A Naughty Santa Gram Read online

  A Naughty Santa Gram

  Sexy Holiday Grams, Inc.

  Alyssa D. Mynx

  Copyright © 2019 by Alyssa D. Mynx

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This one’s for Mr. Mynx, my main squeeze, the peanut butter to my jelly, the love of my life. I love you.

  Contents

  1. Bitchin’ and Moanin’

  2. Makeovers and Mischief

  3. The Interview

  4. Training Begins

  5. Dolling it up

  6. First Day on the Job

  7. Glitter Bomb

  8. Makeup and Catcalls

  9. Rollin’ in the Dough

  10. Platinum Days

  11. Platinum Nights

  12. Christmas in November

  13. The Boys and Memories

  14. Man Enough to Play the Game

  15. Truth or Dare

  16. A Little TLC

  17. Their Place

  18. Gamer Head

  19. The Past

  20. Broken

  That Epilogue No One Reads But Probably Should

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Blurb

  Want to know what it’s like living in your best friend’s closet?

  No?

  Well let me tell you it’s not glamorous.

  My name is Blake Jameson, and my fiance of two years just broke up with me for his younger - and hotter - assistant. And said fiance? He’s my boss, or was before the whole debacle began. Now, I’m twenty five, homeless, and jobless.

  Thankfully my BFF Jenna is here to save me, even gets me a lead to a fantastic job. Only problem? SHG Inc. only hires MEN for their Santa Grams. But I’m applying anyway. I’ve got nothing else to lose.

  But a “fantastic” job isn’t always as great as it seems. After an, ahem, incident with the boss and his four friends, I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose my job. Oh well, at least my bedroom has plenty of closet space.

  Warning

  This book contains references involving PTSD, sexual assault recollections, abuse, and other themes that some readers may find triggering.

  “And this is the walk-in clo- uh, the walk-in bedroom. Your bedroom.” Jenna’s voice rises in pitch as she opens the door to what used to be her closet. Not anymore, folks. Now it’s my new address. The Closet Under Some Shoes, Number 4 No Privacy Lane, Los Angeles. Has a catchy ring to it.

  I shrug. “It’s… cute. Small. Good thing I don't have much stuff, right?” I joke as I hang back, taking a few deep breaths to settle myself. The faintest hint of lavender tickles my nose, and I let go of my breath. Times sure have changed for me. I used to have a room with a king-sized bed and space for a sitting area and tv, and now I’m in a walk-in closet that’s big enough to have held a bench in the middle but still too small for any bed larger than a single mattress.

  “I know it’s not much, but it’s home for as long as you need it, Blake. I moved as much as I could to the bedroom, and what wouldn’t fit in the bedroom, I moved to one side, so you’ll have plenty of space to store everything,” my leggy redhead of a BBF soothes, turning to give me a gentle hug. Her embrace is warm, and the scent of lavender is so strong that I’m thinking she must use it as both perfume and shit spray.

  “You’re my Best Bitch Forever, so you know I’ll always let you stay.” She pats my head as she tightens her hug, then releases me, gripping my shoulders as she flips her hair. “Though, you do need to move out eventually after you get on your feet. Deal?” She hesitates, searching my eyes.

  “Duh, dumbass. I won’t be here long enough to wear out my welcome,” I mutter, rolling my eyes then giving her a look. “I just need to find a job, make some money, pay my bills, and get myself a new place without that asshat. Oh, and possibly set his new Porsche on fire. Yeah, that may need to be a thing.”

  Jenna narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “No arson. Prison orange would totally NOT suit your look, love. Now, you get settled in, and when you're done, go ahead and come out to the kitchen, and we'll talk.” She smirks, lifting her well-defined chin and giving me a nod. “It sounds like we need a strong drink,”

  “Girl! It’s like three in the afternoon, nobody drinks at this time,” I let out, tossing my bags to the ground and sitting down on the twin-sized mattress in the small space.

  “Well, we fucking do, so let’s get lit! Besides, it’s like five o’clock in New York!” Jenna sings, sashaying through the doorway out of the closet- I mean, my bedroom- to the living space.

  “Ah, fuck it,” I groan to myself, letting my body fall back on the little bed. It’s not bad for a single, and it has some squish to it, but it definitely isn’t MY bed. Who has a single-sized mattress these days anyhow? And how did she find one that’s somewhat comfortable?

  Also, how am I supposed to move around and get to anything with the bed in the middle of my “room” like this? Mental note: Ask Jenna later. I allow myself a few more deep deep DEEP fucking breaths, letting the lingering lavender scent soothe me, then tell myself I have to get up from this bed and find myself a job so I can get my own place again. Thank God for best friends who live nearby.

  Groans escape me as I bring myself to my elbows and examine my new hobbit hole. Thankfully, for such a small looking space, it feels bigger on the inside. Probably due to the fact that literally everything -the walls, ceilings, built-ins, even those material tote things people use to store stuff- is white. Then there are the two doors, one to the living space and one to the bedroom. Also white.

  To break up the white, there are some black accents that give the room a classy effect rather than the padded room feel. There’s just enough to break up the white monotony. It's very Gucci. The light, for example, is one of those glass lanterns. The ones where the metal holding it is a nice shiny black. To add to that, the knobs on the drawers, the handles on the cupboards, and some of the bins holding scarves and such are black.

  I don't know how Jenna got this place, but I'm sure glad she did. The crown molding and the high ceilings really make her― I mean, our place look bigger. And the white. I think she went with white because it does make the space look better. Jenna also has the little french balcony in the bedroom. I'd love to sit and read out there. I just started Infected by Maya Riley, and my signed book calls to me

  Sighing, I heave myself the rest of the way up and groan as I look at my clothes and bags. Unlike my bestie’s crap, mine looks like a dog in heat ransacked it . Sure, she has a ton of stuff, but everything is organized to within an inch of its life. And just like her room, her wardrobe is mostly black and white. Oh well, ‘it's a hair stylist’s life,’ as she puts it. The most color I see in her closet is in her shoes. There's every single color of the rainbow and then some. Heels, kitten heels, flats, sandals, gladiators, boots, tennis shoes, Converse, custom-painted Vans, she pretty much has one of everything. And…it’s a great thing we share shoe sizes because I know whose closet I’m going to be raiding for job interviews… Well, it is technically my bedroom now, right?

  One large suitcase, a duffle bag, and a pillow later, I’m all done putting my entire life away. Setting up all your worldly possessions on one wall of a walk-in closet sure makes a girl feel small and insignificant... I miss my damned big screen TV. I miss its sixty inches and 4K Ultra HD Resolution. Oh, and I REALLY miss my king-sized bed. It was a memory foam too, and I had so much room to roll! Now if I roll, I’ll face plant into a white overly fluffy rug. At least I still have my
iPad to keep up with The Handmaid’s Tale.

  Feeling all the rolling emotions and agony from this day, I put on my gray “Go fuck yourself” leggings, because why not?Along with an overly-large white t-shirt and leave the closet behind for now. I exit through the living space door again, not wanting to get into Jenna’s things just yet... Later, my pretties, later. Then maybe I can convince her to share her bed at some point...

  Walking through the living area, I skirt around the large L-shaped couch and a half wall with wood bars, shaking my head at the obsessive yet tasteful still-white decor as I head to the kitchen. Jenna has some upbeat music on and is dancing in her socks and silky jammies. The tempo is deep, reverberating through my bones and grabbing my pitiful soul as it seems to whisper, “Dance, for tomorrow you cry.”

  “Oh hey, girl, hey! I have ice cream, chips, and pizza, and we’re going to drink way too much wine tonight because fuck Chad!” she exclaims, giggling before taking a swig directly from the wine bottle.

  “You know what? Fuck it. Forget Chad and his new nasty-ass bitch of a girlfriend! And fuck him for firing me! Give me the damned wine, woman, and let’s make this a night we don’t remember.” We both cheer at that last bit, and I take a loooong draw on the wine, wincing at the dryness.

  “Damn, got anything sweeter?” I choke out.

  “Later, darling, later. It’s a bit stronger. Let’s get the bitching and moaning out first while there’s a chance we may remember it. Oh, and I already pre-ordered AND pre-paid for the pizza.”

  I chuckle. “So there’s no chance of a repeat performance?”

  My bestie's head recoils, her eyes opening wide. “Dear Lord no, chickadee! That was the worst hangover in all of history. I could hardly foil hair the next day and almost choked out Mrs. Thomas. She just wouldn’t stop talking!” She gasps, covering her mouth as her eyes widen in mock horror. “Forgetting water and food while drinking is a bad idea. Thank goodness for coffee. It’s the only thing that saved me from wearing prison orange that day.”

  “I can honestly say I don’t remember much of that next day, just that Chad sent me home because I was green in the face every time I stood up.” I giggle, imagining sweet Jenna stabbing shears into a woman with 100+ foils in her hair.

  “Alrighty, back on track, Blakey-poo. Let it out, sweetie. Give me the goods, get it off your chest, and expunge all the negativity you’ve got,” Jenna encourages, moving swiftly to a high top chair and balancing on it with hands folded in front of her, a serene look on her face.

  “Yes, therapist Jenna. Where’s the damned bed if you’re going to work that face? Speaking of… how the hell am I supposed to move around in that closet with the bed like that?” I ask, throwing my hands up in the air.

  “Bedroom, darling, bedroom,” therapist Jenna replies. “It’s a Murphy bed, so it folds into that pretty space where I have the painting of the white owl. Then you’ll have room to pull out the chair or get dressed or whatever you want to do in there. Just tuck in everything, or when you bring it down, you’ll have a mess.” She shrugs, studying her nails. “Believe me, when you crawl in at 3 am, you don’t want to have to make the bed again.”

  “Ok, got it. Tuck it in, fold it up, whatever. Now, can I complain to my best bitch?” I ask.

  “Bitch away, bitch.”

  “He does not!” Jenna screeches, nearly breaking the sound barrier... and my ear drums three hours later.

  “He does! It’s like the size of a fat crayon, and he took absolutely forever to get that thing lit! Hell, I had to blow so hard just to get that cigar lit for him, and don't even get me started on how it smelled! It absolutely reeked, like if Satan was breaking wind, cause I swear that’s what it smelled like. Now he keeps a whole drawer of the smelly kind because he thinks it makes him look ‘manly.’ Like, no, you just look and smell like a douche canoe. Get some chocolate or coffee ones if you want to look ‘in style.’”

  “Answer me this: What is his dick like? Is it a fat crayon too?” Jenna asks, sliding her chair just a bit closer as she leans across the cold marble island, her smile building.

  “Sadly, that is like the only thing about the relationship I will miss. He had an average length dick, but oh, his girth. I could hardly wrap my hand around it, and it rubbed and stretched oh so good.” I sigh, a teasing wetness beginning between my legs. The memory of his decent little specimen has my thighs clenching. “But it’d been months since I’d even gotten any. Should've known he was cheating. I mean, I worked in his damned office!” I slam my wine glass down, my body tensing as I feel the blush rising in my face.

  “Woah girl. Don’t take out the anger on the wine glass. What’s it ever done besides give you the sweet nectar of forgetfulness?” Jenna asks, swiping my wine glass and cradling it. “If you want it back, you have to promise to be nice to it,” she announces, her mouth tight but her eyes glinting.

  I giggle, shake my head, and sit up properly. “Oh, dear wine glass, forgive me for my fuckery and give me plenty more wine to dull my senses on this horrible day. Can thou ever forgive a crude, mouthy peasant such as I?” I ask, barely reining in the laughter threatening to spill from my mouth.

  Jenna holds the glass to her ear. It's one of a set of four I got her for her last birthday. They're the little stemless glasses, and they all say, "Fuck this fucking day." Quite appropriate for today if you ask me since fat-crayon-sucking-dick-wad Chad broke up with me and fired me. My heart rate picks up, and my body gets hot. Yeah, fuck this fucking day.

  "Alright," she announces, her posture relaxing and a smile growing on her face, "The wine gods have spoken to the cup goddess, and they agree.... YOU NEED MORE WINE. So take it back, and let's drink this, Bitch!"

  "Deal." I throw back the dry-ass wine and let the flavor roll over my tongue. "Ugh, yeah, no, I still don't like this wine even after a glass or three,” I mutter. We’d been sipping and snacking up to now, but damn if it isn’t time to get lit. “It's too dry, just like my ex was in bed."

  "Ooh, burn, baby, burn. Keep ‘em coming!" Jenna hoots as she tops off our glasses with the remaining wine.

  I swirl and smell, and even that makes my nose hairs burn. "Honestly, can you give me a good hard lemonade? Or even just a spiked Dr. Pepper and I'd be happy. Who drinks this nasty shit?" I ask, sipping and shuddering at each mouthful. "That's another thing. Fucking Chad said I didn't have a proper palate for the 'finer' things, that I was used to hillbilly drinking. What the hell does that even mean? I grew up in the city, for God's sake!"

  "It means that he is a low grade snob who thinks he's cooler than he actually is. I propose we drink in order to burn the memory of him away," Jenna says, peeking at her nails again.

  "Agreed. Fucking Chad." We both take a drink. "He is such an ass. Why didn't I see it sooner?! I can't believe he just up and fired me! And then dumped me, all at once on the same day!" I raise my glass, and Jenna nabs it midair, finishing the dry wine in one long drink and setting the glass down.

  "He really is an asshat, love, and you're better off without him in my opinion. Now you can look to the future. Here," she says, opening a sweet Red Stella Rosa, "try this one. Maybe it will help sweeten you up a bit and NOT break my glasses."

  "How can I look to the future? I have the clothes I brought here, my car, my phone and iPad, my laptop, and no way to pay for any of this! My next check is a week away, and since fucking Chad left me high and dry…” I drift off, my phone buzzing. I ignore it, because if it’s Chad messaging me, I’ll have to buy a new phone. “I need a job, fast, then I need some ink therapy. There’s still space on my arm, and I want a full sleeve to commemorate breaking up with Chad.”

  “Hell yeah, you do. No blank spaces for my bestie! Although, girl, get something besides faces on your arm. It’s creepy as fuck.” Jenna shudders, sipping her wine.

  I take a sip of the new wine and almost swoon like a southern belle in the middle of a summer heat wave. "Oh, mama, that's better. Why didn't we start with this one?" I ask, loving
the sweet cool taste of alcohol as it fills my senses. "But do you know who was paying my car insurance and phone bill? Chad. Now what am I supposed to do? It's due before I get paid again, and I have like forty bucks to my name."

  "Girl, I will spot you this once. Seems like you really need it." I open my mouth to protest, but I’m cut off. "Stop. I have some savings, and I'll be fine. Besides, what's a best bitch for if not to help out her sister in a time of need? I know you'd do the same if it was reversed."

  "You know I would. Thanks, Jenna,” I almost sob.

  "Fucking Chad." And we both drink to the sweet bliss of forgetfulness. "Soooo… about this whole getting a job thingy. I'm preeeetty sure I've been black listed from every law firm in the bloody state after my blow up. So I need something new. What’s even out there that I'm not overqualified for? And where's the pizza, because apparently, I'm already needing a chaser after this much wine."

  At that moment, there is a knock at the door, and I race to open it. Standing there is a tall, slender, dark-haired pizza delivery guy. And boy, let me tell you, the pizza isn’t the only thing I’d like to stuff in my mouth.

  “Why thank you, darling.” Hic. Dammit, the hiccups have got me. “Care to join us for some wine and pizza?” I ask the sexiest delivery man ever.

  “No, ma’am, while that sounds amazing, I’d rather keep my job if it’s the same to you,” he stammers. I’m sure it’s from my profound beauty.