Eating her Christmas Cookies : A Holiday Billionaire Romance, page 1
Eating Her Christmas Cookies
A Billionaire Holiday Romance
Alina Jacobs
Contents
Other books by Alina Jacobs
Synopsis
Acknowledgments
Mailing List
1. Chloe
2. Jack
3. Chloe
4. Jack
5. Chloe
6. Jack
7. Chloe
8. Jack
9. Chloe
10. Jack
11. Chloe
12. Jack
13. Chloe
14. Jack
15. Chloe
16. Jack
17. Chloe
18. Jack
19. Chloe
20. Jack
21. Chloe
22. Jack
23. Chloe
24. Jack
25. Chloe
26. Jack
27. Chloe
28. Jack
29. Chloe
30. Jack
31. Chloe
32. Jack
33. Chloe
34. Jack
35. Chloe
36. Jack
37. Chloe
38. Jack
39. Chloe
40. Jack
41. Chloe
42. Jack
43. Chloe
44. Jack
45. Chloe
46. Jack
47. Chloe
48. Jack
49. Chloe
50. Jack
51. Chloe
52. Jack
53. Chloe
54. Jack
55. Chloe
56. Jack
57. Chloe
58. Jack
59. Chloe
60. Jack
61. Chloe
62. Jack
63. Chloe
64. Jack
65. Chloe
66. Jack
67. Chloe
68. Jack
69. Chloe
70. Jack
71. Chloe
Sneak peek
Eating Her Baked Goods
1. Jack
2. Chloe
Read Eating Her Baked Goods
Austrian Wedding Cookies
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2018 by Alina Jacobs
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Created with Vellum
Other books by Alina Jacobs
Check out other books about characters mentioned in this one on my website:
http://alinajacobs.com/books.html
Synopsis
Jack
In my perfect world it would always be winter and never Christmas.
I despise the holiday. I hate carols, shopping, and pretending to be a perfect family.
I walked away from my family, or rather they walked away from me.
My heart is like ice—
See it creeping up the walls.
Oh, wait, no, that’s royal icing.
I never should have allowed the Great Christmas Bake-Off to film in my tower.
And I never, ever, should have agreed to be a judge.
Chloe
I love Christmas! I love sparkly window decorations, heartwarming holiday movies, and themed coffee.
Most of all I love Christmas baking.
Even though his company is sponsoring the bake-off show, billionaire Jack Frost claims he hates sweets.
But after he tastes my goods I know he'll come begging for more.
And wouldn't you know it, that night Jack Frost asked me to come up to his penthouse and give him a special taste of my Christmas cookies.
Against my better judgement I went…
I baked him my signature gingerbread cookies and of course he ate them up!
It should have been a Christmas miracle, but Jack Frost couldn't have come into my life at a worse time.
Not only am I broke, but this was my first Christmas after my Oma died.
Someone is trying to sabotage me in the Great Christmas Bake-Off.
I'm being stalked by a mall Santa.
Sleeping with one of the judges is a disaster waiting to happen. I needed Jack and his washboard abs about as much as I needed that third sticky bun.
But when he says in his deep, sexy voice, "Can you make me some more cookies?" well stick a candy cane in me I'm done.
Eating her Christmas Cookies is a standalone holiday novel. This 90,000 word steamy romance novel has no cliffhangers but does have a very happily ever after.
To my grandmother, whose cookie recipe inspired this story.
Acknowledgments
A big thank you to Red Adept Editing for editing and proofreading.
And finally a big thank you to all the readers! I had a great time writing this book, and I hope it puts you in the Christmas spirit!
Mailing List
Get a free short story about Jack and Chloe when you join my mailing list!
alinajacobs.com/mailinglist.html
1
Chloe
I could tell New York City was preparing for Christmas as I rode in the Uber on the way to Frost Tower. Even though Thanksgiving had only been yesterday, workers were hanging garlands on buildings and wreaths with big red bows on lamp posts. The advertisements on the sides of the various kiosks screamed reminders about holiday shopping, and there were light snow flurries in the air.
"It's so magical," I sighed, gazing out of the window. I'd always wanted to live in New York City, ever since I'd come for a middle school trip. Now I was back—broke, desperate for money, but back.
"You're going to be singing a different Christmas carol after you've lived in this city a few months," the driver said. "Or maybe not if this is where you're living."
"Is this Frost Tower?" I asked him. We had stopped in front of an all-glass tower that reached up to the cloudy sky. It was beautiful, like an ice sculpture, but it did not inspire warmth or Christmas cheer. In fact, unlike the other buildings we had passed in which Christmas trees and other holiday decorations were visible in the lobby, Frost Tower was barren.
"Don't forget to give a five-star rating," my driver said and winked as I stepped out of the car.
"Spare some change?"
I turned to see a tipsy-looking Santa Claus waving a coffee cup in my face.
"Get outta here!" the driver yelled at him as the homeless man staggered off. "You'd think a fancy building like this would have better security." The driver carried my suitcase and my crate of high-end cookware to the door, waved, and then returned to his car.
I entered and looked around. The lobby was completely empty. There were no people, no artwork, and no Christmas decorations. It was all glass and polished concrete with clean white walls. On the wall near the elevator lobby was a handwritten sign that said ROMANCE CREATIVE PRODUCTIONS 37th FLOOR.
I stepped in the sleek elevator feeling slightly apprehensive. What if they didn't want me to be in the show anymore? I couldn't go back to the Midwest. There wasn't anything for me there, and besides, my credit cards were almost maxed out.
"I guess I found all the people," I said to myself when I stepped off the elevator. The large elevator lobby was packed with people pushing carts, carrying cables, and toting heavy lighting.
"Are you Chloe Barnard?" asked a tall, elegant woman with long, dark hair. I nodded and held out my hand.
"Hi, I'm Dana Holbrook. I’m one of the producers. We talked over email. That’s my co-producer, Gunnar Svensson." Dana gestured to a tall blond man talking intently on the phone. "We're very excited to have you. Let me show you to your room." She tapped the elevator button, and we rode up another twenty floors.
"Your Instagram is very impressive," Dana said as we walked down the hall of one of the upper residential floors. "You have hundreds of thousands of followers, and they all seem quite active. The Great Christmas Bake-Off isn't airing on network or cable TV, it's only on the web, so we'll need you to leverage your social network to make this show a success. Make sure you send out lots of photos of the contest!"
"That's what I'm planning on," I told her. "I want to use The Great Christmas Bake-Off as a platform to hopefully start my own café or at least be offered a cool job."
"We anticipate this show will be very popular," Dana said as she punched a number. I tried to memorize it but failed.
"I emailed you the code," she said and opened the door. The apartment was beautiful, with big windows, a large kitchen, and a view over a nearby park.
"Believe it or not," Dana said, "this is considered a big apartment for New York City."
"It's perfect," I told her, setting my bag down.
"Pick a room. You're the first contestant to arrive. You'll have to share, unfortunately, but it's only a five-week contest. We'll be done filming by Christmas."
By the time I had unpacked my things, no one had arrived yet. I sat on the small bed in the room I had chosen and checked my email. There was a message from Dana with a scant amount of information, just a tentative shooting schedule and the key code.
I was starting to feel morose, so I snapped a selfie in front of the window and edited it, then posted it to Instagram. I was immediately rewarded with dozens of likes.
"That's all you needed, a nice ego boost," I told myself as I headed downstairs. Maybe I could make friends with someone who could help me win or at least navigate the contest.
"What am I supposed to do with all of this garland?" someone was yelling as I stepped off the elevator.
"Just hang it up, Zane!" I heard Dana shout.
"I am not an interior designer!" the man yelled back. He had on a headset that held back his long hair.
"I guess this isn't a polished production," I joked, walking over to him.
"What gave it away?" he said, shaking his head. "The decorator quit—was offered a better job. So now I have all of these Christmas decorations. I'm supposed to put everything up in the soundstage, and I don't know what to do." He made a disgusted noise. "We're starting filming tomorrow morning. They better pay is all I have to say."
"Yeah," I agreed, "I need the prize money." I started pawing through the boxes.
"There's nice stuff in here," I told him and started pushing the loaded cart toward the double doors. "Come on, I'll help you deck the halls."
The camera guy followed me gratefully. "You're a lifesaver. You're Chloe, right? I've seen your Instagram—it's super cool. I’m glad you're helping. I can make a camera shot look good, but I just don't have the decorator's touch."
We spent the next several hours putting up decorations, and when we were done, the studio set looked like Christmas. Zane looked around in awe.
"You really did an amazing job," he said. I had arranged bunches of pinecones and ribbons, hung big fat strands of garlands, sprinkled fake snow, tucked little ornaments here and there, and put up lights to make the place sparkle.
"Are the fairy lights going to mess up the cameras?" I asked in concern.
"Nah," he said. "I have them plugged into the lighting board, so the lighting guy can adjust as needed."
I took out my phone to take a picture for my Instagram account. Dana said we should be promoting, so I hoped it was okay. It was the only thing going right in my life right now, especially since this contest was clearly not a Food Network–level production.
There were some decorations left over, so I hung them up out in the lobby to make it feel more festive. As I was returning from stacking the boxes in a storage room, I heard more yelling.
"It stinks!" a deep voice said. "My whole tower smells disgusting."
"It smells like Christmas," I heard Gunnar reply.
In the lobby off of the soundstage was a gorgeous man. He was tall and broad shouldered with silver-white hair and icy blue eyes. Framed against the Christmas decorations, he made a perfect picture.
I snapped his photo. I knew who he was. Jack Frost—the billionaire owner of Platinum Provisions. I thought his company made some type of very expensive, highly specialized surgical equipment along with drill bits for mining and other applications, but I only knew them for their line of cooking tools and molecular gastronomy equipment. It was high precision and expensive.
I had my own special collection of thousands of dollars’ worth of Platinum Provisions cooking and baking tools, and they were among my most prized possessions. My collection contained tiny knives that rarely needed sharpening, distillery equipment to extract the flavor from various ingredients, and high-precision frosting guns and icing pipers to make intricate decorations. Some of my most-liked Instagram posts were of the perfect miniature cakes I had made with these Platinum Provisions baking tools.
Speaking of Instagram—I snapped Jack Frost's picture again. He was too perfect.
"Don't take my picture!" he said, his attention snapping to me.
"Holy smokes, Jack, calm down!" Gunnar said.
"I can't believe I let you rope me into judging this competition. You know I hate Christmas," Jack said.
"You don't like Christmas?" I blurted.
"I hate Christmas," he snarled, "I hate the scented candles and the decorations and the holiday baked goods."
"Not even Christmas cookies?" I asked, flabbergasted. Who didn’t like Christmas cookies?
He walked up to me, closing the distance between us and invading my personal space. I was sure my eyes were wide in my head. I was wearing boots, but he was still tall enough to loom over me, his icy blue eyes boring into me.
Wouldn't it be great if he was boring something else into you?
I told the naughty elf living in my subconscious to shut up.
"I don't like cookies," Jack said, "and I don't like little girls who believe in the magic of Christmas."
"You'll like my cookies," I told him, not sure where that surge of courage had come from.
"Don't bet on it," he replied and turned on his heel, followed by Gunnar.
A bake-off judge who hated sweets. Awesome.
2
Jack
The day had not gotten off to an auspicious start.
My younger brothers, Matt and Oliver, had left that morning, and I already missed them. I was never able to spend that much time with them now that they were away at college, and they didn't even want to stay all of Thanksgiving weekend to see me. Instead, they wanted to return to Harvard early and play video games with their friends.
Now I had to contend with this bake-off that was going to start filming tomorrow. I already regretted agreeing to allow Gunnar and Dana to film in my tower. The whole place reeked of sugar, butter, marzipan, and spices. And Gunnar didn't have enough money to pay a third judge, so I had been enlisted as a judge–not that I was qualified.
To make matters worse, now the short little blonde was taking my picture. I better not see it plastered all over the internet, I thought.
As I loomed over her, I could smell the sugar wafting off her, mingled with the scent of fresh pine boughs. She smelled like Christmas, and when I said I hated cookies, she gaped at me, eyes wide with shock, as if I was the Grinch personified.
"I cannot wait for Christmas to be over," I muttered to myself as Gunnar ran after me and grabbed my upper arm.
"You need to remember why it is that we're filming here at all," he hissed. "You can't find tenants for this tower, and no tenants equals no rent money. Romance Creative is a paying tenant—"
