Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,115

had no choice but to collapse into a pile of orgasmic goo on top of him, his arms wrapping around me as I fell.

I think I’m addicted to this man.

“I can’t wait for when you’re working for me,” he said roughly. “We’re going to do this every day.”

Fuck. I really needed to tell him. But what if he hated me?

62

Jonathan

Life was good. It was just a few more days until Christmas, Morticia was going to stay with me forever, and I was going to have my development. I just had to survive one more round of The Great Christmas Bake-Off.

Morticia stood in front of the camera with her cousins.

“Welcome to the finale of The Great Christmas Bake-Off,” Anastasia announced. “Today is the day the final two contestants make their most impressive and most personal dessert that perfectly encapsulates their time with Jonathan. But first, we must send someone home.”

Please don’t send Morticia.

“Sarah, you were our wild card contestant. Unfortunately, the judges said the texture of your cheesecake was too wet.”

“And the fans said you were crazy,” Keeley piped up.

Sarah turned on her cousin. “I will have Jonathan. Just you wait.” She stomped off the set.

Or not, I chuckled to myself. That problem was easy to solve. Now I just needed Morticia to win. Then I would take her back to my condo, and we would have a very merry Christmas.

“Unlike other challenges,” Anastasia said, “for the finale, we will have a three-hour voting window then announce the results live. To our audience watching at home, thank you for tuning in, and I hope you have your cocktails ready. Ladies, start your baking. Your time begins now.”

Morticia and Keeley exchanged angry looks, and then they went to gather ingredients. I wondered what Morticia was going to bake.

She has to win, right? I didn’t know what I was going to do if I had to be subjected to Keeley for the next ninety days before the deadline had passed for us to have a quiet, fake breakup.

While they worked, I grabbed my laptop bag to head across the street to my office for a meeting with Weston and Blade from ThinkX.

“Be back on time,” Belle told me, pausing her conversation with one of the producers.

“Can you text me to remind me?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said then regarded me suspiciously. “What are you pulling with the Hamilton Yards development?”

I shifted my weight. “Greg said I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” I whined.

Belle raised her arm; I flinched. She smirked and smoothed back her hair. I laughed nervously.

“The perks of being a big sister,” she said smugly.

She was my big sister, and I was pretty sure she would help me, her favorite little brother. Also, she had an intimate knowledge of Greg and could potentially help solve my problem on the Hamilton Yards development. I looked around furtively and gestured her into the hallway.

“I might have sort of made promises to Dorothy that Greg is not going to want to keep,” I said in a low voice. “Does he have any Achilles’ heels or weaknesses that I could use to prod him into going along with the vision that Dorothy has bought into?”

“Is this the mass nude yoga session I keep hearing about?” Belle asked, eyebrow raised.

“Among other things.” I grimaced. “Weirdly enough, I think that’s the part he has the least issue with.”

Belle hissed a breath out from between her teeth. “Of course he does.”

“No, not like that!” I said, waving my arms. “Morticia promised Dorothy all this free artist space. And there’s only three towers instead of the whole grove of them that Greg wants.”

“So to summarize,” Belle said dryly, “you’ve been making terrible decisions and lying about them to people, including a powerful man who gets off on grinding others into the dust and is in a constant state of war with his own family members. And who I have on good authority is a sociopath.”

I winced. “So no weaknesses?”

“Don’t try and screw him over,” she warned.

I sagged.

Then she added, “That is, not unless you’re one hundred percent sure you’re going to win.”

“And then he respects my chutzpah and we skip happily ever after into the sunset of capitalist profit?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” Belle said with a snort. “Then you sleep with a gun under your pillow for the rest of your life, waiting for him to get even.”

Oof.

She patted me on the head. “Good luck, little brother. Hopefully Greg murders you for screwing him over before New Year’s and not