Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,36

several cocktails. The cake that was the bottle of alcohol actually looked like the bottle. I stood up to inspect it more closely.

“I feel like I’m tripping balls,” Nick joked.

“I almost don’t want to cut it,” Anu said as she joined me in marveling at the dessert.

Morticia smiled slightly, clearly pleased. “You have to see how it tastes!”

“I’m just surprised you were able to do all this in a furry suit,” Nick said to Morticia and clapped her on her bare shoulder.

I clamped down a snarl.

What the fuck is he touching her for?

Nick must have read my expression, because he held up two hands. “Whoa there, you’re supposed to only pick one of these fine bakers.”

Morticia glanced at me then away.

What was she thinking? And why was I acting so possessive? I didn’t like her. I just wanted to sleep with her, right?

“Can we see the original bottle?” Anu asked. She thanked the production assistant that brought out the bottle of cognac.

“Uncanny.”

“Enough admiring. It’s artistic, but it’s not art,” Nick said. “It’s dessert; it’s meant to be eaten.” He carefully cut a slice out of the cake as the cameras hovered around him.

“Don’t forget the drink,” Morticia said.

Nick picked up a cocktail while Anu took one of the custards. “Astounding.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Nick said, sipping the drink. “Of course, this all tastes amazing. But it is a little corporate. You could not serve this at a restaurant and be taken seriously. However, the goal was a corporate holiday party. You can’t get any better than this.”

“Holy shit, dude!” Carl said the next day at our daily meeting. “That cake Morticia made—insane! You have to ask her to make another. It’s unreal, man, unreal. The morning shows are all over it. Kelly Ripa did a bit at the beginning of her show. Even Oprah’s talking about it. The cognac is sold out of that particular brand, and the rest of them are almost sold out too.”

“One down and how many hundreds of bottles more to go?” I asked, staring out the window.

“Cheer up, man,” Carl said. “You’re surrounded by hot women, your company’s on the up-and-up, everyone is talking about us, and we’re making all the ‘what to buy your special someone for Christmas’ lists. People are loving it! There’s a rumor a well-known rapper wants to feature some of the scotch in his new video.”

“Awesome,” I said, still staring out the window. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Morticia? Belle? My mother?

“Perk up! We need you to be your fun, happy, thirst-trap self. We have that meeting with Dorothy in a bit,” Carl reminded me.

I followed Carl downstairs as he continued to chatter away about the company.

Greg was waiting impatiently in the lobby. “I have a very strict schedule,” he said by way of greeting. “I hope you’ve been buttering the old woman up.”

“Jonathan’s been taking her free bottles of alcohol,” Carl assured his older brother. “I told him he should start sunbathing nude on her property.”

“Do not sunbathe nude,” Greg warned. “I will not do business with someone on the sex offender registry.”

“He could just do it in a thong,” Carl joked.

We walked through the outdoor art installations. “All of this needs to go when we purchase this property,” Greg said to Carl, who made notes. “It’s a public health hazard. I want to put a hotel here…Holy shit!”

Several geese came charging at us. Carl swore and hid behind Greg, who snarled at the geese. They honked and rushed him.

“Is this group of good-looking men here to see me?” Dorothy exclaimed. “Prancer, Blitzen, Dasher, get back here!”

“There are more of them?” I asked weakly. “I brought you a very special bottle of cognac,” I said, turning on the charm. “It’s now officially sold out.”

“I saw the clips online!” Dorothy exclaimed as she took the bottle. “That gal, Morticia—wow! So talented. You should pick her.”

“Actually, the fans decide.”

Dorothy nodded. “That’s why I’ve been voting like crazy! She has vision.”

“Speaking of vision,” Greg said smoothly, “I’d like to discuss our vision for this industrial property.”

Carl took out the prints of the renderings Svensson Investment had commissioned. Dorothy studied them while she petted one of the geese. It hissed menacingly at me when it saw me watching.

“Looks like every other development that people try and peddle,” she said after a moment.

“We can have these done by an actual painter if you’d prefer,” Greg offered.

“No,” Dorothy said, “it’s not that. I’d rather you kept some of the flavor. You even