✍ Scribed by Megan Wade
No coin nor oath required. For personal study only.
Sugarplums. They should be dancing in my head. But they aren’t. Why? Because I’m spending my Christmas Eve under the rule of the biggest Scrooge I know. My boss. Lincoln Maverick. He’s gorgeous. He’s a billionaire. And he’s an evil workaholic who demands his assistant works even longer than he does. I’m the fifth one he’s had this year, and I’m about to make him interview for his sixth. When the clock strikes twelve, my Christmas gift to myself is a resignation letter on his desk and the intention of walking my curvy behind out the door. The last reaction I expected from him was a relieved thank you. Now, there’s nothing standing in his way. Lincoln Maverick wants one thing this Christmas. Me…
📜 SIMILAR VOLUMES
Cookies. They‘re sweet and crumbly. In my bakery, they’re a melt-in-your-mouth delicacy. People drive miles out of their way for a box of fudgey choc chip. Any cookie you can think of, we make it. We don’t serve sandwiches. For some reason, the tall and muscular stranger from out of town can’t get
Suckers. They’re sweet and sticky, and when I was a kid, my dad’s best friend would give me a cherry-flavored sucker, pat me on the head and call me, angel. He was one of my favorite people. But as I grew, the suckers stopped, and he stopped visiting too. I wasn’t allowed to say his name either, and
Those are the words running on repeat in Sawyer Dixon’s head when he sees Katie Wilder for the first time in five years. As the owner of Sweet Curves Bakery, Katie spends her days making other people’s big days perfect with zero time leftover for a life of her own. When she wanders through the door
Lacey: I’ve had the day from hell and all I want to do is get out of this store and go home. Being roped into filling in for a missing elf at Santa’s Grotto is the last thing I want to be doing, but when I see who’s playing Santa this year, a whole flood of memories awakens something inside me. No
My brother swears his roommate in college was an bonafide prince. And if it wasn’t for the ridiculousness of that notion, I might believe him. But, seriously, what kind of prince attends a second-rate college in South Carolina? A prince of thieves, perhaps? Still, he insists it’s the truth. So, when