📮 9 Books by Alina Jacobs (.ePUB)

Alina Jacobs is an Architect by day, writer by night, She loves matcha green tea, chocolate, and books!

♻️ Book's Info:

Marriage in a Minute

Marriage in a Minute - What kind of moron pretends to be broke then makes the girl pay for his expensive drink and his Uber home? And what kind of idiot marries a tool like that? Oh right, me, that’s who. You’d think that with living with my grandmother who makes candles that smell like her vag and a foul-mouthed parrot, I would have enough drama in my life. But when my wedding planning firm organizes four marriages at first sight, I found myself at the altar pledging my eternal hatred to Mr. I Think Women Are Gold Diggers And I’m Going To Be Obnoxious Until I Set You Off And Make You Prove It. We are not compatible. (Shocking!) Chris Winchester is a billionaire with serious trust issues, and I am a photographer trying to survive in the world of high-end weddings. And the billionaire’s penthouse is about to be Marriage and a Murder if he doesn’t stop hitting his snooze button a thousand bazillion times in the morning while I’m trying to work and get my life back on track. I storm into his bedroom to give him a piece of my mind and destroy that stupid alarm clock… And of course, he’s not wearing anything except a tiny corner of his high thread count sheets. So I might have had a peek at that muscular chest, washboard abs, and the barely-covered bulge. Apparently, I am the proud owner of a hot AF husband. Who knew? But I will not have the full marriage experience. Love makes a marriage, not hate. But when Chris says in that deep voice, “Hate sex makes great sex.” That might be the first thing in the marriage we agree on.

Flowers and Financiers

Flowers and Financiers - In my defense, I never claimed to be professional... At least that’s my excuse for why I mistook a billionaire for a waiter, made off-color comments and accidentally dumped a plate of food all over him. Embarrassing myself is a daily occurrence, just like my unpaid bill notices. But being in a wedding instead of planning one is not. I shall live vicariously through this high-end wedding and forget about the rent payments I’ve missed, the fact that my tiny apartment has no hot water, and that I’m about to be evicted anyway so it doesn’t even matter anyway! Yay! But when I walk into the wedding planning kickoff, there’s everyone’s least favorite billionaire, scowling and mansplaining wedding planning to me. Me! An actual wedding planner! Sebastian and I working on a wedding together is like a 1950s Jell-O mold: a complete and utter horror show filled with marshmallows and Vienna sausages. (Also I might have accidentally stared at Sebastian’s ahem Vienna sausage and it is NOT cocktail wiener sized!) I’m the sunny maid of honor, he’s the grumpy storm cloud of a best man. He’s a straight-laced corporate boss and I’m the flower power florist. I’m a small-town girl and he’s a big city scion. He plans everything, even things that he’s not supposed to plan because I was supposed to plan them, while I…really should have actually planned that seating chart instead of watching Netflix... Sebastian is going down! I will not have a snarly billionaire ruining my wedding fantasies. Unfortunately, he’s starting to feature in some ahem other fantasies of mine. And when he appears shirtless in front of me hotter than an orchid greenhouse? He’s ringing all my wedding bells!

Licking Her Christmas Cookies

Licking Her Christmas Cookies - In hindsight, opening a Christmas tree ornament shop in a small town was a terrible idea. The Thanksgiving turkey is still warm, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt from my failed business. To make matters worse, my knight in flannel never appeared—you know, the guy, the one who was tall, dark, and plaid, who had a friendly yellow lab and a truck and sold firewood, the one who showed the big-city heroine the true meaning of love and Christmas. Yeah, he did not come rescue me. Instead, Matt Frost showed up like the Prince of Winter to yell at me about the rent I owed him. He did not feature in any of my Christmas fantasies. In fact, he was exactly the type of Christmas-hating alphahole billionaire in a suit I left Manhattan to escape. I can’t worry about him. I need to fix my life. I have to make a bunch of money before Christmas Eve or I’m a toasted marshmallow. No ornament will be left off this Christmas tree of desperation! Gambling on the Christmas raffle that lets you win either ten thousand dollars, a giant snow globe, or a snack-addicted reindeer? Spin that roulette wheel and bring it on. Moonlighting as an elf for an irate Santa? Mama’s gotta get paid. Entering in The Great Christmas Bake-Off in hopes of winning the grand prize? Fetch me my custom elf apron. I so have this bake-off wrapped, ribboned, and in my Christmas stocking. Except when I’m paired with Matt the Grinch, I see my dreams of a debt-free Christmas going up in Yule log flames. Matt Frost and I are not compatible baking partners. Especially not after he licks the frosting off my Christmas cookies while I scream.. Not like that! He’s a Christmas-hating Scrooge who ruined my bake-off entry. I am not in the market for a Christmas romance. Especially not with a six-foot-five guy with ice-blue eyes and washboard abs. No, not even when he’s covered in frosting, standing in front of a decorated tree, and looking better than an edible Christmas card. Nope, not even then.

Resting Grinch Face

Resting Grinch Face - I might not be able to ruin his life, but I will ruin his Christmas. Yeah, I’m totally a grinch. But I come by it honestly. Because of Oliver Frost, I flamed out at Harvard in the most humiliating way possible. Now I’m back in my small town—just in time to suffer through a display of small-town Christmas cheer so festive it will make you puke your eggnog. But who cares about being home for the holidays when you live with your family like a loser and have to share one bathroom with seven other people? I plan to spend my Christmas purgatory being tsked at by elderly residents and passive aggressively prodded by my mom’s friends about what I plan to do with my life. I don’t know, Deborah, work in the Christmas market and get screamed at by tourists because I didn’t put enough sprinkles on their little brats’ coffees? Seriously, who gives five-year-olds that much caffeine anyway?! See? Like I said. A grinch. I hate Christmas. I set a nativity scene on fire. Got in a fistfight with an elf—I lost, by the way. And threw a vat of Snowman Surprise all over Oliver. Don’t ask. Small-town Christmas insanity. Sleigh what? Oliver is here??? The man who humiliated me and ruined my life? Ho ho ho, eff no. He doesn’t deserve a quaint small-town Christmas. He doesn’t deserve a fancy Christmas tree from my family’s farm. And he certainly does not deserve to win a bottle of whiskey in the daily Christmas market raffle. Goddamn, I needed that drink. He should be haunted like Ebenezer Scrooge by the Ghost of Christmas Past. Or at least the Ghost of Hookups Past. Momma's gonna have herself a very merry Christmas revenge. Swapping the salt and sugar so his Christmas cookies are ruined? Be still, my shriveled little heart. Spying on him so I can gather recon to ruin his holidate? Damn, I forgot how ripped his chest was. Sneaking down his chimney to steal all the presents under his tree? Amateur hour. Until I get caught... Guess I’m spending Christmas in jail. But when he sees I’m not wearing a bra under my ugly Christmas sweater, Oliver smiles like Santa has come early. Crap! I knew I should have worn my good underwear.

The Art of Awkward Affection

The Art of Awkward Affection - I admit it was me who shouted, “Looking good, hot stuff!” at Mr. Richmond this morning, but I didn’t mean it like that. Honest, Mrs. HR lady, I was paying him a compliment! That’s kind of what I do: I’m a proud, small-town Floridian, and Manhattan is craving some Florida sunshine—nothing like a sincere compliment to turn those New York frowns upside down! Grayson Richmond needs some positivity. Have you seen how grumpy he is? The man wears an arrogant snarl almost as well as he wears a suit. Drool! Wait, I’m sorry, he felt threatened? Are you kidding me? I’m dead broke, my fashion style is Disney adult, and I’m five feet tall when I stand up straight. People constantly stop me and ask me if I lost my mommy. Grayson is six foot five, one of the richest men in Manhattan, and literally owns multiple city blocks and two of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, which is, by the way, totally a phallic calling card. Yes, I understand that Mr. Richmond takes these matters very seriously. No, I’m not making a mockery of this company or of him. Yes, I will return to my duties as Mr. Richmond’s lowly assistant of the assistant to the secretary. No, I’m not being snarky. Believe me, my credit card debt and I are very happy to have this job. Also, I hate to ask, but Mr. Richmond didn’t say anything about the notes of positive affirmation in his underwear drawer, did he? Wait, what? He wants to see me in his office? Now? Like now now? Gulp!

Good Elf Gone Wrong

Good Elf Gone Wrong - When you catch your fiancé cheating on you with your sister on Christmas Eve, the elf hat comes off. I’ve always been the good girl—the anti Scrooge—the one who sacrifices for her guests, bakes cookies for her neighbors, and stays late after a party to clean up. I don’t mind. I like being on the nice list. I kept smiling when I caught my fiancé coming down my sister’s chimney on Christmas Eve. I gave polite congratulations when they got engaged on Christmas morning. And I even offered to help decorate for their holiday wedding despite the fact that was supposed to be my dream wedding. But when my sister cuts up our great-grandmother’s one-hundred-year-old wedding dress and turns it into a skank show, even though that was the dress I was going to wear on my wedding day? Well, this elf is torching down the North Pole. And what better way to get revenge than giving those cheaters a taste of their own medicine? This good elf is bringing the bad boy home for Christmas. Hudson is a six-foot-five, coldhearted, tattooed bad elf with a perpetual sneer and washboard abs. He’s exactly my sister’s type. And he’s going to help me nuke her wedding from orbit on the night before Christmas. What he is not supposed to do is grab my ass in the kitchen while I bake gingerbread. Or crawl in my bed half naked. And he’s definitely not supposed to smirk and tell me to commit to our fake relationship right before he goes down on me. Guess there’s a reason the good elves stay far away from the bad.

Sleigh Bells and Slaughter

Sleigh Bells and Slaughter - Slaughter, you say? Well, you’d be ready to rampage, too, if you had to listen to “Jingle Bell Rock” for the eleven thousandth time. Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder. But when Parry is found dead in the fiery inferno of my shed, I’m not going to pretend to be sad either. Just because I look like Wednesday Addams’s cooler, more dangerous older sister, everyone assumes I did it—including Captain Luke Reynolds, the firefighter tasked with solving the mystery of the arson and murder. He’s everything terrible about Christmas, all in one tall, huge, muscular package. No, not like that! I have more self-respect than to drool over a man who’s convinced I’m a murderer. Too bad my only alibi is my cat, Salem, and he’s not talking. As someone who detests Christmas and counts down the days until Halloween, I’m not inviting Luke over for milk and cookies to appeal to his protective nature and beg for help. Nope, I’m oiling up my brass knuckles, clearing my name, then retreating to my witchy cottage to wait out the yuletide season. But what if I end up right in the real killer’s lair? All the better! Christmas needs a little spooky, and what better way than solving a murder?

It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

It's Mother-Pucking Christmas! - When your grandmother stalks the star hockey player on the rival team because “You need a husband, Dakota—you’re not getting any younger!” it’s Christmas crazy on ice. It is not, however, the start of our great love story. I don’t date guys on that team. He doesn’t do casual, drunken hookups, which is all the captain of the Icebreakers is getting from moi. I give him the finger and tell him I hope he loses his teeth out there. He smirks and wins the game because both this Christmas season and this hockey season are a freaking scam. Then my younger, much dumber brother informs me that he owes his bookie a bunch of money and really needs the Icebreakers to lose their next game, and could I pretty please be an amazing big sis and date their captain then break his heart so he’ll suck and lose the game—otherwise little bro will get killed, or worse, our mom will find out. As much as I eye roll my overly large, overly loud family, I’d do anything for them. Including date the captain of the Icebreakers. Barf. Ryder is a Boy Scout. He doesn’t swear. He uses words like ma’am and sir. On our date, he opens my door, pulls out my chair, and helps me with my coat. He even volunteers at the local animal shelter and loves handmade sweaters. No, it is not cute! Three warm, gooey cinnamon rolls dressed up as a six-five, hot AF hockey player are not my type. At all. Nope. Santa better bring me something nice this Christmas for all my pain and suffering! In bed though? Let’s just say sleeping with the captain of the Icebreakers… is not going to be a problem.

Holly and Homicide

Holly and Homicide - When your cheating husband drops dead in your cozy Christmas cat café, the proper response is not to shout, “I didn’t do it!” Showing up at his funeral with a plate of sympathy cupcakes after he’s just been poisoned by your signature Santa’s Surprise confection is… also not the correct response. To be fair, if your husband walked into your café unannounced after stealing your hard-earned money and moving his pregnant mistress into your home, most people would understand if you bashed him over the head with a frying pan. However, I would never defile eggnog cream filling with cyanide! Too bad. He had it coming. Now the whole town thinks I did it. Including the hot lawyer who’s visiting next door. And by next door, I mean visiting his great-aunt, who lives across from Gran in the retirement home where I had to move because my husband evicted me from my own goddamn house. Yeah, I definitely have a motive for offing the cheating bastard. Thankfully, Marius has been volun-told to take my case. When he scowls, I remind him, “’Tis the season of giving… and Marius is giving annoyance and disbelief.” For someone who is working for free as my lawyer after being guilt-tripped by his elderly relative, he lacks customer-service skills, and there are an awful lot of questions and commands like “Are you sure you didn’t kill him?” and “Do not lie to your lawyer, so help me God…” I don’t care what Mr. Tall Dark and Obnoxious thinks. I need my café to stay open and my name cleared. I’m done with men. My twenty cats and I are going to spend Christmas Eve sharing a roast turkey and binge-watching Hallmark movies. Okay, I may have a problem. Especially after kissing the guy who thinks I’m a murderous cat lady…

📥 Download Links:

first 8

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Holly and Homicide

https://uploda.sh/J8zQm49RM90G

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