“I have to go to work,” I complained. “I can't be here all day!”
“Do your interviews, and then you can go. Your company headquarters is upstairs. It's not like your commute is long.”
I strode over to Holly, determined to get this over with. She was chattering to herself, puffs of flour coming out of the noisy machine she was using.
Aren't bakers supposed to be crazy?And now she was in my house.So are all those other people.
Yes, but Holly was sleeping in my bed. I would never be able to clean out that scent of cinnamon and sugar.
I waited impatiently as she kept talking to herself.
“I sleep partially clothed,” I said finally butting in. I could not be here all day. The smell of sugar and the strong pine scent from the garland were starting to give me a headache.
“You do?” she asked me. Her eye was twitching a bit, as if she wanted to look me up and down.
“Of course. Sleeping when it's too hot is the worst.”
“I thought you hated winter,” she demanded.
“I hate Christmas, but winter is the perfect time of year,” I retorted.
Zane, one of the camera guys, was framing his shot, and he motioned for me to start talking about her dessert.
Let's get this over with.
I gritted my teeth. “Would you care to talk about what you're baking?”
Holly adjusted the sweater dress. I tried not to stare. It hugged her curves, the knit collar dipping down to frame her cleavage.
Be calm.
I didn't need someone like Holly in my life. I had gone on that one disastrous date with Sloane six months ago, and I would never date a woman again. No, I needed to concentrate on my business.
“I'm making a chocolate tart,” Holly said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “The key to a good tart is the crust—it should be buttery, just a little sweet, slightly crunchy, but still tender. Like a good man!”
“You like your men buttery?” I asked, confused.
“I don't mind it when my men are a little greased up,” she said, doing a little shimmy. Her tits jiggled in the low-cut neckline. I looked up at the ceiling. Someone had hung a whole reindeer family up there.
“But for the tart, we don't want the butter hot. I need it ice-cold. Like you, Mr. Frost!” She winked. It was… well, it was sexy. But I only noticed it in an objective, dispassionate way.
I stood there while she made the dough. I didn't know how long Dana wanted me to talk to the contestants. If I left too early, Dana would storm upstairs and find me and drag me back to the studio. She did not screw around when it came to her business.
I watched as Holly made the crust, narrating as she mixed the flour, salt, and sugar. Then she dumped it out on the counter and began working it with a metal torture-device-looking thing.
“This is a pastry blender,” she explained. “I start the dough with a food processor but like to finish the job by hand. Otherwise I think it gets the dough too excited!” She stuck her tongue out slightly as she added the egg yolk, vanilla, and cream.
“Now,” she said, rolling it into a long yellow tube of dough, “we put it in the fridge so it gets nice and stiff.”
Zane smirked behind the camera. Was there something going on with them? I had assumed Holly was flirting with me, but had she been flirting with Zane?
I shook my head as I took off the microphone. What did I care? I had a company to run.
*
I had barely madeit upstairs to my office when Walker Svensson, my COO, accosted me.
“Dude, you didn't tell me!” he said around the candy cane he had in his mouth like a cigar.
