Ergebnis von "Alina Jacobs" in Alle Kategorien

Momma’s gonna have herself a very merry Christmas revenge. Swapping the salt and sugar so his Christmas cookies are ruined? Be still, my shriveled little heart. Spying on him so I can gather recon to ruin his holidate? Damn, I forgot how ripped his chest was. Sneaking down his chimney to steal all the presents under his tree? Amateur hour. Until I get caught....

Armed with comfy pants, overpriced coffee, and a highly anxious emotional-support corgi, I prepare to face him. Corporate boss. Villain. Salinger Svensson. I step into his office. His perfect mouth twists into a sneer. There is no heart of gold beneath that suit, just a big black pit. He’s a shark in the frothy waters of high-stakes finance. He might be the archetypal-asshole CEO, causing all in his path to quake in fear, but he’s never had to face down a basic bitch in her thirties.

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?

Bullies never get what’s coming to them. No, I didn’t put poison in their food - I am a jam maker, and food is sacred. But I did plot the most epic plan of revenge. I needed to get one over on the biggest baddest high school bully and prove that I wasn’t the awkward pushover anymore, just like Weston wasn’t the obnoxious teenager anymore. Now, he was a powerful billionaire. Though he’s taller, sexier, bigger, I need to stay on my guard. I know men like Weston don’t really change. Or did he?

After the first taste of her Christmas cookies I wanted to shove the whole thing in my face. The whole plate of cookies, that is. Not...you know. Christmas is bad enough without one of The Great Christmas Bake-Off contestants all wrapped up in a bow under my tree. Er...I meant...Christmas is horrible, right? Holly. Christmas is like the perfect sugar cookie - it slowly melts in your mouth, sweetening every taste bud, making you wish it could last forever. I love Christmas! I love the cheerful music, the fun sweaters, and the holiday lights.

Growing up in a polygamist cult, crazy defined my life. Everyone was crazy - my father, his wives, my older brothers who abandoned me. Though I can’t escape the crazy brothers, I think I’ve finally managed to find balance.... Until some crazy, curvy girl storms into the restaurant, interrupts my date, and dumps an entire table's worth of food on me.

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.

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.

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. It's flattering how much she wants my peonies. And I don't mind personally delivering.

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.

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 like he owns the place. My boss is going down. But he’s harder to get rid of than I thought. Snack-addicted raccoons, angry squatters, and ghosts - nothing seems to faze him. It’s time to bring out the big guns - I have two of them strapped to my chest!

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. But you know what? It’s fine - totally fine. It’s freedom! I could do anything! I could start a bakery or farm the mushrooms growing in my soggy apartment carpet. Or I could just show up at the temp office at hate o’clock in the morning for a new assistant job.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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, insult what he had under his fig leaf, and imply I was running a brothel. My career as an artist was a joke. I was desperately trying to live the #bossbabe life after I couldn't hack it as an artist in New York City and moved back to my small hometown. Now my business is failing. But hey, suffering is inspirational, right?

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.

Crash-land on an alien barbarian planet and told there’s no way home? Anyone else might have a nervous breakdown, but I was abducted with my besties! Between us, we have fifteen PhDs. We will be getting off this planet. Trust. Two liquid hydrogen rockets and a smidge of deep-space travel later, and we’re back home on Earth. Except that our spaceship had stowaways. Now there’s a seven-foot-tall alien named Cassius in my Los Angeles condo. He’s calmly explaining that, according to the ancestors, we are to be eternally mated and have a litter of children.

Vidanric reminds me daily that he despises Earth and wants to go home. He’s miserable, and so am I—even though I can’t help but admire the view when he’s standing shirtless in my kitchen making a smoothie. Loudly. At three in the morning. My horoscope didn’t prepare me for any of this. He chewed up and ate one of the inspirational notes I gave him. He cooks squirrels in my cast-iron skillet. He complains nonstop about my annoying Earth-girl habits. This alien’s not grumpy—he’s downright hostile.