Page 2 of Dirty Little Christmas

The closer we get to Georgia's final shoot, the worse my temper grows. Sue me. I've been unrelentingly hard for two months straight. It's enough to make anyone crazy.

"I didn't order a suit, Jill." I cut my eyes at the garment bag. "Especially not a Santa suit."

"Oh." Her thin lips pull down into a frown. "Georgia said you were playing Santa tonight at the party…. Maybe I misunderstood."

Georgia.Of course she's behind this.

"I'm sure you didn't," I mutter, my tone dry. This right here is exactly why I can't get our new model out of my head. She's exactly the right combination of devilish and sweet to keep myblood pumping and my blood pressure soaring. I never know what she's going to do next to stress me out.

I shouldn't find that nearly as attractive as I do, and yet every single time she throws some new wrench into my plans or hits me with a curve ball, I want to scoop her up into my arms and ravish her body with pleasure until she breaks.

She needs a daddy to settle her little ass down.

That man will be me. Ithasto be me. If it's not, I'm going to snap. End of story.

But I'm not playing fucking Santa Claus tonight. If my little princess thinks otherwise, she's going to be sorely disappointed.

"Give me the suit," I say, thrusting out my hand. "I'll handle it."

Jill darts forward, shoving it into my hands like it's cursed. She nearly takes my finger off with the boots.

I bite out a smile. Judging by the way her face pales, it's not a friendly one.

"Thank you," I add for good measure.

She scurries out again, her brown hair practically flying behind her. I'm killing my brother for hiring her. She's a sweet girl, but she's terrified of her own shadow. I have a design room full of temperamental artists. They're going to eat her alive.

I toss the suit over my arm and follow her out, turning right toward Alaric's office. I find him at his desk, his feet up, his tie undone, tossing a stress ball at the ceiling. Though, why he has said ball in the first place, I don't know. Alaric never stresses about anything. He's more likely to be causing stress than feeling the selfsame.

"Do you ever actually work?" I ask him.

"Nope." He catches the ball before launching it into the air again. "You won't let me see the pictures of Georgia, so I'm on strike."

I growl a wordless warning. Hell will freeze over before he sees those photos. He may be my brother, but I will bury his body where no one will ever find it. It's not like he really wants to see the pictures anyway. He just likes fucking with me. He knows exactly how gone I am over her. It's quality entertainment as far as he's concerned.

"Jealous bastard." He flashes me a shit-eating grin, his gaze sliding toward the suit in my hands. "What the fuck is that?"

"Georgia sent it. Apparently, she thinks I'm playing Santa at the party tonight."

"You're serious?" He sits forward in his chair so fast his legs fall off the desk, thumping against the floor. The ball lands beside his chair with a soft thud. His dark eyes light up, a crack of laughter escaping his lips. "Oh, this is fucking great! I was planning to skip out early, but now I'm definitely staying for the whole shit show."

"I'm not playing Santa," I growl.

"Yeah, you are." He grins. "As soon as she smiles at you, you're going to cave like a sandcastle, bro. I can't wait to see this shit."

"I'm not playing Santa."

He's too busy laughing to take me seriously. If he doesn't breathe soon, he's going to die on the floor. I probably won't do CPR. If our mother were still alive, she'd understand.

"I hate you."

He guffaws again, pounding his fist on the desk.

I leave him to die alone, ducking out of his office in search of Georgia. Our new building is massive, but we use every inch of space. My mom built this company from the ground up, turning it into the industry icon it is today. She knew decades ago what so many others failed to see until recently: plus-size women deserve beautiful clothing too.

Since she died five years ago, Alaric and I have taken it to new heights. The new lingerie line is already sold out and it doesn't even drop until late January.

I take the stairs down to the design floor, confident that's where I'll find Georgia. She spends most of her time there, being fitted for one thing or another. Sure enough, I find her in the sewing room. Scraps of fabric are strewn from one side of the room to another, along with mannequins in every state of undress.

---