Santa's Treat E-Book

Mia Kingsley

• Herausgeber: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 87

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Everything goes downhill the second Santa starts eating my cake…   Being as broke as I am, I can barely afford the ingredients for my signature Christmas cake, but I scrape together every last penny I own to make it happen. The man who hired me is an illustrious playboy with many rich friends—some of them will probably want to buy my baked goods after tasting my cake at his expensive Christmas fundraiser. Everything goes according to plan until I find Santa in the kitchen, his mouth full of my cake. And that's not the worst thing Santa does that night…   This is a dark romance novella with a sweet happy ending. Expect a bossy hero taking what he wants from the woman of his dreams, and a fierce baker standing her ground. Please note that "Santa's Treat" was previously published under the title "Santa's Pretty Secret" in the USA Today Bestselling Anthology "Secret Santa."

Leseprobe

SANTA’S TREAT

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK ROMANCE

CONTENTS

Santa’s Treat

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

About the Author

SANTA’S TREAT

Everything goes downhill the second Santa starts eating my cake…

Being as broke as I am, I can barely afford the ingredients for my signature Christmas cake, but I scrape together every last penny I own to make it happen. The man who hired me is an illustrious playboy with many rich friends—some of them will probably want to buy my baked goods after tasting my cake at his expensive Christmas fundraiser.

Everything goes according to plan until I find Santa in the kitchen, his mouth full of my cake. And that's not the worst thing Santa does that night…

This is a dark romance novella with a sweet happy ending. Expect a bossy hero taking what he wants from the woman of his dreams, and a fierce baker standing her ground.

Please note that "Santa’s Treat" was previously published under the title "Santa’s Pretty Secret" in the USA Today Bestselling Anthology "Secret Santa".

CHAPTER1

FRANCES

George Michael is busy telling me about his last Christmas and his predictions for this year as I sift the last third of the flour into my batter. It looks all fluffy and creamy and delicious.

It’s a good thing that baking relaxes me and takes my stress away—otherwise, I’d probably be screaming right now.

Baking this Christmas miracle of a cake requires at least two people, and usually, my roommate Paula helps me. But not this year because three weeks ago, Paula decided to skip town. I came home from securing the most important gig of my career—baking my famous Christmas cake for the most illustrious event of the season—only to find her gone and her best friend in tears in our living room.

Now, I’m not only broke from buying all the ingredients for the cake, but I’m also short on rent. Paula really had amazing timing. Instead of celebrating my win, I had to comfort her best friend since my roommate was on a plane to Hawaii with her sugar daddy, who turned out to be her best friend’s dad. Her very married best friend’s dad.

I turn around and almost stumble over Charon. His little tail starts wagging, and I know what he wants. The tiny fucker didn’t get the memo that he is a dog because he’s absolutely crazy about butter. That’s right. Butter. As soon as I start baking, he becomes my shadow. I googled it a million times, and while he shouldn’t eat butter as it upsets his stomach, it’s luckily not poisonous to him. I still have to keep a close eye on Paula’s Chihuahua while I work with the stuff because that’s the only time Charon suddenly has enough energy to get really creative on how to climb the kitchen counter.

Although I guess he’s my dog now. I mean, I already renamed him because I absolutely refuse to call him Armani. Paula’s taste has always been and always will be… questionable.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and grab the vanilla from the counter. There are a million steps between now and driving the finished cake to the venue, but I still have nineteen hours left. That’s totally doable if I avoid eating, sleeping, peeing, and any kind of mental breakdown.

Speaking of mental breakdown—did I chop the roasted hazelnuts? No, wait, I actually have to roast them first. This is a catastrophe!

I feel something on my right foot and look down to see Charon planting his butt on my toes. He stares right at me, knowing full well how annoying he is.

"You know I totally don’t like dogs, right?"

His ears twitch because we both know that I’m a liar. Renaming him and letting him sleep in my bed were basically the first two things I did after Paula’s departure. I saved the hopeless crying for later once I realized that I had no one left to help me with the cake.

I wiggle my toes free and softly push Charon to the side so I don’t accidentally step onto all of his 3.6 pounds. He tries the puppy dog eyes and fails miserably. Charon is as black as night, and so are his eyes, which give you the impression of staring into an endless void with really bad breath. I figure that’s what it’s like to look at the ferryman of Hades who carries your soul over the river Styx. Alright, I might have been a bit down when I picked Charon’s new name, but somehow it really suits him.

Back to the cake. I need this win badly. It came as a bit of a surprise that Cullen Lane picked my cake for his big charity gala. That thing is a career-maker for everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re a caterer, florist, or simply the print shop responsible for the invitations; once billionaire playboy and philanthropist Cullen Lane picks your business for one of his parties, your orders will skyrocket. That’s exactly the kind of win I need after being let go by my former boss, failing with my own shop, and now having to operate out of my kitchen while hoping that the health department doesn’t find out.

If I just get this cake to the location, my streak of bad luck will finally be over.

CHAPTER2

ATTICUS

The fake beard causes a sudden urge to scratch my whole face, but I don’t move a muscle while standing in line with all the other actors, waiting for our identities to be checked before we can enter the building. Mine is obviously fake, but this whole thing is simply a formality so that the VIP guests feel safe when in reality, Cullen Lane couldn’t make it easier for someone like me to kill him. He even provided my costume.

The snow crunches under my black boots that came with Santa’s attire for this evening as the line moves forward. Only three more people, then I can enter the Lane tower where the charity party takes place. Tickets are a hundred grand each, which is ridiculous considering that I get paid a measly two hundred bucks for playing Santa for the whole event. But at least I get to wear a complete outfit. Those poor Christmas elves must be freezing to death in their slutty dresses.

If everything goes according to plan, I will make fifty grand for killing Lane and two hundred dollars for being Santa. I don’t know why he hired that many actors anyway since children aren’t even allowed at the party.

The guy at the door with the important-looking headset only glances at my fake ID before waving me through. I’ve been here a couple of times before, scoping the place out, but I will make another round now since a lot of decorations have been put in place that might block possible exits.

No one pays attention to Santa Claus as I make my way through the location. Everything looks super fancy—from the champagne glass tower to the giant ice sculpture shaped like a Christmas present with a pretty bow. I admire the snowflakes hanging from the ceiling and wonder where they got them. Although I’d rather die than publicly admit it, I have a fondness for Christmas. But it doesn’t go with my ruthless, cold-blooded killer image, so I’m keeping that information to myself, much like my retirement plans. This is my last contract ever, and it seemed fitting to pick a Christmas-themed one with minimal risk.

Behind me, throats are being cleared before the choir of angels starts their warm-up, chanting Christmas carols like there’s no tomorrow.

I cast one last look at the ceiling. Maybe before I kill him, I can ask Cullen Lane who decorated the place. Then I could call the decorator and ask where they got those snowflakes. They would make a nice addition to my own decorations. Yeah, maybe I will do that.

I check the exits and find two of the five doors locked. My preferred way out leads through the kitchen, though, as the door opens into a dark alley that no one will frequent that late at night since the parking lot is on the other side of the building. There’s nothing there besides trash cans.

No one tries to stop me as I walk into the kitchen. Everyone is busy with the last preparations, and I only have to sit in my chair overlooking the event, so there’s no need for a rehearsal on my part.

A smell hits me like a freight train. Chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, and roasted nuts waft into my nose, and my mouth immediately waters.

A spectacular cake sits in the middle of the kitchen on one of those serving carts. It’s high and pretty and smells just amazing. Like really, really amazing.

I need to check the door, but all I can think about is how badly I want a piece of that cake.

The outside is decorated with dark chocolate and little bits that look like snow has fallen onto the cake. Santa is hanging from the side, carrying the presents on his back, while climbing up the cake. It’s amazing, and knowing Cullen Lane, I bet it costs a boatload of money.

Since I won’t be able to eat any of the food served here tonight, I figure I might sneak in a bite now. Looking around in the kitchen, I find the cutlery and pick a fork. I should be able to hide my sin with Santa.

I pull the figurine to the side and stab the fork into the delicious goodness. It smells even better from up close. The sponge is airy and light. The little nut bits are roasted to perfection. This cake really… takes the cake.

Flavor explodes in my mouth, and I moan a little while holding the fake beard down with my other hand. That was even better than I anticipated. Whoever made this cake needs a raise and an award, and some really expensive hookers—this shit’s good.

Although I only wanted to take one bite, I can’t stop. I happily fork away at the cake, not even trying to cover up my crime anymore.

"What the actual fuck?"

I let the beard snap back into place, thanks to the elastic threat holding it up, and turn around slowly.

A gorgeous woman in a nice black dress hugging her every curve is staring right at me, murder in her eyes. "What do you think you’re doing, Santa?"

"Nothing."