Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,9

through its feed.

“Gross. Basic. Seen it.”

Hillrock West Distillery’s feed sucked, to put it nicely. Not that I cared. After tomorrow, I was going to collect my check from Gunnar, then I was out of Manhattan. If Jonathan was determined to blow a ton of money on some marketing firm with no design sense, that was his massively overpriced funeral.

I felt as if I had done a decent job of convincing everyone I had no business being a bachelorette. Once I was voted off, I could concentrate on winning that internship.

My phone beeped with an incoming email.

“Finally,” I muttered, but it wasn’t from Lilith. It was from the Getty Museum! I took a steadying sip of my drink then opened the email. I read it, stifling an uncharacteristic cheer.

Morticia: I made it to the next round!

Morticia: Where are youuuu?

Morticia: Currently dying in the world’s most pretentious bar.

“Drinking alone?”

I stiffened. “I need it after dealing with you,” I said to Jonathan.

“I can’t have you in here ruining the atmosphere,” he said, spinning the barstool around to have me face him. “You’re like roadkill that dragged herself in here.”

“Ah yes, because a billionaire with delusions of adequacy is someone whose opinion I care about,” I shot back.

“I am way more than adequate,” he said, striking a pose. The glow from the expensive fixtures highlighted the slight bruise on his perfect face.

I smirked slightly.

“Like something you see?” Jonathan asked.

“Just that dildo-shaped bruise on your face,” I replied, sipping my drink. “Your company has our first meeting all over its feed. Better than the basic images you have up there now. At least people can laugh at the spit flying out of your mouth when you ran into my candy cane instead of dying from boredom at those images you’re posting.”

“You’re just jealous,” Jonathan retorted, eyes narrowing as he leaned over me. “I have one of the best marketing firms in the city working on my social media push.”

“Guess you can’t buy good taste,” I said, draining my drink.

“Says the woman wearing a reindeer costume,” Johnathan shot back. He reached out and hooked two fingers right at the neckline of the costume, pulling me forward slightly. “At first I thought you were wearing it under duress, but you’re still parading around in it. Like you said, you can’t buy taste.”

“Oh my god! Don’t touch my sister, creep!”

Now Lilith shows up.

Our friend Emma was hovering behind her.

Jonathan jerked his hand back then looked between Lilith and me wildly.

“Holy shit. Of course you’re creepy identical twins.”

Lilith and I glared in unison—or tried to. Lilith was dressed in her standard gothic garb, while I was bedecked for Christmas.

Johnathan turned on his heel to leave then looked over his shoulder at me. “I’d tell you good luck on the competition, but after your little stunt, everyone is going to put you in last place.”

“Was he trying to have his way with you?” Emma asked breathlessly. She was a member of the private equity group that Dana and Belle had started. The two women were demanding and exacting. It was a stressful job, and Emma stress ate, not that I was judging. I liked pizza and brownies as much as the next girl.

“I still have some dried hemlock from the garden. I can put it in his bulletproof coffee,” my twin offered, narrowing her eyes at Jonathan’s retreating form.

“I can’t afford to go to jail. I’m this close to winning that Getty internship,” I said, showing her the email. “I’m one of thirty in the running now. I have a video interview scheduled and everything.”

“Maybe Penny will let you set up in one of the Vanity Rag offices,” Lilith said as Salem butted his head against my leg. “Then you can have a swanky background.”

“Do you think that’s too bougie?” I chewed my bottom lip.

“It’s the Getty,” Lilith countered. “You can’t do the interview in front of Mimi’s antique doll collection. You’re competing against all those trust fund girls who studied art as a pastime while waiting for a rich man to marry. You need to up your game. Also, I’m not sure that throwing a candy cane at Jonathan Frost was the best move.”

“It will blow over,” I said.

“Girl, you are a full-on meme.” Lilith pulled out her phone. “People have been swapping the candy cane out for all sorts of things. Here’s one of you throwing a cat. Here’s one of you throwing a bucket of fried chicken. Here’s one of you throwing a bottle of tequila. Actually”—she