Their Little Helper Read online

  Contents

  Foreword

  Join My Newsletter

  Note from the Author:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  To Be Continued

  I. Excerpt Facade

  Excerpt Facade

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  II. Excerpt: Sin’s Mistress

  1. Chapter One

  Acknowledgments

  About Nichole Riley

  Their Little Helper ©Nichole Riley 2020

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Cover Art and Design, Internal Formatting

  ©NW Designs 202o

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to everyone out there who has yet to figure out their purpose in life.

  We have all been there loves!

  Keep holding on, living life, and being the best version of you that you can be!

  Your answers will come in due time!

  https://www.nkstackhouse.com/newsletter

  Note from the Author:

  I initially started this book with the mindset that it would be a quick, fun, and steamy read. I was so excited for the challenge; until my characters took over.

  They basically felt like there was more to their story, and I agreed.

  So, what started as a short novella has now blown up to a full book.

  This is Part One of Kensley, Draven, Damien, Oren, and Anson’s story.

  I hope you enjoy!

  Chapter One

  I roll my pen between my fingers while staring absently at the clock located directly above my father’s head. To this very day, I have yet to figure out why he sits me across the long table from him rather than right at his side. I am supposed to be learning, right?

  Twenty-two minutes left of this hell. I let out a quiet sigh and set my pen back down on our meeting notes, trying not to get too lost in my own thoughts. Daddy wouldn't like it if I was caught not paying attention in front of the other board members; though it’s not like my seat on the board is of great value at the moment. I cringe internally. That line of thinking would not be expected from the future CEO of Coleman Enterprises. I mentally roll my eyes and focus back on my father.

  He was gesturing around animatedly and laughing along with his colleagues. I envied how he could be so animated in front of everyone. It was like he had his happy persona switch on at all times. No one could always be that happy, could they? Not for the first time I debated what sort of happy pills my father took with his morning coffee. Speaking of coffee, I could desperately use some right about now.

  The afternoon crash had descended on me about thirty minutes ago and I have caught myself on the brink of nodding off a few times. I was about to get up and fix a cup from the carafe sitting by the door when I noticed Gerald, my father’s Senior Executive, draining out the last bits into his over sized travel mug. Way to be a team player, Gerald; just hog everything for yourself! I sat back in my chair and prayed that this meeting would end soon. I know I should have a fresh pot brewing in my office right about now. God bestowed a great gift upon the working-class people when he gave a man the idea for automatic timers on coffee pots.

  As I look around the large wood office table trying to get my mind back into the flow of the meeting, I can't picture myself being in charge of these men. They are used to the drive of my father, not to mention his lively and contagious personality. If I were being completely transparent, I couldn't picture carrying on with the current state of my life forever.

  I know what you’re thinking; oh here’s some spoiled little rich girl. Boo-hoo, she has everything she could ever want handed to her on a silver platter but, truth be told, that's not the case for me. Well, yes, I have had everything handed to me, but I don’t want it. I didn’t ask for this lifestyle, and frankly I hate having to live it.

  For once in my life, I would love for someone to like me, or be friends with me, or—hell—even just approach me because of who I am as a person, and not because of my last name or my trust fund. Is that really too much to ask? Well, obviously it must be, because here I am practically friendless, unless you count my attachment to the staff. For all intents and purposes, I’ve already managed to achieve old cat lady status. Minus the presence of actual cats

  I close my eyes briefly and push a stray piece of my espresso colored hair behind my ear. Damn it, why did I have to have such thick, heavy hair? I’m going to have to re-fix my bun as soon as this meeting is over before it completely falls apart. How hard is it to find one, single hair style that will last through the entirety of my work day without falling into a tangled mess, you might ask? Well, the answer is impossible. This is the fifth hairstyle I have attempted in the past two days. I have developed a habit of changing my hairstyles by the middle of the day now. I was seriously debating just cutting my hair off completely and investing in pre-styled wigs. Hell, if I was going to play the part of old cat lady, I might as well fully embrace the role.

  "Alright, everyone it looks like we are at our last point of the meeting," My father’s deep baritone voice booms through the now quiet meeting room. It snaps me out of my inner hair rant and I raise my eyes to see his steely-grey gaze already fixed on me. Oh, shit. What was the last point of the meeting?

  I knew there was something big he discussed with me and my mother over dinner last night, but I wasn't really paying attention then either. It couldn’t be helped. Ninety percent of the time when my parents were in the same room with each other my mom was yelling at my father for one reason or another as he just sat there with a smile on his face enduring it all. My family was the definition of dysfunctional. I am just thankful neither of their charming qualities has rubbed off on me yet. Except for my mother’s stubbornness, but that can be overlooked since I wasn’t a raging bitch.

  I slyly break his gaze and point my pen to the paper as I scan through its contents. I know my father would pick up on my bullshit, but hopefully to the rest of the room it would just look like I was following along. Letting the loose tendril of hair fall in front of my eyes to keep the slight panic I was feeling at bay, I found myself wishing I had a brother—the type who was more inclined to this hardcore CEO lifestyle—because right now I wasn’t convinced that I could ever want to take over my father’s role in the company

  I scroll my pen down until I finally find the last bullet point printed out at the bottom of the page in our briefing packets. Ah ha, the possible merging of Coleman and Gunsmith Hotels for a new luxury vacation resort. That's right—now I remember a bit of that missed conversation between my parents and me.

  Last night, right after my father calmed my mom down for missing their lunch date, he explained to us that the CEO of the global franchise of Gunsmith Hotels had reached out to our new branch of Coleman Luxury Resorts. They offered to open a discussion on the possible merging for a new super chain of vacation resorts. Daddy had said he was exc
ited about it, which of course he would be. Richard Coleman, my father, is an Entrepreneur, and a notoriously lucky one at that. People claim he has the 'golden touch', because whatever business he expresses interest in and decides to back will instantly blossom like a flower in the sun. It doesn't hurt that he has the money to back up his little fascinations to get them going as they should be.

  Yes, he is good at what he does, but when I look at my father I see a smart business man who knows what angles to play. And play those angles he does. I have seen him in action numerous times growing up, and one thing remains the same—my father’s charms and personality are like that of a professional violinist. He can play your heart strings till you find yourself so inspired that would you move mountains just too keep him in your presence. It was an eerily intriguing site to witness.

  This was one of the main reasons why I think I would do a shit job filling in my father’s shoes. I am the kind of person who, while I may appear calm and put together in the professional world, one would find me fumbling around and awkwardly bumping into metaphorical furniture in my personal life.

  Of course, my mother was all excited about the prospect of a new branch in the business. Bethany Coleman was not known for her charming personality in the business world; no, she was known for something quite the opposite. That woman was known for how much money she could spend in one store on a single credit card, as well as for constantly letting me know that I am wasting life away by trying to follow in my father’s footsteps. She has expressed that she would rather I go shopping constantly with her and have my face exposed in public at a higher degree. She is, and I quote, ‘worried that at twenty-seven I was wasting away’. It’s not that I could really disagree with her on that point, but I wasn’t wasting away in the ways that she thought.

  So, on one hand, I could be a money grubbing shopping addict like my mother, or on the other hand, I could follow in my father footsteps for a secure future while I try and find my own way in life without the harsh worry. No brainer there. That is why I accepted the position on my father's board. It really is the lesser of two evils. I think.

  My father clears his throat and, yet again, it snaps me out of another inner rant. I grasp my pen a bit tighter and look back up through the small veil of hair slipping down from my gradually loosening bun. He was looking at me out of the corner of his eye as he was leaning down to talk to his Vice President. I knew he was buying me time to gather myself back together, you know appearances are of the upmost importance, of course. So, I straighten my shoulders, reposition that loose bit behind my ear, and fix on my friendly smile. He notices when I am finally pulled together and focused, and then quietly finishes his quick conversation to turn back to the room. I swear if I didn’t know he had to use reading glasses in everyday life I would say he had eyes like a hawk. Nope, my father was just that in tune with my daydreaming ways. I am sure I let him down because of this.

  "Like I have said, we are now at our most important topic. The CEO of Gunsmith Hotels reached out to me a few weeks ago to talk possible merging of our businesses to create a super brand of luxury vacation spots. I think it is a matter to look into more, especially since our branch of exclusive resorts is still in the early stages. So this is why I have gathered us together today." He takes a moment to look at everyone who was sitting around the table, saving me for last. I maintain my smile as he glances over me and moves back to looking at the room in general. He tells me this is an important tidbit I need to keep filed away. To earn the respect of a room you must equally respect in turn. So, as much as he is able, he will make eye contact or ask specific questions to specific individuals for feedback. He says not only does it show he cares, but it also opens the door for new ideas and to have your staff grow to their full potential. Ever since I started shadowing my father, I’ve found he might have some merit to that method.

  "I have invited the heads of Gunsmith Hotels here to our main office and resort to see if this something we can move forward with." My back straightens a bit more; my father was not known for bringing people to him. Not even close, he usually went to people to work his magic. He liked to keep what he calls his 'dream team' away from others. I think he just doesn't want to take the chance that any of his tricks of the trade might get out. Why else would he have everyone sign Non-Disclosure Agreements upon their hire? So, why is he letting them come here? I roll my pen again through my fingers, trying to figure out his angle. Richard Coleman definitely has an angle going on somewhere, and something in my gut tells me I am not going to like it.

  "That being said, I need everyone to step up their game and make sure we see that this plays out smoothly and make it possible. Therefore, they will be staying in our hotel until we can come to some sort of agreement, so let’s make sure they see the standards of the Coleman way!" He ends with his smile of encouragement and hands clasped together in excitement.

  Betty, the head of personal relations raises her hand, "Sir, who should I put on task to tend to the Gunsmiths? Ricardo is reserved for the Jackson’s this week. We could call Kate back from the Las Vegas resort--" My father holds up his hand and cuts her off.

  "That will not be needed, but thank you Betty. I already have someone in mind." He finishes and turns to look at me. My body automatically tenses, my head jerking back fractionally, and I instantly knew exactly what he was about to say. Shit, I am his damn angle.

  "Kensley, it's your time to shine baby." He smiles at me brightly, forcing me into an overly-large smile too. "I think this will be the perfect time to work on your customer service skills in dealing with business clients on a one on one basis." I bite down my teeth and press my tongue roughly against the back of them to force my smile bigger and brighter, praying that it wasn't coming out as a grimace.

  "I agree, Daddy," I manage to get out. His eyes twinkle, knowing he’s won this round, or at least, in the eyes of the board he has. It’s not like I could really turn it down since he is the boss. When he says jump, I have to say how high just like the rest of the employees.

  Though my father has never treated me differently, whether I sit at his head table or at the dinner table, he will still call me baby. I tried calling him Mr. Coleman once in front of the other board members to draw the lines between boss and employee, but he shut that down immediately. He explained that no matter where we are I should always acknowledge that he is my father. So, from there on out, everyone got used to the way we speak to each other. That was about the extent of my special treatment from him though.

  "I knew you would," He winks at me as he starts to answer more questions from the others. Of course he would spring it on me in front of the chairmen of the board. He knew if he would have broached the subject to me in private he would have gotten one hell of an argument. But, to be fair, he deserved a bit of arguing; my own father had just demoted me from CEO in training to someone’s personal servant for who knew how long. Great, just fan-fricking-tastic. This was like the cherry on top of the sundae of my oh-so-perfect life.

  Chapter Two

  I managed to sneak out of the board room right after the meeting ended, which honestly wasn't too hard since his other board members were flooding him with questions over the possible merging. In these moments when I am lacking the words to properly describe my feelings, I am usually thankful for any sort of distraction.

  I know when he raises his salt and pepper eyebrows at me as I pass by that he wishes to speak with me, but I really do not think I could face him right now. Somewhere between the twenty or so steps from my seat to the board room door my temper has started to flare up a bit. Not a big shocker right there; word vomiting is like breathing for me. So I do my best to avoid his glare as I slip past Gerald, the coffee hog, and make my way into the hallway to safety.

  My father has always had his hand in dictating my life in some way, whether it’s my choice of colleges or even just the apartment I live in. But for some reason, this is just too much for me right now. I don’t mind going along with his
overbearing shenanigans, I have had to put up with them in one way or another my whole life, but I would like at least some infinitesimal notification of them beforehand. Did I really choose the lesser of the two evils? Am I forever doomed to be a pawn in my parents’ games? I let out a small moan of frustration and my traitorous tendril of dark hair slips out from behind my ear; along with a much more significant chunk. Why me? Seriously, was I a serial killer in my previous life, and all this karma mojo bullshit I’m suffering through now is my punishment? I mean, give a girl a break already!

  I forcefully exhale another pent-up sigh as I stomp down the maroon carpeted hallway, which ticks me off even further. This is one of those moments where I wish we had some type of solid surface so my father could hear the agitation in the sharp clicks of way too tall Louboutin heels. Roger, my father’s secretary, raises his hand in an attempt at a friendly greeting. As soon as he recognizes my decidedly dismal mood he quickly drops his hand and just shuffles on by. Smart man. Gah, even the fact Roger is my father’s secretary pisses me off. Now, in all fairness, it really has nothing to do with him; more so it’s the fact that mommy dearest doesn’t ever want a female secretary working for my father. Guess she’s worried that he’ll discover there are actually nice women out in the world. I start to try and regulate some yoga breaths as I continue to walk, trying in vain to cool off a bit. I did not need to give the Law of Attraction more of a reason to bite me in the ass today. Me, Kensley Coleman, a personal servant to the Gunsmiths? Really?