Mostrando resultados por autor "Alina Jacobs" en Todas las categorías

Hire a hitman to take out my cheating ex? It was an eggnog-fueled mistake, I swear! On Christmas Eve, my perfect fiancé stands up at the altar to declare his pure undying love… for my evil stepsister. Cue public humiliation, a ruined wedding, and me crawling back to my small hometown to work minimum wage at my granny’s Christmas café. Just living the holiday dream. But I refuse to show up sad and alone to my cheating ex and man-stealing stepsister’s engagement party.

When you're a blacklisted preschool teacher and somehow end up coaching the worst team in the NHL, it's shaping up to be the crappiest Christmas ever. We’re adding an NHL head-coaching job to the Yule log dumpster fire of my holiday season. I lost my apartment and had to move back home for the holidays. My mom sneaks into my bedroom to watch me sleep because she “can’t help it. I missed my little girl so much, Ellie!” And my day-drinking granny has declared herself the team's new equipment manager so she can ogle hockey butts in the locker room.

I kept smiling when I caught my fiancé coming down my sister’s chimney on Christmas Eve. I gave polite congratulations when they got engaged. And I even offered to help decorate for their Christmas wedding despite the fact that was supposed to be my dream wedding. But when my sister cuts up my great-grandmother’s one-hundred-year-old wedding dress and turns it into a skank show, even though that was the dress I was going to wear on my wedding day? Well, this elf is torching down the North Pole.

When you kiss your perfect boyfriend under the mistletoe...only for your cousin scream to the family that you stole her man, you realize that you will never again have a merry Christmas. In my defense, I didn’t know my boss—yup, boss. Buckle up because this is messy—was my cousin’s newly minted and totally lying fiancé. I thought he was the Nutcracker Prince come to finally show my family that I, too, was worthy of putting the star atop the Christmas tree.

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.

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. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder.

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.

Five years ago, I royally screwed up, lied, and broke the heart of the woman I love. A sane man would buy her a nice present and grovel. Guess I must be crazy. I love Meg more than anything. So why am I running against her for mayor of Harrogate?

My new billionaire boss looks like he needs something sweet in his life. I graciously offered to let him stick his hand in my candy jar. It has salt water taffy and gummy worms! I can't believe he thought it was inappropriate! In an effort to redeem myself, I set out to show Mace that I wasn't a clumsy, car-destroying, electronic-killing, accident-prone, walking disaster. That lasted all of five minutes before I set his seaweed and quinoa lunch on fire. Yeah, I didn't know that was a thing either.

In my defense, I never claimed to be professional.... At least that’s my excuse for why I mistook a billionaire for a waiter, made off-color comments, and accidentally dumped a plate of food all over him. Embarrassing myself is a daily occurrence, just like my unpaid bill notices. But being in a wedding instead of planning one is not. I shall live vicariously through this high-end wedding and forget about the rent payments I’ve missed, the fact that my tiny apartment has no hot water, and that I’m about to be evicted anyway so it doesn’t even matter, anyway! Yay!

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! Christmas is already a stressful time of the year without adding a billionaire to the mix. Between dodging bake-off sabotaging cousins, applying for a long-shot prestigious museum internship, and trying to survive being broke in Manhattan, I’m up to my black lipstick in my own special nightmare before Christmas.

I admit it was me who shouted, “Looking good, hot stuff!” at Mr. Richmond this morning, but I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, Mrs. HR Lady, I know how it looks. Believe me, I am totally anti-catcalling, but that’s not what that was. Honest. I was paying him a compliment! That’s kind of what I do: I’m a proud, small-town Floridian, and Manhattan is craving some Florida sunshine—nothing like a sincere compliment to turn those New York frowns upside down!

My butt pads are sliding under my shape wear, I had to starve to fit in this dress, and the last place on earth I want to be is on a date with Walker Svensson.

The Thanksgiving turkey is still warm, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt from my failed business. To make matters worse, my knight in flannel never appeared—you know, the guy, the one who was tall, dark, and plaid, who had a friendly yellow lab and a truck and sold firewood, the one who showed the big-city heroine the true meaning of love and Christmas. Yeah, he did not come rescue me.

In my defense, my twin sister is engaged to the love of my life. Ok, so he’s my ex of two weeks, but I have totally been in love with him since we were kids!

When your wedding-crazy, septuagenarian grandmother arranges a contest to see which of her granddaughters marries first, you have to bring out the big guns. And my billionaire boss Blade’s guns are banging! Billionaire, high-powered CEO, more money than personality, Blade Svensson is all business. He needs to win a contract, and I need a house. He and I both know that this is a logical, rational response to one of life’s many curveballs.

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. Though he thinks he’s my only protector. He’s wrong. He’s way worse than the merry-go-round of ex fiancés who may or may not be stalking me, including ex-fiancé number one of three, who fakes his death then pops up out of a casket. Alive.

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. Not to mention that when you’re a six-foot-tall woman and meet a guy out in the wild who is both taller than you and attracted to you, you make certain allowances. You ignore certain red flags.

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. Instead, Carl is forcing me to run outside in the morning, clean my apartment, and finally do something about my credit card debt. Yes, I am side-eyeing all of this. Carl’s in for a shock of his own, though. I’m a free-spirited, art-loving girl with tattoos, multicolored hair, and piercings. An uptight, suit-wearing investment banker is not going to change me.

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.