47
Holly
As much as I wanted to play Mr. and Mrs. Claus in Owen's condo, I had to leave early the next morning. It was the day of the Quantum Cyber company holiday party. AndThe Great Christmas Bake-Offwas providing the desserts.
Sometime in the night, the Romance Creative crew had moved all our baking stations down to the main lobby. Now all the contestants were assembled with their baking equipment. Hundreds of Owen’s employees were downstairs to witness the filming.
“Welcome to another episode ofThe Great Christmas Bake-Off,” Anastasia announced. “What's Christmas without a holiday party? The company holiday party is practically a meme at this point—drunken shenanigans, people making silly faces on the copier, awkward games. But for the Quantum Cyber employees, our bake-off contestants are here to turn up the volume on your holiday party! While the savory food is being catered, our bakers are bringing the desserts. The contestants have to make enough so that each employee can sample their sweets. The employees will vote on their favorites using the company app. The judges will give their feedback for the camera, then we'll announce the winners. Bakers, start your ovens.”
I was a little thrown off by my baking station being laid out differently from usual, but soon I was back in the groove. I'd done catering in my early days of food service. Usually for dessert, we'd made cake and cut it up with scoops of ice cream. But I wanted something to impress. From dealing with the crowd a few days ago for the tree trimming, I knew my dessert ought to include alcohol. It also had to be something I could make to feed almost a thousand people.
The answer? Christmas cookie shots. As much as I loved my special sugar cookie recipe, I needed something to hold up to the Christmas cocktail I was going to pour into each cookie. I decided to make a couple of flavors. Otherwise it would be boring, and I was not boring!
The first cookie shot was a bourbon hot chocolate in a more robust sugar cookie that was crunchier and denser. The second was gingerbread cookie shot glasses holding a dirty gingerbread martini. And for the third option, because things are better in threes, I was going to make a fruity vodka pomegranate-rosemary cocktail in a fruitcake cookie cup, which was a modified oatmeal-cranberry cookie.
I did a quick calculation. That was a lot of cookies and a lot of alcohol. I wanted people to be able to have one of each; I didn't want people to have to choose. It was part of being a good hostess—and I couldn’t forget that I needed to win this competition. When I had looked at my phone after my very pleasant evening with Owen, I’d found a ton of messages from the bank and credit card companies about missed payments.
I could not afford to lose.
“Game face, Holly,” I told myself, striking a power pose. I was wearing another fun outfit. I had on fur-lined ankle boots and a short red coatdress like Christine Baranski inHow the Grinch Stole Christmas. I had even put my hair in a shellacked updo like hers and glued a snowflake beauty spot on my cheek.
I was feeling the holiday spirit as I mixed up the sugar cookie dough. To make it dense, I used more flour and eggs. I put that dough in the fridge then started on the gingerbread cookie dough, zipping along on my baking high.
The only problem? My outfit was starting to get in the way. My sleeves had fur cuffs, and I was afraid they were going to shed and contaminate the food. I was in mid strip when Owen walked up with Rudolph.
“I don't know whether I should be worried or turned on,” he said in that deep voice that gave me a flashback of last night.
“I have a bright-red romper on underneath it,” I said, sticking my tongue out at him and handing him the coat to hang up somewhere away from my dough.
“I like your outfit,” Owen said. “Come upstairs and let me take it off of you.”
“I am making three thousand cookies,” I told him. “I don't have time to christen your office.”
“Three thousand? That seems excessive.”
“You have a ton of employees,” I said, measuring out flour.
Owen hovered next to me. “You smell like sugar cookies,” he murmured. “You should skip this contest and come upstairs.”
“I have baking to do!” I said and sent him away.
I took a deep breath and went back to my gingerbread cookies. I had to mix up several batches of the dough. Fortunately, I was used to making large batches of cookies. Hello, failing subscription baking service!
The gingerbread was spicy and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness from the molasses. I stuffed it into the fridge next to the sugar cookie dough then started on the last set of cookies. I mixed bags of dried cranberries, macadamia nuts, and some oatmeal into the cookie dough, turning it caramel colored. It, too, went into the fridge. Then I strategized. I was going to bake the cookies into cups, line them with chocolate to create a moisture barrier, then fill them with booze.
I had mini muffin tins to form the cookie shot glasses. The oatmeal cookies and the gingerbread cookies I wasn't too worried about; they were hardy. Sugar cookies could be finicky, however. I didn't want them to taste raw. I made balls of dough, careful not to overwork them, and put each one into the mini muffin pan, slid them into the oven, and crossed my fingers.
My gamble paid off. I took them out halfway through the cooking time and smashed them in the cups, creating little bowls. Then I put them back in the oven, and when the timer went off, I had perfect little sugar cookie shot glasses.
Romance Creative had given us three ovens each since we had to bake for a crowd. I was grateful, though it was a lot to juggle. I was quickly running out of counter space.
“Coming through!” Amber shouted, practically running as she carried a huge sheet cake. I grabbed my cookie pans before she could accidentally knock them off the table. I hissed; they were still hot.
“Stop trying to sabotage me,” I snapped at my stepsister.
“I'm not trying to sabotage you,” she retorted. “Stop being so full of yourself. Just because you're sleeping with Owen—and yes, everyone knows—doesn't mean people are out to get you. Get over yourself!”
“I'm not full of myself,” I countered hotly. “This is the third time you've tried to ruin my dessert!”
