Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,121

Dorothy hustled to pour me a drink and shoved me down on the couch while I explained the depths of my stupidity.

“You haven’t signed anything yet, have you?” I asked.

“Oh no, of course not,” Dorothy assured me.

“I can’t believe he was using me this whole time.” I blew my nose. “I never should have vouched for him to begin with,” I said dejectedly. “You trusted me, and I let you down.”

Dorothy wrapped me in a hug. “The pretty ones are always dangerous,” she said kindly. “Nothing’s been signed, so no harm done. Well, not to me, anyway. You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“At least he has to be subjected to Keeley,” I said grimly. “That seems like suitable punishment, though I could have used the prize money.”

“That hussy beat you out?” Dorothy demanded. She lifted her glasses and peered at a wall clock that looked as if it had been made from a junkyard in Alice and Wonderland. “Shoot, I can never read that dang thing, and I missed the winner’s announcement.”

“They gave it to Keeley after she served everyone melted ice cream,” I explained.

“They deserve each other,” Dorothy assured me, handing me a whiskey.

“I’m sure she’s going to make him miserable,” I said. Then I started crying again.

My phone buzzed as Dorothy was pouring me another drink.

Dana: You need to come by and pick up your final payment.

I was half-tempted to tell her to keep it, but apparently now I did need the money, as I was internshipless and jobless.

I trudged back up to the studio. Workers were already dismantling the set. It was going to be as if the bake-off had never happened.

Dana was waiting in the production office with Gunnar.

Guess Belle couldn’t face me herself.

Not that I wanted anything to do with any of the Frosts or the Svenssons for that matter.

“Here’s your check,” Gunnar said, handing it over to me. “If you could wait to cash it until the New Year, that would be much appreciated for the tax benefits.”

“Your brothers have already tried to screw me over; don’t start with me,” I warned him. “I’m cashing this check this evening, and if it bounces, I’m taking it out of your flesh.”

Gunnar gulped.

Dana laughed. “Don’t come between a girl and her money!” she said. “And I believe I did promise you a sculpture in the Holbrook Enterprises tower,” she added. “Or are you leaving? I thought Lilith mentioned you won an internship in Los Angeles.”

“No,” I seethed. “I didn’t get it.”

“Don’t feel too bad,” she assured me. “These internships are all scams. They overwork you and take credit for everything you do. Building this sculpture is going to be much more beneficial to your career as an artist.”

“I guess,” I mumbled.

“Besides,” Dana added. “We’re going to be doing a wedding-themed show in the spring, and it’s good that I know you’ll be in town, because we will want your and Lilith’s help. The social media game on this was on point this year, and it was all thanks to you! Have a Merry Christmas!” Dana waved me out of her office.

Workers pushed past me with boxes, rushing to pack. Christmas Eve was the day after tomorrow. I was sure they wanted to go home to their families.

I, unfortunately, had nowhere to go. I stood outside the studio, looking up at the softly falling snow. I had told Penny and Garrett they could renovate the carriage house in Harrogate because I had been so sure I would be going to Los Angeles for that internship. I didn’t want to stay in the main house with them and be subjected to their in-love-ness.

Strains of holiday music floated along the cool breeze. Someone somewhere was baking cookies.

“I hate Christmas!” I yelled up into the sky.

I never should have become involved with Jonathan.

My phone beeped with an incoming email message. It was from the Getty Museum! My heart soared. Maybe they were rethinking their decision. I could go to California and forget all about Jonathan.

But when I opened the email, all it said was that they were shipping my project back to me. I sagged.

“There you are,” Lilith said as she and Emma came out of the studio, lugging boxes of equipment. “We need to take all our stuff back to Emma’s,” she said. “And look!” She held up a plastic Tupperware container. “I have leftover cake.”

“We’ll buy all the junk food on the way. Pizza, pasta, and those buttery garlic knots. Oh, and Chinese!” Emma said. I