Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
In fact, she's probably on Santa's Naughty List.
No, that’s not a cheesy line. Her boss literally makes a “naughty or nice” list every year for his employees—and her endless arguments and late-night sparring sessions with him have landed her on the former.
But fate suddenly gives her a break when Saint A**hole finds himself in a his family’s inheritance depends on him being happily engaged before Christmas.
And he has the audacity to ask her for help.
All she has to do is find him a fiancée for the holidays, and she’ll get a fat bonus and a much-deserved break.
At least, that’s what she thought…
Until she ends up playing the role herself.
From New York Times bestselling author Whitney G. comes a hilarious, steamy marriage-for-convenience holiday romance for fans of Four Christmases and The Proposal
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
JENNA
Last December
There are certain people in this world who deserve to be at the top of Santa’s “naughty” list every single year.
Diners who are rude to their servers for no reason and leave inspirational quotes for tips? Here—take your coal and choke on it.
People who record everything on their phones and turn strangers into minor characters in their drama? Shamelessly naughty. Permanently revoke their Wi-Fi.
And lastly? Filthy-rich CEOs who turn year-end bonuses into an over-the-top “naughty or nice list” ceremony with enough spite to cover the Empire State Building.
Spoiler alert: He’s a man who deserves to be dragged under Santa’s sleigh for the rest of his life—but until then, he’s my unfortunate, Grinch-like boss, Nicholas Saint.
It would take five thousand pages for me to tell you exactly why he deserves to be publicly stoned with every piece of coal on earth. Alas, since I was currently headed to work at five in the morning just to check a blinking light on one of his Christmas trees, I believe that says enough.
I made sure my employee keycard was in my bag before slipping out of my condo and into Manhattan’s light snow.
“Happy holidays, Miss Dawson!” The town car driver smiled at me as I slipped into the backseat. “Ready for another wonderful day at Saint Tech Industries?”
“Happy holidays, Francis,” I said, refusing to answer that question.
Chuckling, he pulled onto the icy streets and handed me a hot coffee.
When we reached a stoplight, his eyes met mine in the mirror.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile at all this year, Miss Dawson.”
“I haven’t had much to smile about.” I tried to force one, but it was useless. “This year is probably going down as one of the worst of my life.”
“If you’d like, I can make a quick detour so we can egg your ex–best friend’s car again,” he said. “I keep a carton in the trunk just for the occasion.”
“Um…” A lump rose in my throat as I considered the offer. It’d only been eight months since I caught her screwing my ex-boyfriend, and I still wasn’t over it.
No matter how many times I tried to convince myself that we weren’t going to work out anyway, the memory of her apple-red nails digging into his back was enough to make tears prick my eyes.
“I can cover her entire windshield in ten seconds flat,” Francis said, his voice soft. “Just say the word.”
“No, thank you.” I shook my head. “Maybe some other day, though.”
“I’ll happily take you up on that.” He smiled and turned up the radio, allowing Let It Snow to sift through the speakers.
Like the perfect driver he was, he took the scenic route to headquarters—bypassing all the monuments that marked my terrible year.
Only a few weeks left in this year, Jenna. A few more weeks.
Twinkling wreaths and twenty-foot nutcrackers towered as we pulled in front of headquarters.
Stepping out and rushing up the steps, I braced myself for another month of Mr. Saint’s holiday bullshit.
The moment I stepped into the lobby, the scent of pine needles and gingerbread cookies smacked me in the face.
If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought I’d wandered onto a movie set for Santa’s wonderland. A forest of decorated trees lined the hall, red and gold garland curled around the grand staircase, and a stage featured a real-life Santa sleigh and twelve reindeer.
Satan (Mr. Saint)
Did you forget that I told you to come in two hours early today?
My blinking tree is not going to fix itself…
“Ugh…” I groaned and spotted the blinking culprit behind the mailbox.
Adjusting the settings, I made sure no bulbs were missing before unplugging and replugging it.
I didn’t forget.
It’s fixed.
Satan (Mr. Saint)
I need you to double-check all the décor and set up for the ceremony. Preferably with a sense of urgency.
A ‘thank you’ would be nice, Mr. Saint…
I agree. You’re very welcome for all I do for you.
It took everything in me not to send him the fuck you, asshole text he deserved.
Distracting myself with his holiday nonsense, I looked over the catering tables, checked the photography stations, and then—I stopped.
I saw them.
The lists.
Stacked in alphabetical gold boxes, each one filled with individual envelopes for every employee.
Last year, I’d received a standard All interns are nice box, but now that I’d been promoted to his assistant, I should’ve had my own personal one.
After checking the lobby to make sure no one else was there, I opened the first “D” box and found my name.
I slipped my pen under the wax seal, certain I could glue it back in time for the ceremony.
The moment it gave way, I pulled out a beautiful silver sheet of paper that featured Mr. Saint’s handwriting.
Dear Jenna Dawson,
I made a list and checked it twice,
to determine if you were naughty or nice…
You are
NAUGHTY.
That means you will NOT receive a bonus this year.