Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
A note on the first page tumbles out as I flip through it.
Cat art and superstitions are just a few of my favorite things. Merry Christmas, Miss Bristol.
Holy hell.
I stare at it so long it becomes a permanent part of my retinas.
I’m equal parts hollowed out and flooded with this strange heat.
I wonder what ghosts paid Scrooge a visit last night and knocked the Christmas spirit into him?
Let’s be real.
I’m ecstatic. I want to hug it and dance around, but I’m also in public, in the office, so I set the planner on my desk and go about my day. My cheeks hurt from smiling by the time eight o’clock rolls around.
As I print contracts to check for missing items and finish the filing, I keep glancing at it, wondering how to thank him. Wondering what it means, if it isn’t just one more of his silly games.
As long as I’m yours, I’m lucky.
Does he mean it?
I don’t see Mag the whole evening. He snuck out for a meeting across town and never came back. So before I leave the office, I fire off a quick text.
Thanks for the planner. You caught me by surprise. Of course I add a black cat emoji and a Christmas tree.
Mag: Planner? I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Yeah. Because anyone else on the planet would tease me with my own cat art and superstitions?
Liar, I fire back.
Mag: Prove it.
Sabrina: That’s basically a confession.
Mag: So you’ve joined my legal team now? Shame, you’ll be taking a pay cut.
I send an emoji with the tongue out and type, Whatever, boss. I already do a better job than they do saving your ass.
After work, I go back to the apartment, still getting barraged by messages from the Grump Who Gave Christmas and trying not to laugh.
Paige dances into the room with a green elf hat on and the world’s ugliest sweater.
“Um...you have jingle bells over your nipples,” I tell her, doing a double take.
“Oh, put that thing down, Brina!” she belts out, passing me a glass of mulled wine she just made. “The big man says no working whatsoever. It’s almost Christmas Eve!”
“The big man?”
“Ho, ho, ho!” she rumbles. “Word on the street is, he’s a lot higher up than that Magnum d-bag.”
Oof. I should’ve known.
“Need help wrapping stuff for your folks?”
She dives down on the sofa next to me and we talk about our holiday plans, never missing an opportunity to tell me to go out and get laid. I just tell her I need to get away.
Since she’ll be staying in the city, Paige lends me her car, and I drive home to the ’burbs. If I’m not going into the office every day, I might as well spend some time in my old bedroom. Except for Thanksgiving, I haven’t seen my parents nearly enough ever since Dad’s heart appointments.
I swing the front door open—still unlocked, sigh—and step inside.
It’s warm and cozy as ever with a crackling fire. My nostrils bristle, gingerbread and sugary goodness everywhere. I grin.
“I see Mom made cookies already,” I say, turning to lock the door. For the next few days, at least, I’ll know they’re safe.
Mom bolts in from the kitchen and hugs me, practically lifting me off my feet.
“This is the best Christmas ever! My baby is home, and I’m a bestseller!”
Oh, Magnus Heron.
You thought you were helping, but you’ve created an author-monster.
“Congratulations, Mom. And I come home for Christmas every year.”
She pats my cheek. “Oh, I know you do, because you’re the best daughter ever. Aren’t you pumped for my big win with Farm Love? Everybody adores Sir Oinkswell! My next book is gonna sell even more!”
She scrunches up her nose and makes this obnoxious pig noise.
Moms. Gotta love ’em, right?
I hug her again. “I know, and I’m so happy for you. But I’m just saying...don’t be surprised if it’s a while before you hit the list again. They can’t all be blockbusters.”
“Well, since I hit the list, I’ve been selling like a hundred more copies per day! And the reviews don’t lie. The people want sexy Marines taking down evil clowns and winning the girl.” Mom moves away from me and claps excitedly.
My smile falls. “You’re selling that many?”
Oh, crap. Heron, what the hell are you doing?
Because I haven’t been buying them. I find her book on my phone, and the reviews look genuine enough...
I’m just as surprised as anyone this boost might’ve been the kick she needed to hook a real audience. And if it’s all thanks to my beast of a boss, I have all the more reason to thank him.
She smiles so huge her face lights up. “Some of my other books are trickling in sales, too. The backlist is fired up and catching readers. I’m a real author, Brina. You’re going to see my stuff on Netflix and cable someday! It’s so exciting. I’ve been at this for twenty years.”