Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,10

frowned—“I think Jonathan’s firm made that one.”

“Hail corporate.” I grabbed my purse from Lilith so I could pay.

Emma watched me thoughtfully.

“You know,” she said finally, “I may have to start dressing as a Christmas furry if it’s going to make hot guys stick their hands down my shirt.”

6

Jonathan

“Did that girl have a cat on a leash?” Carl Svensson asked when I walked out of the bar.

I was still reeling from my interactions with Morticia. What had possessed me to put my hand down her…well, not exactly down her shirt; more down the front of her costume. The heat of her skin against the cooler back of my hand had been a jolt.

I needed to know what she looked like without the costume on.

As we walked across the street to the neighboring industrial property I was hoping to buy and turn into an award-winning development, Carl commented, “You know, Greg is not pleased that there’s a video floating around the internet of you getting hit in the face with a dildo.”

“Please tell your brother that it was not a dildo,” I snarled. “It was a giant rubber candy cane.”

“Same difference to Greg,” Carl retorted. “He’s not sure he wants to go into business with someone who gets dildos thrown at him on a regular basis.”

“Did Greg not try and fail to secure the buying rights to this property from Dorothy?” I asked as we picked our way around what looked like a scrap heap but was actually an in-progress sculpture Dorothy was working on. “I’m her neighbor. She likes me. I bring her enough alcohol to kill an elephant. Greg has to work with me if he wants this development in his portfolio.”

“He’s skeptical of whether you can actually pull it off. A number of my brothers are betting that you can’t,” Carl said.

“I can,” I said stubbornly as we approached a large, round, stained glass door. I pulled the rope beside the bell. It let out a metallic clang.

“World’s sexiest alcohol delivery!” I called out.

“Hisss!”

A huge bird came careening around the corner, racing straight at me.

“Holy shit!” Carl cursed as we scrambled onto a nearby bench to escape the rabid goose.

It snapped and hissed at us, flapping its wings, the red-and-gold bow around its neck sparkling evilly in the early-evening light.

“Come, Prancer!” Dorothy called, opening the stained glass front door. “Leave those nice boys alone. Jonathan’s already had one altercation today with something long and thick.”

“It was a candy cane.”

“Oh, I’m sure all the girls love your candy cane!” Dorothy cooed, striding out into the cold. She was wearing a red-and-green velour tracksuit. Her usual shock of short white hair had been colored in what might generously be described as Christmas tie-dye.

“Back to your post,” she ordered the goose. It waddled off but not before hissing menacingly at me and Carl.

“I was going to serve him for Christmas dinner. Still on the fence about it, but he has spirit, and I like that. I also like attractive men that bring me alcohol,” she prompted.

I held out the bottle. “This is one of our new limited-edition winter vodka lines,” I told her. “With just a hint of juniper and cranberry.”

She opened the bottle and took an appreciative sniff. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells. Something I might say about a few other people here,” she said and took a swig. “Goes down smooth.”

“Smooth enough to sell me this complex?” I asked in what I hoped was a joking, easy manner.

“So you’re just trying to get me all liquored up then take advantage of me?” Dorothy laughed. “I have been told I’m the best-looking eighty-year-old north of New Jersey.”

“Really? You don’t look a day over fifty-five,” I assured her.

“You’re such a charmer.”

Give me the property. Give me the property.

Dorothy patted me on the cheek. “I ought to put some sort of crazy condition on selling you the land,” she joked.

“Like make me get married to a good woman first so I can prove that I am a wholesome family man?” I prompted. I could totally scrounge up a fake fiancée.

“No, I meant like doing a striptease in the snow and covering yourself with edible body paint,” Dorothy said, wrinkling her nose. “This place is far from wholesome. I’m working on a vagina sculpture that is big enough to walk into right now! I’m thinking about decorating it for Christmas and selling tickets.”

7

Morticia

The night before, I had hung out with Lilith and Emma at Emma’s microscopic studio apartment, eating pizza