Hire a hitman to take out my cheating ex? It was an eggnog-fueled mistake, I swear!

On Christmas Eve, my perfect fiancé stands up at the altar to declare his pure undying love… for my evil stepsister. Cue public humiliation, a ruined wedding, and me crawling back to my small hometown to work minimum wage at my granny’s Christmas café.
Just living the holiday dream.

But I refuse to show up sad and alone to my cheating ex and man-stealing stepsister’s engagement party. I’ll be devoured by gossipy small-town vultures. So I do what any rational woman would: empty her bank account, max out her credit cards, and hire a high-end escort with the Merry Christmas package. Too bad I mess up the number and accidentally hire… a hitman. Oops. This is why I hate making phone calls.

I realize I’m screwed when Talbot Wynter crashes the party all combat boots, dirty jeans, and washboard abs. He feels me up, drinks all the booze, flirts with my grandmother, then tries to off my cheating ex in his hotel room. I scream and make him stop him because I may or may not still pathetically have feelings for my ex.

Talbot thinks I’m insane. He might be right. But his company has a strict no-refunds policy. Now I’m stuck dragging this six-foot-five, potty-mouthed menace of an ex-Marine to Christmas tree cuttings, gingerbread baking, and holiday parties—All while he tries to convince me to let him take out my ex so he can go snowboarding.

But what if my ex is moved by the holiday spirit and realizes he still loves me and comes home for Christmas? Or, he would if I could just get this hitman out of my bedroom… and my panties.