Alina Jacobs

Two weeks ago, I was an optimistic office girl with a Pinterest vision board and a dream. Now? I’m standing in a billionaire’s penthouse office, trying not to throw a donut at his smug, perfect face. McCarthy Svensson is my new boss-slash-personal tormentor.

When your cheating husband drops dead in your cozy Christmas cat café, the proper response is not to shout, “I didn’t do it!” Showing up at his funeral with a plate of sympathy cupcakes after he’s just been poisoned by your signature Santa’s Surprise confection is…also not the correct response.

Rules are meant to be broken. Except for one: Women can't get enough peonies. Even the girl in front of me in line is admiring the peonies in my hand. While I need these particular flowers for my latest plot, I'll still give Meghan the biggest, thickest bouquet I can find....

When your grandmother stalks the star hockey player on the rival team because “You need a husband, Dakota—you’re not getting any younger!” it’s Christmas crazy on ice.

At first glance (an upward glance because he was tall), Greg Svensson seemed perfect. Six-feet-five of solid muscle with washboard abs and a tower with his name on it, Greg was a guy my parents would actually begrudgingly admire. I had our future all planned out....

When Greg Svensson crossed my path four years ago, I should have just let him keep on walking...right into the street to get hit by a bus. But I was weak....

The Thanksgiving turkey is still warm, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt from my failed business....

I should be hiding away with wine and snacks while waiting for Christmas to end. Instead, I’m wearing a reindeer mascot costume and pretending I’m oh-so-excited to meet New York City’s most eligible billionaire bachelor....

I have no alternatives—I have to throw myself to Carl Svensson’s mercy like a wretched Victorian romance heroine in order to save my dog. I wish all I had to do was lounge around a haunted mansion in a pretty dress....

Welcome to life as a wedding dressmaker for the rich and entitled of Manhattan. I’ve seen it all - from the most spoiled brides to the most egotistical Wall Street bros. The worst? Mark Holbrook. Billionaire. Arrogant. Knockout sexy. Certifiable jerk. He hates weddings, and I hate him....

The Maxine Hotel was supposed to be mine. I invested my meager savings into the upkeep. I slept in a freezing-cold attic like Cinderella, but with way more wine. Then Mike Svensson swaggers in with his billions and his bad attitude, steals the hotel from me, and starts bossing me around....

I wanted to wallow in peace. Not have a rebound with an obnoxious best man. Too bad he looks so good covered in frosting....

Guess I’m spending Christmas in jail. But when he sees I’m not wearing a bra under my ugly Christmas sweater, Oliver smiles like Santa has come early. Crap! I knew I should have worn my good underwear....

I turn weird and awkward around attractive men. I'm a nervous sweater, and when Archer walked into my art cafe that night, he was making me soaking wet. He was stupidly attractive - which caused me to go into excruciating detail about my sweating problem....

Beck Svensson fired me right before rent was due and in the middle of a rainstorm. That’s why he’s at the top of my hate list, along with pickles, people who steal other people’s lunches out of the office fridge, and trying to fold a fitted sheet....

Welcome to life as a wedding planner for the rich and entitled of Manhattan. I’ve seen it all - from the nastiest bridezilla to the most overindulged billionaire. And Evan is the worst....

Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now.

Forget the summer I turned pretty…that was the summer I got hips, acne, and utterly humiliated by Aaron Richmond. This summer? This is the summer I had to marry the bastard.

Fall. Autumn. It doesn't matter what you call it, I hate it. I despise pumpkins, Halloween, and the overwhelming sense of dread as the cold and damp move in. But when my new chauffeur drives up in a hearse, Halloween carols blaring, I realize there will be no escape from the holiday....

I am always fully in control of my company, my family, and my life. Even my diet is perfectly regulated - that includes no candy. Except when my new assistant sprays chocolate sauce all over me and passes out drunk in my car....