Tangled in Tinsel （Holidates #1）
Trilina Pucci
synopsis
Imagine being snowed in with four hot, successful men.
P.S. They’ve all played the hero in too many of your naughtiest dreams.
Problem is, you work for them, and that makes them off-limits.
Except now they’re looking at you like you’re Santa’s cookies.
And they definitely want to take a bite.
Talk about making you reconsider your life choices.
These four are aiming for Santa’s naughty list, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting: Jace
Reed
Alec
…and Cole
for Christmas.
It might’ve started as a decorating job.
But it ended Tangled in Tinsel.
playlist
Baby, It’s Cold Outside—Frank Sinatra
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree—Brenda Lee
Kiss Me It’s Christmas—Leona Lewis
Naughty List—Liam Payne & Dixie D’Amelio
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas—Michael Bublé
Blue Christmas—Elvis Presley
Underneath the Tree—Kelly Clarkson
All I Want for Christmas Is You—Mariah Carey
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!—Frank Sinatra
I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus—The Jackson 5
Sleigh Ride—The Ronettes
Step Into Christmas—Elton John
Christmas Wrapping—Spice Girls
White Christmas—Bill Pinkney and The Drifters
My Kind of Present—Meghan Trainor
Santa Baby—Eartha Kitt
Mistress for Christmas—AC/DC
Back Door Santa—Clarence Carter
Christmas in Hollis—Run-D.M.C.
Jingle Bell Rock—Hall & Oates
I’ll Be Home for Christmas—Tate McRae
Kiss You This Christmas—Why Don’t We
Merry Christmas, Baby—Christina Aguilera
Last Christmas—Wham!
dedication
To long car conversations, explanatory knee-swaying videos, and Christmas puns. This one’s for us, Katie. And for everyone else in need of an escape during an otherwise, “I’m gonna need to take another deep breath” kind of day. This is for you too.
Here’s to a smutty holiday season!
dear reader,
This year, I wanted to create something fun and special for us. So I decided to provide an “every woman” experience with this book. That means the heroine is not described. I did it on purpose to allow anyone reading the chance to picture themselves or someone who looks like them. I really tried to keep her as vague as possible. So enjoy, because this one’s for you and you and you and YOU!
xoxo, Trilina
The snow is gently falling.
The smell of cinnamon fills the air.
As our heroine, Samantha, decorates Christmas trees without care.
But soon, a storm will whip through the house.
And force our heroes to erase all their doubts.
Because upon this magical, blistering eve,
dirty, delicious ideas will they weave.
And the longer the snow holds steady outside, these four men will take this girl on a cock-filled ride.
So, let’s peek inside to watch it unfold.
Rejoice!
There are dirty fucking deeds for us to behold.
one
“Baby, it’s cold outside.”
Christmas music plays in my ears as I scan the twenty-foot Douglas fir. It’s moments like this that make being an interior designer worth it. I’ve been left alone, given an unlimited party budget to deck the halls, so to speak, in this cozy yet extravagant cabin.
I smile to myself as I take in the snow gently falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows set aside the fireplace crackling below the hearth I just decorated with holly.
If the guests don’t ooh and ahh when they walk into this great room, I will personally pelt them with snowballs. The view alone is a scene from one of those Hallmark movies where the heroine works at a flower shop nobody ever seems to visit. But she still lives in a house outside the normal budget for anyone not coasting past six figures. God, I love those.
But even if my client doesn’t love this—he will—life could be worse. Trust me, last year, I was listening to how plaid is the new gingham by a woman who lets her poodles kiss her on the mouth for way too long. They were, like, really in there, sorting around her molars. I shiver, remembering how gross it was.
This year, however, has set a new bar. It was out with the Karens, and in with the four best clients a girl could ask for.
I tilt my head, trying to scope out the perfect spot for the star in my hand as ringing interrupts the music in my ear.
“Hey, what’s up?” I answer, tapping one of my AirPods, already knowing who it is. “I’m knee-deep in tinsel and red balls.”
My sister snorts from the other end.
“It’s better than blue ones.”
I push to my tiptoes on the ladder, placing the star in the perfect spot.
“You’re dumb. But what’s up? Make it quick. I’m pretty sure Mr. Price and his associates will be back soon.”
She whistles. “Wait, you’re working for that hot-ass CEO again—you left that out this morning when you tore out of here.”
“One, I was going to be late because the roads were already slushy. Two, I told you I was doing some fun festivities decorating for a who’s-who private party. That’s all the info you need.”
She’s not even listening to me because she keeps going.
“—And let’s not forget his band of equally fuckable friends. Are those the ‘associates’ because I’d like them to associate their tongue with my—”
“Oh my god,” I rush out, interrupting her. “I’m hanging up on you. You’re so disgusting. I’m working. What do you want?”
I can picture her evil grin.
“Come on. Fess up…you’ve never, ever thought about it?”
I look over my shoulder before I answer her.
“I’m perfectly capable of entertaining my fantasies with the help of my vibrator. There. Happy?”
“You’re so boring.”
“Hanging up,” I counter, sing-songy.
“Shut up. I’m calling because have you checked the news?”
I’m shaking my head as I climb down the ladder.
“No, I haven’t. What about I’m working is so confusing?”
The sound of her television gets louder until I hear every word.
If you wished for a white Christmas, it looks like Jack Frost has finally arrived.
We’re expecting a record number of inches here in many parts of the East Bay. And in Stanislaus County and its surrounding areas, we’re anticipating feet, not inches, of snow. It’s all happening pretty quickly, folks. Make sure you bundle up because, as you can see, the temperatures are dropping by the minute. It’s time to bring in that firewood and make that last trip to the store because you’ll need those marshmallows for roasting over the next week. You can see Highway 80 here, and it’s already a mess—
Elle’s voice takes over again as the television gets quiet.
“Don’t you take Highway 80? Sam, please tell me you’re done and heading home in the next three minutes.”
I reach around to my back pocket, pulling out my phone. Shit, shit, shit.
“Sam,” she presses, but I don’t answer.