Their Little Helper

by Nichole Riley

  “Kensley, gentlemen, if you will please open your folders.” I reach down and do so. It takes me a minute to go over what is typed out, and another minute for it to fully sink in.

  My heart falls to my stomach and I look up to see all four of the brothers eyes already locked on mine. Shit.

  Daddy’s voice booms out, “Merry Christmas you guys! We have agreed to combine our companies for this luxury resort and, in turn, we are handing over the reins for all operations to you.” He motions between me and the guys. “We know you will do our families proud by working together. It’s time to let the old dogs step back and see what our predecessors will do.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and blink dumbfounded at my father. Somehow, I’m eventually able to force a pleasant enough smile and thank him.

  When I look back to the brothers, I see varying shades of confusion, upset, and when I get to Draven’s eyes I see absolute, seething anger. I can’t stop the thoughts of panic from whirling in my head until it locks up altogether, frozen in worry. It’s taking all I have to keep from crying my eyes out right there at that board room table in front of everyone.

  Is what we have over before it can even begin? What’s going to happen to us?

  What’s going to happen to my spark?

  To Be Continued.

  Part I

  Excerpt Facade

  Chapter One

  You know it's going to be a stressful day when it isn't even nine o'clock in the morning, and I am already standing barefoot in one of the gallery’s bathrooms trying desperately to clean the sticky coffee off of my brand new sinfully scarlet Louboutin stilettos pumps that cost me over three months worth of rent. So, yeah, today isn't getting off on the best foot. Considering my feet are currently soaking in a puddle of what I am hoping is lukewarm sink water, I would say that my day couldn't have started better on either foot.

  I sigh out of pure exasperation; this little shoe splurge had been a last minute decision and one that has apparently bitten me in the ass. Why couldn't I be addicted to stickers or something sweet and cheap like that?

  Why, you ask, would I spend that much for a simple pair of perfect red high heels when I should, you know, use that for actual rent? Well because not only do I have a terrible weakness for this spectacular shoe brand, but because I want to make the very best first impression for the artist interviews I conduct later this afternoon. And from where I stand right now, I am sure going to make that lasting impression. Just not the one I was hoping for that's for sure.

  I lean back and stretch my arm to where my purse was sitting on the opposite side of the sink, debating if I could use my little Tide stick in some way. Hey, they are advertised to be this fantastic miracle worker on stains, and I know it has saved more than a few of my blouses. Once I have the small orange stick in my hand, I look back to my shoes and decide against it. I will have just to cross my fingers and hope that water does the trick.

  Oh, my poor once beautiful Louis.

  Honestly, what's the worst part of all this is this isn't even my fault. It's not like I spilled boiling sickeningly sweet coffee all over my gorgeous shoes. Nope, Kevin, the apparently Starbucks addicted intern decided to look past the "caution just waxed" sign that was sitting just inside the side entrance of the Victoria Weston Studios.

  And I sincerely hate Starbucks.

  Funny isn't it? I live in the freakin birthplace of Starbucks, and I can't stomach the stuff. I would much rather have the beautifully fresh ground coffee that Austin's Bistro brews up every day. It was perfect this morning, but the coffee gods were frowning at me today, and my ideal cup of black goodness joined Kevin's Mocha whatever on the main gallery floor.

  I am going to need to make another run to get more coffee if I am going to survive today.

  I toss my damp heels onto to the white marble counter as I look up into the delicate black detailed frame that outlines the bathroom mirror.

  Definitely shouldn't have looked.

  My usually maintained chocolate waist length hair has completely fallen out of the intricate bun I spent like thirty minutes on this morning just for these interviews. Great, another thing to fix before noon; at least my precisely made-up face doesn't look ruined entirely. I lean in closer admiring my handy work and send up a prayer of thanks to the Sephora girl for recommending that new setting spray.

  I went with a lightly smoky eye to make my pale blue eyes really pop. It's very similar to my go-to look, just a tab more dramatic but still a very professional look for my line of work. The rest of my face is made up to look very natural, and I rounded out the look with a reddish pink lip that is just a shade or two darker than my natural lip color.

  As anyone who wears makeup knows a "natural" look is a whole lot harder to pull off than an over the top face. So if I do say so myself, I look pretty damn decent today, as long as you just look at my face.

  Don't look at the hair.

  And don't look at my san heels feet.

  Everything else is relatively not bad to look to.

  Appearance wise I stand just less than 5'8, so I am definitely on the taller side even minus my dangerously high choice of shoes. I may have been described as "willowy" my whole life, but I seriously hate that phrase. I am not skin and bones. I mean I work out at least three or four times a week, and I do eat consistently.

  So if anything I'll accept "athletically thin" but that's still pushing it. So let's just go with I have a more athletic body type. I know it sounds like "skinny girl problems" but I do wish I had those incredible sexy as all sin curves I see women rocking.

  I should probably mention that makeup is another one of my weaknesses. To make sure I stay within my limit I have to work in makeup costs into my monthly budgets just to keep on track. I look at my face once more and decide that this month's haul was definitely worth every penny.

  My blue irises follow my movements as I make my inspection of my own body. At least I chose a black pencil skirt that lands just past my knees, so my attire was safe from the onslaught earlier. If I had put on those grey slimming slacks that are still lying on my bed, then that would have been a different story right now. While I may have an extra pair of flats under the desk in my office; I don't have a change of clothes here.

  Guess I should store an extra outfit here just in case.

  I grab my shoes off the counter on my way out of the bathroom. I can still feel the dampness the second I touch them. Will my Louis's ever be the same again?

  I kind of need these shoes for today of all days. That pair of generic black flats will do absolutely nothing for this outfit. The black would match the black in the skirt, but I intentionally paired this blood red colored off both shoulder clingy blouse to match those heels perfectly.

  I let loose one more groan of misery before I opened the bathroom door. It would not look good that something as small as this would hang me up. I need to show that I can be versatile in any problematic situation; no matter how big or small someone perceives it to be.

  I need coffee.

  My wet feet squeak every time I take a step on this cold shiny surface.

  "Amelia, wait up." I pull to a stop and turn my head around to see Daphne, my coworker as well as one of my roommates, shuffles to my side. I gaze longingly down at her perfect condition beige Louboutin pumps. Why does she have to be three sizes smaller than me or I'd totally "borrow" them for today? We bought them together. Why did mine have to be ruined while hers are just well and dandy?

  Does that make me a bad friend?

  "Lia, up here, darling." Danni's huffing brings me out of my internal planning on how to get her little blonde headed body out of those shoes.

  "What's up Danni girl?" I make sure to plaster on my ‘I won't rob you while you sleep' smile. Too bad she knows me too well because she instantly goes on the defensive and arches a perfectly shaped blonde brow at me.

  She swipes her eyes down my shattered appearance and lands on my frigid bare toes. When I look down myself,
I notice my poor little red painted toes have a purple tint to them. Wet feet and cold tiled floor don't mix well.

  "Should I ask why you are walking around carrying your heels and looking like morning-after regrets?"A bit of concern laces her voice, but I see the twinkle of humor in her eyes and know she is giving me the truth.

  "Great. I look that bad, huh? Well crap." I run my red painted fingers through my hair trying to tame the apparent mess.

  Yes, I am super anal about needing my fingers and toes to match when I paint them.

  "So Kevin did fail at bringing you coffee today then?" Daphne is trying so hard to hold onto that giggle I can just see trying to claw its way out of her face. Damn her.

  "He dropped his coffee, and in the process, I lost my cup of holiness." Just mentioning my lost love reminds me I really need to get a move on if I want to be able to make it the eight blocks to Austin's and get back here before I need to start doing my shit today, "Why would you think he was bringing me coffee?"

  I never even thought that would be why he was randomly in my way this morning. Come to think of it Kevin wasn't supposed to come in until ten. I move my head around Danni so I can get a good look at the clock.

  Ten o' two; so now.

  He wasn't supposed to be here until now.

  Why the hell am I barefoot when that kid shouldn't have even been here an hour ago?

  "Danni, why would he be bringing me coffee?" I ask again letting a tinge of hysteria seep through since all she is doing is grinning ear to ear in front of my face.

  "Because my dear Lia that little intern has an embarrassingly innocent crush and thought he could impress you with bringing your favorite coffee." She's still grinning, and that smile just morphed into one with twisted satisfaction. Oh no she didn't--

  "Please, tell me you didn't, witch."

  "Careful Lia someone might mistake your language for hostility towards your bestie in the workplace. And yes, yes I did." With that she turns as if nothing happened and strolls back the way she came, sashaying her curved hips with so much sass that I knew she was still laughing. That little bitch, I ground my teeth together a bit when I noticed she made it to the end of the hall and disappeared; not turning back once.

  "Damn it, Danni," I mumble under my breath.

  Seriously Damn her.

  Why the hell was I friends with her again?

  Oh right because we both have that same sick sense of humor. My life is definitely more interesting with her in it.

  Firstly she confirmed what I was really hoping wasn't the case. Oh, Kevin. It's not that the kid isn't attractive he's just young; like too young for me. I might only be twenty-three, but he's like nineteen. So no thanks. Plus he isn’t my type. I have no idea what my type is, but I know that Kevin isn't it.

  And secondly, that Bitch told him that Starbucks is my favorite coffee house. I might be more perturbed about the latter more.

  Just yuck that stuff just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Ugh, Kevin, now I have to fix this, but just not right now.

  I require coffee immediately.

  The only good thing is the gallery is closed today because of the artist interviews, so I don't have to worry about running into any wandering art goers yet.

  I just have to count the little things today and be thankful for them. That's the only way I am getting through this.

  I quietly move across the floor toward the east wing where my office is located. I try to make as little noise as possible as to not alert my boss of my distraught appearance. This feat is hard to do when my feet are squeaking almost every time I take a step. I slow my movements down and try to think lighter thoughts. I am a feather; I am a graceful feather floating through the hallways, and no one notices me.

  No such luck. Victoria's door is wide open.

  My boss' office is located three doors before my own since all of the agencies are in the same wing.

  So I have to pass her door to get to mine.

  Because why couldn’t I have used the bathroom that is literally right past my office? Why did I end up using the one of the freakin other side of the gallery? Oh right my feet were burning and I wasn’t thinking. Great.

  I could technically walk through the main gallery to bypass her office but I'm more likely to run into more coworkers that way. Since that is the way Danni went and I still mad at her. Gah, which is the worst of two evils?

  Also, I should mention, my boss, Victoria, is the Victoria in Victoria Weston's Studios. So, yeah, no pressure to impress.

  Okay so I have twenty, maybe twenty-five feet until I am physically in my office, and I have few options. I can either face my boss looking like a crazed-haired shoeless wreck or army crawl past her door so that she won't see me over her desk. So many great options.

  Now don't get me wrong. Victoria is a wonderfully artistic woman. Obviously. And she has been nothing but amazing to me since I have known her. Not only did she offer me an internship my junior year when I was nothing more than an average college student, but then she offered me this once in a lifetime job opportunity. It's just today of all days I needed to look so on point it's not even funny, and I'm lacking in the "on point" department at the moment.

  So I cannot let her see me like this because she handed the artist interviews to me. And I have to prove I am worth this promotion. It was just under two weeks ago that Victoria called me into her emasculate office and offered it to me.

  Chapter Two

  The heavy wooden office door closes quietly behind as I stand perfectly silent facing Mrs. Weston herself. Or more precisely meeting her back as she stands in front of her seriously impressive floor to ceiling windows which make up her entire far wall of her immaculate office. The windows overlook what I consider the best view of downtown Seattle.

  While I haven't heard anything negative about my boss or ever seen her be anything but pleasant, she just emanates this intimidating nature that leaves me terrified.

  Today this air about her is tied together with her outstanding attire. I run my eyes down her body starting with her precisely chiffon up do and fantastically dyed red hair. I make a sweep of her perfectly tailored green calf length wrap dress that compliments her hair in a way that only she can pull off.

  I can never really fully categorize my feeling when I am in her presence. I don't know if I want just want to give up even trying to look decent. Since I could never compare to her. Or if I want to literally bow at her heavenly sinful footwear. Today seems to be swinging towards the latter.

  Wait. I swing my eyes back towards her feet and Oh My God those shoes. I need them. And I need them on my feet like yesterday. This is not a drill people. I may die if I do not use whatever money I have stashed away to buy myself a pair. I mean I've been an excellent little Amelia, right? Do I deserve something beautiful? Yes, yes I do.

  They are what I can only imagine have to be Louboutins. Their signature red soles give them away instantly. While they are just a pure beige color, somehow they look so magnificent paired with the sea green of Mrs. Weston's dress and her striking fiery hair. I take a gander at my primary but still not cheap black pumps, and I can't help but feel so inferior standing here in my perfectly safe all black outfit.

  I am dragged out of my internal war when those heels I've been staring at the beginning to move. I quickly bring my eyes up to meet my boss's chocolate brown iris. Even her makeup is flawless. "Thank you so much for taking the time to stop by, Amelia." I go to rub my hands together in a nervous jester when I hit a warm cup of coffee. I completely forgot I was holding it until this moment.

  "Of course Ma'am. Kevin just got back with your coffee, and he gave it to me since I was coming this way." I hand her the coffee when she reaches for it and thanks me on her way behind her desk. She motions for me to sit when she does.

  So this is going to be an earnest conversation. Everything I have done since I started here runs through my mind trying to find somewhere where I might have screwed up. Is she letting me go? Have I done any
thing worth getting rid of me for? Have I even proved to be beneficial? I like to think I have been.

  She sips a generous amount of her probably now lukewarm coffee. Ouch, I really should have handed it to her as soon as I got here. Stupid shoe distraction.

  I take my seat, and I sink into the wonderfully soft leather seats that only seem to be in Victoria's office. Damn, now I have chair envy too. I run my sweaty palms down the front of my black slacks.

  I wait for her to start since I have no idea why am here. I don't have to wait long because as soon as her cup lands on the desk she gets right to the point. Literally.

  "I'll get right to the point since I am sure you are as busy as I am today. I want something different for this year's big Spring Show, and I think you might be able to bring a new and fresh perspective to this team. I have enjoyed observing you grow in the two and a half years you have been with us. Not even including the three semesters you interned here before that. I genuinely think you are unequivocally what I am awaiting for a position on my senior team.” I am hit with everything she discloses, and it leaves me grappling. I am trying to process, adequately comprehend, what was just said and make sure I caught that last part correctly. Wait seriously?

  "I was unaware there was an open position." Did I sound accusing? Because I didn't mean too, damn it, why am I so nervous. Get it together Lia.

  "There technically isn't one yet," a small smile breaks on her face, which leads me to believe she is trying not to laugh at me. "I am looking into partnering with an up and coming studio in Chicago, Consequently, I am transferring one or two of my senior consultants to that new gallery. To oversee transitions and such. So I am looking to fill those positions before they are empty." She says it in a way that I am supposed to pick up on something just out of reach but my brain too fried to understand the underlining meaning.

  Is she offering me an art consultant position? Holy shit crackers. Wait Lia don't jump to conclusions. Take it slow girl.