Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,46

you,” Belle said sharply. “Considering that you seem perfectly fine to go talk to Mom and Dad and spill everyone’s business, I don’t see why filming a bake-off episode should be that much more of an invasion.”

“Fine,” Jonathan spat.

“Good.”

Jonathan stormed out, the blond Svensson rushing after him.

Belle walked around the space. “Make it festive. Can you do something nice with the balcony? Get a few Christmas trees in here. Have it done by tomorrow when we film.”

I looked around the space after she left for yet another meeting. The place was bigger than I remembered from when I had come over to clean Jonathan’s cut. Then, I had been focused on not being sued and on making sure my cat hadn’t killed him. Now, I was confronted with the fact that I was in his space alone, and he did not want me there.

Keeley is right. He doesn’t want someone like you.

I wanted to leave, run away before it turned ugly, but I was still under contract with Romance Creative for emergency decorating.

I needed a drink. And reinforcements.

“I brought cupcakes!” Emma said happily. “And pizza!” She handed me a stack of boxes. The smell of cheese and garlic was fortifying. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re just hanging out in Jonathan’s condo,” she gushed.

“It smells like male in here,” my twin commented as she swept in, decked out in a black Victorian morning dress complete with sunglasses and a top hat.

“She’s really feeling her creative energy,” Emma said with a giggle as she unwrapped one of the cupcakes.

“Needs more black,” Lilith remarked as she walked around the living room, Salem prowling behind her.

“No black. We’re going for Christmas and sparkles and glitter.”

“Like an elf murder scene!” Lilith said gleefully.

“Wrong. Like a snow globe,” I told my twin.

We sorted through the decorations in the wagon. A lot of it was left over from the previous year’s bake-off and wasn’t in the best shape.

“Where’s the man of the house?” Emma asked, eating a slice of pepperoni pizza.

“Stormed out,” I said. “He is not pleased I am here.”

“His loss,” Lilith said, selecting her own slice of pizza.

“You know what you should do?” Emma exclaimed. “Sleep with his business rival and make him jealous!”

“I’m not—” I sputtered. “That is not what is happening here.”

“I thought you were luring him away to stick it to Keeley,” Lilith said.

“No! I just wanted to annoy Keeley. Jonathan is inept and likes Christmas. He’s a walking sack of testosterone and bad decisions. He thinks girls like Keeley are not only a good idea to sleep with but also to marry. He’s such a waste of time,” I ranted. “He coasts by on his good looks and his—”

Someone cleared their throat.

Jonathan stood in the entrance to the open kitchen. Salem meowed and pranced over to him. Jonathan walked into the room, and I was struck suddenly by how very tall he was.

Emma gaped, her open mouth full of cupcake. Jonathan ignored her, advancing on me. It took all my self-control not to scurry backward.

“Though you seem to think I’m useless and a waste of time, I would suspect that you’re not above using my credit card to decorate for this event,” he said in a clipped tone, reaching into his suit coat pocket and pulling out a black credit card.

I didn’t move. I felt bad for saying those things. I hadn’t even meant them. I was just trying to convince myself that Jonathan wasn’t worth another Justin repeat.

Jonathan grabbed my hand and slapped the credit card into it. “It has no limit, so go crazy,” he spat then turned on his heel.

“It’s a good thing you totally don’t like him, because he definitely hates you now,” my twin said after the front door had slammed shut.

“Shut up,” I told my sister.

“Morticia, be nice,” Emma chided. “She’s the only family you have left that’s not a hoebag skank.” She picked up another of the cupcakes. “Eat this. It will make you feel better.”

I took a bite of the chocolate cupcake. It was black like my soul. Jonathan had looked so heartbroken when he’d walked in. That couldn’t be right, could it? I was imagining things.

“Cheer up!” Emma insisted, feeding me another cupcake. “We’re going shopping!”

24

Jonathan

What the hell had I been thinking? Of course Morticia didn’t like me. I wasn’t her type; she probably wanted one of those rail-thin TV production guys with the guyliner and the tattoos and the combat boots. They were crawling all over the studio when