we’ll get bigger tips and the boss’ll finally be happy and pay it forward and give us a bigger cut of them tonight.”

“I didn’t get to meet him,” Molly said. “Is he . . . unhappy?”

“Shouldn’t be,” Janet said, coming up to the bingo table. “Sorry I’m late.”

Molly looked at her, surprised to see her because the other night at her kitchen table, Janet had mentioned she wouldn’t be working again until she got paid what she felt she had coming.

Janet shrugged. “The green-capped elves get better tips,” she said. “And I need the money.”

“Apparently so does Santa,” Shirley said. “He just built a new home in Napa and bought a brand-new car. And he’s started renovations on this hall.” She pointed to the back half of the building, which was completely draped from view by tarps.

“And he sent his latest wife on a three-month world cruise,” Lorraine said. “Don’t forget that one. Carol went from a green cap to the Mrs. Santa cap without having to pass Go!”

“Didn’t you hear?” Shirley asked. “Carol dumped him last month. Rumor is, he’s working on someone new.”

“Wait, you guys don’t get your cut of the tips either?” Molly asked, trying to keep them on track.

The ladies all looked at each other and suddenly zipped it.

“Look, I don’t mean to pry,” Molly said. “But you’re entitled to your own tips, you know. If you all said something, maybe—”

“Listen,” Shirley said, looking around to make sure no one was looking at them. “You’re new so you don’t know, but it’s not healthy to ask a lot of questions around here.”

“Not healthy?” Molly asked. “What, are we in a mob movie?”

The ladies didn’t crack a smile.

Okaaaaay. “The woman in the office who hired me, Louise, she told me that we all get minimum wages plus a cut of the tips, and then a percentage of the profits.”

The elves snorted.

Shirley looked around and then leaned in. “Near as we can figure out, they’re skimming off the top, as if to make sure no one was paying them any attention, stealing all the profits, which leaves us with only bare minimum wage.”

“And you’re sure there really are profits?” Molly asked.

“Trust me, yes,” Shirley said. “You’ll see at the end of the night.”

They then proceeded to run bingo for three straight hours to a crowd of geriatrics who took the game incredibly seriously.

“I thought older people got tired early,” Molly said to Shirley at one point.

Shirley laughed. “Not when bingo’s on the table.”

By the end of the night, Molly still hadn’t seen Santa or his damn brother, and her feet were killing her.

Shirley sent her a sympathetic glance as the crowd finally began to thin out. “The trick is orthopedic shoes.” She lifted a foot to show off her black thick-soled shoe, which was possibly the ugliest footwear Molly had ever seen. It actually hurt her to look at it.

“Wear these babies,” she said, “and you’ll have no problems.”

Molly nodded. She didn’t have many vices, but shoes were one of them. It was a well-known fact that she spent way too much of her paycheck buying shoes that wouldn’t hurt her back, leg or feet and still looked amazing, and she wasn’t about to stop doing that. Not even for her case.

Lorraine came close, eating a big cookie, and Molly’s mouth watered.

“Thought you were on a diet,” Shirley said to Lorraine.

The elf shoved in the last of her cookie. “If you eat fast enough, your Fitbit thinks you’re running.”

Shirley rolled her eyes, but Molly thought Lorraine might be onto something.

“We were so busy tonight we didn’t even get to chat. New Girl,” Lorraine said to Molly, “you did good. When that old geezer asked if you give out happy endings and patted your ass, I started over there to hit him over the head with my tray for you, but you handled yourself like a pro.”

Molly smiled. She’d leaned into the guy and asked him if he liked his hand. He’d said he liked it very much. And then she’d suggested in that same polite, conversational tone that if he wanted to keep his hand, he might want to remove it from her hind-end or the six foot plus guy heading toward them with narrowed eyes was going to remove it for him—if she didn’t remove it first.

“Oh jeez.” The old man had gulped hard, apologized, and tipped her twenty bucks. “Tell your man that I’m farsighted and was trying to grab a drink and not your posterior,” he whispered frantically. “Yeah?”

“If you promise not to touch another elf without permission. Or anyone, for that matter, anyone.”

He nodded like a bobblehead and she’d moved on, giving Lucas a long, I’ve-got-this look. He’d vanished after that, but she’d bet that he’d remained close by, watching her back.

A man dressed in Santa gear minus the hat, wig, and beard strode up the center of the room. He was fiftyish and wearing a grim expression as he grabbed the very large lockbox of cash and tipped it over, dumping it straight into a duffle bag. “How did it go?” he asked Shirley.

“Fantastic. The new girl raked it in for us.”

Santa’s eyes swept over Molly and narrowed. “Who are you?”

“The new girl,” Molly said. “Santa, I presume?”

“Did Louise vet you?”

“Yep,” she said with a smile.

It wasn’t returned. Without a “nice to meet you” or so much as a “thank you,” he hoisted the duffle bag over one shoulder and strode back out of the room without talking to anyone else.

“That is one seriously unmerry Santa,” Molly said.

Janet shrugged. “He has his moments.”

“And he’s the big boss?” Molly asked, fishing.

“Him and his brother,” Shirley said. “Though luckily we don’t see much of that one. He comes by to pick up Santa late at night after most of us are gone—which is just as well since he’s a mean son of a bitch.”

“And Santa’s not?”

Janet shrugged again. “Not as bad as his brother. His brother makes the Grinch look like a sweetheart.”

“To be fair,” Shirley said, “the Grinch never really hated Christmas. He hated people, which is fair.”