by Amanda Rose
“Yes, I do, but that doesn’t discount the fact that we still have a job to do, so down, you little minx.” I smile at her as I round the desk and walk towards the bar. This wouldn’t be the first time that I wished that Roxanne could be an actual friend, but just like my father with his employees, I had to set boundaries. I was her boss, but that didn’t stop me from loving the hell out of the woman. It only stops me from allowing her into my personal life fully. Still, since she was basically the closest thing I would ever have to a true best friend, I would do anything for her if she needed it.
Once I’ve reached the entrance to the bar, I slide my free hand down the front of my black pencil skirt. Stop stalling, Kenz, let’s just get this over with, deliver them to their rooms and that much closer to being out of your life. I take a deep breath and start walking towards where they sit at the bar.
"Mr. Gunsmith," I stop behind Draven but immediately take a startled step back when four sets of eyes simultaneously turn in my direction. The three blonde men all had eyes in some variation of blue; the only odd one out was Draven with his honey brown.
"Well, which Gunsmith are you speaking to, poppet?" Questions the gentleman who appeared over Draven’s shoulder earlier. I automatically search for the happiness and humor in his smile, but come up short when I find nothing but cruel and laughing mockery. Is this the same guy? What the hell happened?
"Ah, leave this woman alone, Oren. She has already been put through the wringer by Draven." I snap my head to the right and see the same exact man sitting on the opposite side of his companions. I don't know if it's because my brain was fried from the meeting, but I am ashamed to say it took me a second too long to figure out they were the twins.
"Yes, poppet, there are two of us." His smile returns as he throws in a little wiggle of his brows. "You know what they say about twins, right?" I remain silent, frozen in my own bafflement, so he decides to forego waiting for a response. "Twice the fun!" He grins as he gets up and goes to sit down next to his carbon copy. Sure, separate they were both breathtaking, but together they had a god status.
"We could be so much fun for you, love," The brother other brother says with a wicked gleam in his eye. I take a second to observe them and realize they are like night and day. Sure, they look exactly the same, even down to the freckle in the right dimple on each of their cheeks, but if you just look a bit closer, you can see the sinister aura surrounding Oren as much as you can see the carefree cheerfulness radiating off his twin. A rebellious part of me suddenly wanted to figure out what happened to make them that way. Was it just an act?
"Oren, Anson, enough," Draven barks, eliciting a girly and unwanted little squeak to escape from me, and once again the twins instantly drop their head and become dead silent. Just like that. An itchy feeling tingles down my spine as I look Draven in the eye. What is with this man who thinks that he can control everything and everyone? I scrunch my brows together, about to ask him exactly that—business protocol be damned—but he just mimics my action and challenges me. My words become frozen in my throat as I keep glaring; he barely even looks perturbed. We remained locked in a gaze for a few seconds before the man next to him clears his throat. What is it about this man that has me coming unglued?
"Please forgive my brother’s faux pas. My name is Damien. You've already met Draven." I can't help but look back in his direction when Damien says his name. Draven still has his eyes zeroed in on me, so as soon as Damien formally introduces Anson and Oren I shift my gaze to the good cop/bad cop brothers.
"Nice to meet you all," I respond politely as I return my focus to Damien, since he seems to be the least threatening of the bunch. He looks like an older version of the twins except his nose is straighter and just as chiseled as the brothers’ cheeks.
A woman could become permanently overwhelmed spending time in the presence of all the brothers together. I wipe my hands quickly along my skirt and extend my open palm to Damien. "My name is Kensley Coleman and I will be in charge of taking care of your needs through the duration of your stay." I smile as Damien’s firm grip envelopes my small hand.
"I have a few things in mind that she can take care of right away," says one of the brothers, I couldn't tell you who since I refuse to look in their direction.
"I agree," chuckles another voice mischievously. I drop my eyes to the floor and blush from his insinuation. Does every brother have some sort of effect on me?
"Shut it!" Draven barks again, shocking me so much I jump back and get my heel stuck in the carpet. Before my body could even think about falling, Draven's hand shoots out and grabs me by the forearm to steady me. I shit you not when I say I can feel a tingling sensation shoot from where his hand connects with my skin and travel down to the lower pit of my belly. He hauls me back upright with a little too much force; my only option is to fling my hand out in front of me and place it against his stomach to keep my momentum from knocking him down. I feel his muscles freeze and I follow suit.
Shit, this guy has to be seriously ripped because it feels like solid stone beneath my fingers. It takes all my effort not to trail my hand further down his stomach, but I would be lying if I said I didn't let them slide a little bit while removing my hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Gunsmith. I apologize." I lift my head once more because, even though I want to hide from the attention these men are giving me, I can't. Kensley Coleman, the future CEO of Coleman Enterprises, needs to appear strong and confident in any situation.
"No, please forgive my brothers for their crude behavior; I will handle that situation soon." Out of the corner of my eye I see one of the brothers, Oren, I believe, down the rest of the amber liquid in his tumbler in one gulp as Anson's spine straightens and his eyes drop to the floor once more. What is with those two? They are acting like Draven's word is law or something. "Now, is it finally time for us to be shown to our rooms? I am in need of a shower." Draven declares in his haughty tone and it automatically switches my brain back into work mode. I back up a couple of steps to put some distance between myself and these men. For some reason, my naturally awkward self rises to the surface whenever they are around.
"Yes, that is precisely why I was coming to get you. If you will follow me I will show you to your rooms."
I show everyone to the penthouse which has four adjourning bedrooms. Before I leave I tell them to call me if they were to need anything while slipping Damien my card to my direct line at my apartment.
Damien still seems like my safe zone out of the bunch, and in that moment I decide that if I have to deal with the brothers all together as a group in the future I will look to him for direction. Of course, I didn't expect for the brothers, specifically the twins, to start ringing my phone ten minutes after I had left their rooms.
"Our pillows are too soft." One of the twins complains on the first call. No problem, I call down to the front desk and have new sets of pillows run to their room.
"Why weren't you the one to deliver them?" the next brother queries when the pillows are dropped off. He even takes it a step further by saying, "I was hoping to get one last glimpse of you in your skirt before I retreated to my bed tonight." Even though I’m on the phone I still blush. After that comment I hear the distinct bark of Draven and the words "Cool it or else" before the phone is slammed down in my ear.
The third call to come is Damien asking for the WiFi password in his soft spoken voice. I hastily make an apology for my mistake. He assures me everything is fine, he just wants to make sure he has it for when he wakes up and begins his work day. That is the only time I hang up the phone smiling.
Next call comes from the asshole himself.
When Draven starts his series of calls, he just begins complaining about everything. From the water temperature to the wrong selection of coffee to the quality of the WiFi signal; I seriously began to debate the pros and cons of throwing myself down the stairs in an attempt to escape the infuriating bastard through self-injury. If I could land myself in the hospital, then I would
be far away from the sounds of his barking orders.
The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back is when he calls and starts to complain about the incompetence of my staff. Now, nothing could flip my anger switch faster than someone complaining about my amazing staff. I absolutely loved the people that worked for me and my father. Most of them had seen me grow from diapers to adulthood. With that last call I decide that I will start hand delivering all of Draven’s needs myself.
What did that get me? A couple of crude comments from Anson when he opens up the door the first time and Draven snatching the many random items he requested from my hands before slamming the door in my face the second time. So, yeah, after about eight hours of this I’m a little frazzled, to say the least. My father ran into me on my most recent trip up the elevator and took one look at me before saying he had just met Draven and he got a long list of complaints.
"We have Egyptian cotton sheets!" I hiss under my breath to my father who was walking down the hallway with me by his side. Yet again I can’t help but find myself wishing we had hard floors—wood, marble, something—just so I can hear the gratifying click of my heels down the corridor. I mean, really? How much could one guy find wrong in a single hotel room?
"Baby, just calm down. Obviously this is a test. One I should have been prepared for. This is my fault, not yours." He places his large palm on top of my head and pulls me into his side to give me a quick hug. Yeah, completely out of professional protocol, and sure I might still be a bit agitated that he is using me as his angle, but these moments that are just me and him; I cherish them. I don't have to put up a front for him. He seems to be confident in knowing who the true Kensley is; now if I could just glean some of that confidence and figure it out for myself.
"But Daddy, our Egyptian cotton sheets have too low of a thread count? Seriously? I handpicked those sheets myself!" I turn out of his embrace and look to see a little twinkle in his amused eyes.
"It is a rather brilliant move, if you ask me. You should take notes—the way they are challenging us is exactly what we need to succeed." I mentally roll my eyes at the old man; this is so not what I wanted to hear right now. They haven't even been in our hotel a full twenty-four hours and I already wanted to ban their asses from our premises for eternity.
"Now—you need to go catch up on some rest. From what I have heard from the other staff, those boys have been keeping you on your toes all night." He pats me lovingly on my shoulder as I scoff at him. That might be the most extreme understatement ever uttered. I was currently on my fourth cup of coffee in the past hour. My energy level was null and void.
"Daddy I need to make sure that Thomas gets the proper thread count on the sheets, if not; I will be getting another call. I don’t think I could handle another call right now." He pats my shoulder once more and stops outside of my live-in apartment on the top floor. Yup, you guessed it—I do indeed live on the very top level of our own hotel. Talk about never being able to get away from work. I can't complain though since I don't have to pay for rent and get room service pretty much whenever I want.
"Go get some sleep, baby, I think your old man can take care of a few things while you're resting." I just look at him and shake my head. Is he serious? He hasn’t even been home yet. Mother is not going to like this one bit. He lifts one of his eyebrows at me in question and it automatically reminds me of Draven. Ugh, the asshole that has been keeping me up all night.
"You know what? You're right, Daddy. I think I do need some sleep." I smile and pop up on my toes to give him a quick kiss on his stubble cheek. I'll let him deal with it a bit; maybe he will start acting right when I wake up.
"Good. I'll have Roxanne wake you up before this evening’s shift." With one last appreciative smile I thank him again before turning to go into my apartment, knowing I have only one more shift before I finally get a full day off.
For the first hour alone in my apartment I keep myself busy in an effort to keep myself from dwelling upon how much Draven got to me. Tonight has felt like nothing more than a whirlwind of blurred activity with how much I had to fetch and tote. I place the empty bowl from my pasta in the dishwasher and by the time I make it to my bathroom to run water for a bath I finally give into what my brain wants. A complete and total breakdown.
So as I strip out of my black pencil skirt and blue silk blouse, I start to reflect on the events that lead up to this state of frayed nerves and possible loss of all mental function.
Once I settle into a hot bath to relax I submerge my head under the water and let loose a yell of frustration, glad the liquid is there to muffle the sounds. It might not solve any of my problems, but it certainly made me feel a bit better.
When I get out of the bath, I head to my vanity mirror wrapped up in my towel. Gazing at my reflection, I start to make my usual evaluations. Once I reach my eyes, I see something there that I had been lacking for a while—a spark. Too bad it was the wrong kind. Damn you, Draven! I would rather deal with the perverted comments from the twins than your demanding ass.
I towel dry my hair and wrap it in a stretchy athletic headband. No matter how tired I was at this moment, I really didn't want to fight with my hair when I woke up; so effortless curls here I come. I climb into bed and before I get under the covers I rub some lavender-scented lotion into my skin as I run through the mental list of things I needed to do once I woke up.
As long as the Gunsmith brothers would leave me be for a bit, my day should be manageable. I scoffed at my own idiocy. Who am I kidding with that nonsense? I am Kensley Coleman after all. If I didn't have bad luck I would have no luck at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
It’s a few days later and everything seems to be running smoothly. I don't know what my father did to get the Gunsmith brothers in line, but it seems like my demanding calls have been cut to almost nothing. Not that I am complaining, because really, one full day of it is more than enough. I haven't actually seen much of the brothers the past few days. I only seem to be catching glimpses of their backs on their way to and from the board meetings. Those few moments in time where none of them are complaining are pure heaven; I am just glad I have yet to be caught thoroughly checking out just how beautifully their suits cling to their tall, sculpted bodies. It’s enough for me to temporarily forget how much of a nuisance they can be.
I sit my cardboard box full of Christmas decorations on the counter and rummage through them once more to make sure I have everything I need to start decorating the penthouse hallways. We had purposely left it blank since we had no reservations through the holidays. Since the Gunsmith’s are here it’s time to bring it up to par with the rest of the hotel.
Tinsel? Check.
Lighted signs? Check.
Mistletoe? I groan as I prick my finger on one of the leaves. Dammit, check.
I look at my watch and realize that I am cutting it close on time. Father said I wasn't needed in the current affairs and assigned me to oversee the Christmas festivities for the hotel. I am not going to lie, I was pretty excited when he told me. Christmas time is my favorite time of year, and this is the first time he has tasked me to oversee everything to do with the holiday season.
So why am I actually decorating the penthouse hallways besides continuing on directing the staff? Yup, you guessed it—those irritating Gunsmith brothers.
Though they might have cut down on really bothering me, they have completely scared the living wits out of my staff. I have now been abandoned by every employee and left to deal with anything and everything that happens on their floor. I shake my wrist a bit, coaxing my sheer black blouse to slide down from over my watch and as I peer down at it. Looks like I have just under an hour to get as many decorations as I can up before the board members break for lunch. I need to get my butt moving.
I walk to the back side of my quaint office desk and slip off my Louboutin’s in favor of a pair of ballet flats; they will be more efficient and far more comfortable to work in even if I am hindering myself by a f
ew inches. Once I have the black shoes situated on my feet, I pick up the first box and head to the elevators, making sure to dole out any lingering tasks I can think of to the remaining available staff members.
"Shit, damn that hurts," I shake my hand out and stick my newly pricked finger in my mouth in the hope of finding any sort of relief. Fucking mistletoe. Who in their right mind decided to come up with the symbol of a kiss being represented by thorny leaves of death? Whoever they were must not be kissing right. I chuckle at my inner monologue; it wasn't like I was any position to talk. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I have been kissed.
Just like with friends, I tend to not trust men any better. There have only been a few that have made it past a series of dates with me to get to my prize. Sure, that might make me a bit stuck up, but it truly is hard to tell if guys are interested in wanting me or wanting to be my father's future son-in-law.
The last man that had really captured my attention broke down crying right after he gave me a brief kiss on the lips good night. This was not something a woman neither expected nor wanted when she was being wooed by a suitor. It took a couple minutes to calm him down to hear what he kept mumbling.
"I don't care what he says this is still cheating. I can't do it anymore." As it turns out, said suitor was completely and irreversibly gay. The cherry on the embarrassment sundae was that his own boyfriend had pressured him into going out with me in the hopes of garnering my father's attention on their newly formed business. Remember when I mentioned my tendency towards bad luck? Needless to say, I started to vet my new dates a little harsher from then on out.
Once I place the fifth mistletoe—that’s right, you heard me, there were five of the damn things—in place over the elevator I check my watch and determine it’s time to wrap up for the moment. I need to get off this floor before they show back up. I take a second after gathering my now empty box to look at what I have accomplished so far.