Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,45
I had some cookie cutters, and I cooked the eggs in little patties shaped like Christmas trees, ornaments, and reindeer.
My brothers were not impressed when I slid the dishes in front of them. Oliver made a face and poked at the eggs. “Is this supposed to be John Cena?”
“No, that’s Santa Claus,” I said, sprinkling some parmesan on his eggs.
Matt took a bite. “Why is it crunchy?”
“Er—”
“Because there’s shells in it!” Oliver said, holding out a piece accusingly.
“I’m going to Jack’s,” Matt said, grabbing his coat. “Chloe always has good food.”
“Jack’s busy and said you had to stay here!” I shouted to them as they traipsed out. I followed them out to the elevator. “You’ll be back.”
“I should send all my little brothers over here if you’re hosting,” Carl announced when the elevator doors opened. He stepped off, and my brothers stepped inside.
“I don’t need all your younger brothers over here.”
“Were we that obnoxious in college?” Carl complained. “Honestly, all Tristan and Eli can talk about is how they’re going to create the next billion-dollar company. I’ve heard the gamut of stupid ideas, including Uber for dog babysitting, some sort of sex toy delivery company, and then one of them wants to start a SpaceX rival. Like Greg’s going to let one of them strap into a rocket and go to the moon.”
I barked out a laugh. “Is he still in a bad mood?”
“Dude,” Carl complained, sprawling on my couch. “He went on an hour-long rant last night after our younger brothers got back from college. One of them suggested starting a porn network—as a joke, mind you—and that just set Greg off. Then Adrian had the balls to tell Greg he needed to get laid.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a concussion from the nuclear bomb that kid set off,” I commented, handing him a drink.
“It was pretty epic. Then I had to work all night. Greg is furious you haven’t sealed the development deal yet.”
“I’m working on it,” I promised, not wanting to admit that I had stalled out.
“Maybe you can convince your sister to get back together with him, just for a little bit, to give us all a reprieve. You know, for Christmas,” Carl wheedled.
The front door swung open, and we cursed as Belle walked in, high heels clicking on the wood floors. “As if I’m going to sleep with Greg just because you’re too spineless to stand up to him.”
“He’s terrifying!” Carl cried as my older sister gestured behind her.
“Morticia?” I said in confusion as she dragged a cart filled with Christmas decorations into my condo. “Did you come to see me?”
“No,” she said grimly, “I came to decorate.”
23
Morticia
I needed a break from Jonathan. Being with him the previous night had put me in a tailspin. The way he smelled, the way he looked at the camera with those piercing blue eyes, the deep, rumbling laugh whenever I made an acerbic comment. My obsession with him was growing despite my best intentions. I had spent the previous night carefully editing the photos to make sure they showed off all his muscles and the planes of his handsome face to maximum effect.
One might even say I was developing an intimate familiarity with his naked torso.
Stop making this more awkward.
Even if I did want to see what was wrapped up in that Christmas package.
It’s the sugar. You shouldn’t eat so much sugar.
I was being weird and obsessive. I needed to spend the day working on my art piece. In the future, I would have to keep some professional distance from the billionaire. That meant no more late-night photo shoots.
“There you are!” Belle said as I walked past the studio. “Come. We’re going up to Jonathan’s condo.”
“What? Why?”
“Pajama party.”
Jonathan didn’t seem all that excited to see me when Belle and I showed up at his front door.
Told you so.
In fact, he was visibly aggravated when Belle ushered me into his condo. Behind me, I pulled the large, overstuffed wagon filled with Christmas decorations.
“We’re filming the pajama party here tomorrow tonight,” Belle told him.
“Not in my penthouse.” Jonathan scowled.
“Excuse me,” Belle said, “this is my show. Now, Morticia, I think we should keep the filming to the open kitchen and living area. Let’s concentrate our efforts there.”
“I don’t want any of them here,” Jonathan growled.
“We’ll have it deep cleaned afterward,” Belle promised.
“That’s not good enough.”
I didn’t know what was going on between them, and I didn’t care. The temperature in the condo had dropped about twenty degrees.