by Amanda Rose
I push open the ladies restroom door, and I lock it as soon as it shuts. I just need a moment to breathe. Why in the world would he make me kowtow to that pretentious asshole and his four brats? Sure I have never met the Gunsmith’s myself, hell I don’t watch the news or read the paper and I am quite sure there is a shit-ton I am behind on, but people still talk. Let me tell you, people talk big time about that family.
I click my way over to the sink and turn on the faucet and run my hands under the cool running water; then I bring my damp hands up and pat them lightly against my neck.
It took me thirty torturous minutes to blend this contouring along my neck and jaw and I did not want to ruin it, but the cool water feels so soothing against my over-heated skin. Every day that I put on my war paint for work, I begin to understand more and more why mother hires a professional to do hers daily.
I run my slick hands over the back of my neck as I continue to try to filter through the limited information in my head. The main bit I could remember about the Gunsmith’s is they have their home office out of Tokyo, and not because they’re Japanese. The CEO struck the market at the right time overseas and his chain of business was wide-spread. That was the one time I have ever seen my father the slightest bit angry, because Gunsmith intercepted the account before he could sink his teeth into it. So why now are we talking of merging?
I shut the faucet off and shake my hands over the sink a few times before I grab a fresh towel from the basket sitting on the counter. I run the soft cashmere-like material along my palms as I finish recalling the last bits of information I could remember. The Gunsmith family has four sons and they are notorious for being massive playboys and even bigger assholes. Jenny from the Laundromat at our hotel swears that one time her cousin was fucked and dumped over the course of her weekend vacation by one of the twins. Yup, as if their family wasn’t tangled up enough, they had carbon copies of a set of sons. I heard every one of the Gunsmith sons was handsome, but from my very few encounters with men I have learned a few things. Number one being, the more handsome the man, the more you will be fucked over in the end.
Once I have dried my hands I turn back to the mirror and take in my reflection, I mean, really take a good look at who I am. I have been doing this a lot lately and I keep seeing the same thing over and over.
A brunette woman who stands at a proud 5'6'', slender build but a bit broad in the shoulders. Nice chest size, nice curve along the waist and hips that I work my ass off for in the gym. On the subject of asses, I think I would rate mine a solid B. Maybe a B+.
What always makes me stop and stare a bit harder is what I always see in my eyes. Which is nothing. Absolutely nothing. No joy, no happiness, hell it barely seems like I am living. Just plain light blue-grey eyes, which I am told are gorgeous, but if eyes are supposed to be the windows to the soul, then I am royally screwed. My soul has nothing more to offer than a few snarky words and a whole lot of binge reading romance novels at night. That’s the extent of my glorious life.
I grip the edge of the marbled sink and squint my eyes a bit, trying to peer deeper and still coming up empty. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths in and out. Once I open them again, a new determination has come over me. "You've got this, Kenz, it's only temporary." It takes a few more rounds of chanting the familiar mantra before it's like I have hit a reset button in my mind and everything inside me calms down once more.
If I were to go to therapy, like my mom suggests for all my pent up 'feelings', I am sure that the therapist would tell me to find a way to expend all the excess frustration I have in a productive manner. Okay, yes, it’s possible that I might have a slight addiction to watching Dr. Phil in the office behind the front desk, but that is as close as I will come to the real thing.
I refuse to be another person added to the statistic of the poor rich life of a girl who thinks her world is falling apart. That's not who I am. I can figure out how to handle this shit on my own and it wasn’t really like my world was falling apart, not completely. I just lacked passion and a purpose for my life. I was working daily at trying to find that spark that intrigued me and kept my attention, I just hadn’t succeeded in finding it yet.
I have tried numerous things from those wine paint parties with some of my colleagues from the hotel, and sure it had been fun, but I quickly learned that I am not the new-age Rembrandt. Also, paint and oil pastels can get in your hair quite easily, and when you have as much hair as I do you will spend the better part of the week getting it out. By budding life as an artist quickly fizzled out.
I made sure I got a Swedish massage at least once a week. While they were relaxing, it hadn’t helped me in loosening up and finding my way in life. They mostly just helped me find my way to bed fast after a session. I am not complaining about the damn good sleep I get after them, in fact, that is the only reason I haven’t given up on the notion it could help in a break through.
Hell, I’ve been getting so desperate that just last week I looked into a camping trip out in the wilderness in hopes of finding myself. If that one chick in that book could do it, so could I. Till I remembered what came with the whole outdoors thing. It's not that I am afraid of bugs—I will not hesitate in taking my shoe off and smashing a foe—what got me was the creepiness of the reptilian kind. Once I started thinking about that, and the fact that I would be entirely alone, I quickly put the camping idea out of my mind.
I won't give up though; there has to be something that will help me along in finding who the true Kensley Coleman is. I just haven't found the thing that makes me tick yet. Damn books making me think I have to have a spark to find my direction in life. Yes, I have been using the book excuse lately. It was better than confessing that the real problem was me. It’s not like I had that much time right now anyways. It was two weeks before Christmas and shit was about to get crazy in my world.
I tap the home button on the screen of my sleek black phone and see that I have now been in the ladies’ room for five minutes. It's time to pull myself together and head back to the front desk. Everyone is depending on me since I am the manager of this specific hotel, and the business doesn’t stop just because I am having a tantrum.
So, with great defeat, I open up my YouTube app and watch a short video on a new hairstyle that is quick and long lasting. As I slide my small fingers through my long locks, I wonder for the umpteenth time if I should just cut it shorter, but I quickly rule out the wig idea from earlier, figuring that would be just as much work as my true hair. I bunch my hair up behind my head and, looking this way and that way in the mirror, conclude yet again that it's the perfect length. I then get started on fixing the low messy bun just like the hairstylist demonstrated. Thank heavens I have enough bobby pins for it.
CHAPTER THREE
"Kensley, there you are!" Roxanne, our main front desk attendant proclaims loudly as she places an over-dramatic hand above her heart like I had frightened her. Something must be up. I look down to my phone to see a blue blinking light, indicating that I had a missed call at some point. Shit, my phone was still on silent from the meeting.
"Yes I am sorry; I had to redo my hair after the meeting." I tell her with an exaggerated eye roll. Roxanne knew my daily struggles with my hair.
"Girl, again?" She cocks her hip and places a perfectly manicured, polished hand on it.
"Oh yeah, it barely made it through the last ten minutes." I finger a few of the wispy tendrils I left hanging all while cursing the gods for giving me such heavy-weighted hair. Please, just stay up for a few more hours. That’s all I ask.
"When are you going to throw in the towel and go for a pixie like me?" She turns her body fully to me and props herself up on the edge of the polished dark oak desk. This was her usual question when we got on the topic of my hair.
Roxanne finally had enough of her own wavy strawberry blonde hair over the summer; she kept complaining about the heat and how often she had to keep washing it to make it work right. I thought she was just like me i
n saying she was going to cut it all off until she came in one day sporting a chic, short cut. Ever since then she has kept it short; it looks absolutely amazing on her. I might envy her a bit for being so ballsy.
"The day I have the bone structure you do in your cheeks will be the day I cut mine off too." I chuckle and she just rolls her eyes at me. I hear someone clear their throat from behind me and turn around to see a staggering gorgeous man propped up on his elbow against the desk in front of where our check in computers are housed. Shit, she was calling me for a reason. I seriously need to rectify this situation fast, but once I get a good look at the guest, I hesitate.
Where in God’s green earth have men like him been hiding? And how can I sucker him into being mine ASAP? I try to clear my thoughts a bit, because surely someone as handsome as him was already married. I look down and notice that the all-important ring finger is free from a wedding band. My stomach flips in excitement and it catches me off guard. A bit too late, my number one reminder of men kicks in. Someone as handsome as him could only leave me broken. Right, okay. Plus, I am sure I don’t fit his standards anyways. Not everyone can be a size zero supermodel.
He's tall, has to be at least 6'3'', with chiseled cheek bones to die for. I think what classifies them in the ‘to die for’ category is the perfectly shaped five o’clock stubble on his face. Why the hell am I caught up on people’s facial structures? I notice he notches a prominent eyebrow at my silence and I desperately try to tear my eyes away from the honey brown color of his gaze. I finally succeed in breaking eye contact, quickly realizing that it is a no-no zone, and slowly slide my eager eyes along his torso. He has broad shoulders and massive hands. I am sure one of his hands could hold both of mine in a fist easily. The man clears his throat again, and at least this time I have the decency to blush a bit.
"As much as I hate to disturb your girl time, I just need to find out if the rooms my brothers and I have reserved are ready." His deep timber washes along my body and causes goosebumps to rise on my arms. A voice made for narrating my naughty erotica’s to match his sinful looks? He is clearly the man of my dreams. I clear my throat and turn back to Roxanne who is looking a bit sheepish that we were caught in the midst of a girly hair discussion.
"Sorry" she mouths to me as she signals me to walk with her to the computer that is embedded into our front desk. She taps out a few things on the touch screen keyboard and then moves to the side so I can take over.
"I am sorry about that sir, if you give me just a moment I am sure that we can get you and your brothers situated." I put on my most pleasant customer-service smile and he raises the other brow to match the first.
Do I have something in my teeth? I look down and run my tongue along the smooth surface as I look to the computer at the name Roxanne has pulled up. I freeze. Gunsmith? I peek back up at the handsome stranger, who is now turned back to the lobby talking to three equally tall blonde-haired men lounging on our sofas. My heart plummets to my stomach. I just proved my own theory. Every handsome guy has that one catch that could destroy you, and this guy doesn’t just have one. He has a whole butt load in the form of his three scintillating brothers who could easily destroy me. Ah well, it was fun in the few moments of excitement.
I take over from where Roxanne left the screen to see what exactly the matter was. I tap a few keys and discover that we were not expecting them till around ten in the morning tomorrow. So, why are they here? Was this a ploy to catch us off guard? Knowing the rumor of the Gunsmith’s, anything was possible, but right now I had a job to do. I am the first face for the Coleman Hotels, and I have to leave a lasting impression, preferably a good one. I clear my throat, immediately recapturing the handsome man's attention and as I put my smile back in place.
"If you will give me a moment, Mr. Gunsmith, I will check to make sure everything is ready for your check in. If you and your party would like to go the lounge for a couple of drinks while you wait, please feel free to do so. Just tell the bartender that your tab is on Kensley." I finish my spiel while notching my smile up to warm and inviting. I was going to do everything in my power to make sure their stay went smoothly. I didn’t care what had to be done.
"Look, sweetheart, I don’t need any special treatment just because you now have discovered our last name.” I open my mouth in shock, about to protest when he raises his hand up to stop me.“We have flown from Tokyo all night to get here and we are jet lagged. What we would like is a clean room so we can catch up on sleep." He tuts at me as his voice gets deeper, almost menacingly like. I take an involuntary step back. Oh, the nerve of this man, how could he be so rude? Why does he assume that I am only treating him like this because of his name? This is my fucking job!
"Aw, Draven, don't scare the little poppet." One of his blonde companions pops up on Draven's left side and claps him on the shoulder. The suddenness of his appearance catches me off guard and my hand flutters to my heart. He stands about an inch taller than Draven and he is like a ray of sunshine breaking through Draven’s cloudy day. His face was a bit softer, but there was no denying that he was all man. The slender cut of his suit couldn’t hide the muscles that pressed against the fabric, and the way his hair flopped a bit haphazardly in his face gave him an endearing quality.
"Please forgive him, Miss; he gets a little grouchy after long flights. We will go to the lounge and wait there. Thank you for everything." He smiles a blinding toothy smile that reaches his eyes; eyes that are full of life and happiness. I am instantly jealous of his happiness and the excitement bubbles up in my stomach once again. What the hell, Kensley, get your shit together! I lower my hand to my side and smile at him.
"Yes sir, I will come notify you as soon as I have everything secured." I tell the blonde gentleman and see Draven's scowl turn to one of fury. He knocks the arm resting on his shoulder off then turns fluidly on his heel to walk away. Yup, Draven was a real drab, cloudy day.
As they leave I hear Draven tell the blonde guy, "Just because we are on a business trip, do not for one second think I won't punish you here." The blonde guys shoulders immediately stiffen and his head drops almost like Draven's words were enough to take the fight out of him.
What the hell? With the way he came up to Draven to defuse his anger I figured he would tear down that comment as well, not just take it in as if he was being scolded like a child.
I put the oddity out of my mind and rush to the back office to make several calls and get things organized. Thanks to the Gunsmith’s showing up a full day early, they have now put the stress of my newly assigned roll back into the forefront of my mind.
I sigh as I pick up the phone to call housekeeping and then my father. It doesn't seem like Draven Gunsmith and I have started off on the right foot, but from here on out I will do my best to make sure his stay is that of excellence.
I realize then that I desperately want things to go right for my father because of the Gunsmith’s. I did not want to be the reason for another fiasco. It wasn’t like I didn’t like my job. I loved being a manager of this hotel; still, the fact of the matter is that I didn’t think I would be a suitable CEO. No matter what I did I would still wind up in that role. So, I might as well accept it and strive to be the best I could be.
I twirl a piece of my hair as my father starts barking orders to everyone within shouting distance by simply saying it's 'go time'. I really hope this hairstyle stays up this time since it looks like the fun has just begun for me. My stomach flips with dread mingling with the earlier excitement; a feeling that I have just barely scratched the surface on my fun time with the Gunsmith’s.
CHAPTER FOUR
It took about ten frantic minutes to set the wheels in motion. It wasn’t frantic per say; it was more like the staff getting flung into action. Once the name Gunsmith started being thrown around by the employees everyone tended to get a bit frazzled. I guess to some the name held power. Well, mine did too so all I saw when I looked at them was the fact that Draven was an asshole and one of his br
others made my insides stir. Okay, they both made my insides stir, but Draven was still an asshole. Grabbing a set of key cards that I just programmed, I slowly and carefully stuck my pen in my bun. Honestly, I think I would cry if it fell down right about now. I turn to find Roxanne leaning so far over the edge of the counter that her tip toes were barely touching the floor.
“Roxanne,” I say sharply, causing her to startle and slide quickly back down behind the front desk, landing on her feet hard.
“Shit, Kensley!” She says a little too loud before instantly popping a hand over her mouth. I chuckle at her as we glance around the lobby to make sure no one overheard Roxanne’s verbal mishap. Thankfully, the place was empty.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I go to stand beside her and see what she was so focused on.
“What do you think I am doing?” She huffs out sarcastically. I immediately catch sight of what I could only assume were all four of the Gunsmith brothers sitting at the bar. Three of them had hair like spun gold, while Draven was the only variation with his hair in a dark brown hue.
“You should see the asses on them as they walked away,” she nudges me in the side and wiggles her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me. I laugh and push her elbow away.
“Oh, honey—I did,” I respond with a mischievous wink and watch as her eyes light up.
“So you know exactly what I am talking about.” I give her a sly look and she bursts out laughing. I love Roxanne. Everyone has that one person in life that is an absolute pervert and can turn any circumstance into the most inappropriate situation imaginable. Well, she is mine. Technically, we are each others. I’m sorry, but men have nothing on women in the pervert category. Anyone who wants to try and disclaim this notion should pick up a woman’s e-reader and find out what she really reads.
