“Of course you are,” my father said incredulously. “Your mother and I like her very much. She'll make a great wife. Not like your brother Jack and that baker.”
“Chloe is a wonderful person and owns a very successful franchise,” I retorted. I could feel my blood start to boil.
Stay cold like ice, I chanted to myself. I forced myself to relax.
“Still,” he said. “She's nothing like Sloane, who is the perfect corporate wife. She and your mother went engagement ring shopping by the way, so expect information from her about Sloane's choices,” he called over his shoulder as he left.
I threw open the doors to the balcony after he left and stood outside, letting the cold numb me. No wonder Sloane wasn't taking the hint if my parents were egging her on and feeding her delusions. One thing was for certain: Sloane was not the type of woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
The woman I wanted was messy, curvy, and baked like her life depended on it.
I just needed a way to make Holly mine.
29
Holly
The next day was spent decorating the penthouse. I tried to act happy for the cameras as Fiona and I wrapped garlands around the banister. After the common areas were decorated, I tackled the Taste My Muffin baking subscription boxes. I had hundreds to mail out, but it was difficult to concentrate.
I hated to admit it, but Sloane's words had cut. Owen had barely said anything to me. Yet here I was obsessing over him. I wasn't crazy like Amber, I assured myself. I just wanted to take a sleigh ride on him. Naked. And maybe smear him with frosting and lick it off those washboard abs and see just how big his Christmas package really was.
“You sure you want to do that?” Morticia asked.
I yelped. Had all that tarot reading and making offerings to spirits given her the ability to read minds?
“Honestly, it wasn't that dirty.”
“You're being weird,” Morticia said, “and you're also about to pour a cup of salt into that cake batter.”
“Crap,” I said, hastily stepping back.
The rest of the baking took me a lot longer than it should have. I accidentally tipped half a bottle of vanilla into my cookie batter and had to start over. Morticia finally kicked me out of the kitchen.
“I'll finish this. You're going to send me to an early grave,” she said, taking the spatula out of my hand. “You're distracted. I told you I cannot be trapped here the rest of December with the Christmas bake-off idiots. If you get kicked off because you're dreaming about some billionaire who can't even work an oven instead of coming up with an award-winning dessert, I'm not helping you bake a single thing ever again.”
She handed me a plate of hot chocolate brownies. They had homemade marshmallows on top.
“Go stuff a brownie in his mouth and then stuff his candy cane in your Christmas stocking and get your head in the game,” she ordered, practically shoving me out the door then slamming it behind me.
The faint strains of Mozart's funeral requiem filtered through the shut door.
I sighed. Should I really go see Owen? I could just eat all these brownies by myself.
Maybe I'll take him one, I thought as I swiped my key card to go down a floor. The elevator let me off at the private lobby to his condo.
“Here we go!” I said, trying to hype myself up. Coming over to make dinner for starving children was one thing. That had been an innocent pretense to spend time with him. Now it was evening; I was dressed in the semirevealing outfit I’d worn while making baking videos. I had a plate of brownies. It was clear I was there for one thing.
“We're going to jump down the chimney,” I chanted to myself. I bounced up and down, raised my hand to knock… then immediately turned around and headed to the elevator.
“Nope, not happening.”
I had already swiped my key card when the fire alarm went off inside the condo. There was cursing, and a dog yelped.
What in the world? I banged on the door. “Owen! Owen!”
Heavy footsteps approached the door and it swung open. The fire alarm blared, strobe light flashing. I squinted at Owen, who stood in front of me, holding a sheet of very burnt cookies.
“You're making cookies?” I exclaimed in shock and horror.
