Compromising Kessen (The Vandenbrook #1)(2)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

The look he gave her stopped her mid-sentence. “Believe it or not, my dear, you have more to learn than merely holding your own in a conversation, or using your sarcasm as a weapon. You did say you would do anything, and this is what I want. You will not take over the corporation or inherit anything until you’ve participated in a Season.”

Participate, participate. Why did the word sound like a death sentence more than a casual verb used in daily conversation? She calmed herself by biting her nail. “What do you mean participate?” She was trying desperately to keep herself from snapping. If her mother were here she would know what to do, but she wasn’t. It was up to Kessen. Why did it seem his whole life’s happiness now depended on Kessen doing this one thing for him?

He chuckled to himself before pushing out of his chair. “I’ve just decided to launch you into society.”

“Dad, I’m pretty confident the launching took place the day I was born. Secondly, I’m twenty-five. Don’t girls usually get launched at the ripe age of eighteen?”

He ignored her irritated tone and proceeded to lecture, “Yes, girls normally launch at eighteen, but you are different. Just because you are older does not mean you do not need it. And a lot of good it will do you!”

“Oh I’m sure.” Sarcasm dripped from her every word.

“If you were younger, I would spank you.”

“If you were older, you’d be in my college history books.”

“Well played,” he said, defeated.

“I am your daughter.”

He winced. “Remind me when I’m in a better mood.”

“Will do.”

“Go pack. You leave in two days.” He chuckled to himself again as if he was extremely pleased with his plan. “Kessen, if you really want the company and want the trust fund which goes with it, you will go to London, you will participate, and you will be happy. When you return, I’ll be more than pleased to hand over the Newberry operation … in England.”

“What?” Kessen asked with a dread-filled voice. “You don’t mean it.”

“Kessen,” her father said authoritatively. “As long as I’m alive, I’m the CEO. You’ll take what you can get. The London operation controls most of Europe. I think it’s enough to satisfy your needs, my dear.”

Kessen’s heart dropped to her stomach. She should be eternally grateful. It was what she had been dreaming about for years, but it meant she would have to live in London. Memories of her mother were not in London—they were in Colorado. The thought of having to be away from everything familiar, everything she had ever known, was terrifying.

Yes, she was successful and good at what she did. Was she not her father’s daughter? But the little girl inside, the one still needing her mother, the one afraid of making all the wrong choices and having no female guidance—that girl felt like she had just been wedged between a rock and hard place.

Honor her father’s choice now, or say goodbye to the familiarity and comfort of home forever.

Kessen sighed, and then groaned as her father pointed to the stairs. When she was little he used to tell her to “march.” Now all he needed to do was point, and she was on her way. It was his tiny way of showing her that he was the one who held all the cards and that if he wanted her to march her way up the stairs, she better do it with a smile on her face.

She defiantly shook her head; he pointed again, and somehow five minutes later she found herself in her room cursing to herself as she threw her clothes into her suitcase.

Really, how bad could a Season be? She was informed enough to know it wasn’t really a marriage mart anymore. The Season, although once well-known throughout London, in contemporary society consisted of lots of rich people getting together, drinking and eating, all the while talking about their money. It wasn’t like her father was sending her there to get married.

She laughed uncomfortably. Besides, when she was finished she would be the head of the European operation. Her dad must simply enjoy torturing her. But it would break his heart to know the only reason she fought him on the issue was the emotional ties she had with Colorado. Today was the first day she had seen a glimpse of her old father back. He had even cracked a smile. A first since her mother’s death six months ago.

Taking a deep breath she thought aloud, “I can do this.” Hadn’t she survived four years at Harvard and an excruciatingly long year at Yale for her master’s in business? Surely she could survive a Season in London.

She did a mental calculation of how long the flight would be and moaned.

Planes did not sit well with her. Ever since 9/11 she couldn’t get it out of her mind that someone might have the audacity to hijack her plane and crash it into something for the sake of religion.

“You’ll be fine,” she told herself.

Her thoughts were too scattered for her own good. What were they wearing in London now? Wasn’t it rainy there? She packed what she could, then decided she would go shopping with her dad’s credit cards if need be. He deserved some sort of punishment, even though a monetary hit would do nothing to his mounds of funds.

Technically, they were her cards anyway. She had been an employee since her graduation a few years ago. She wasn’t the type of girl to use company cards and not somehow pay her father back. But at least it would make her feel better to imagine his face as she scanned and emailed him the bill. Naturally, she would send him a check within the same day to pay for everything.

Being the owner and CEO of Newberry Tea and Coffee had its perks. It was nearly as well known as some of the largest coffee companies in the world. Just last year they were in a bidding war over the coffee rights of some of the smaller areas of Colorado. A major competitor ended up winning but not before they attempted to buy out Newberry and Company. They failed and, at the same time, received lots of bad press for trying to take out such a thriving company.

The Newberry brand was different from other brands, because they specialized in tea even though they still served coffee drinks and roasted their own beans. They prided themselves on tea which tasted just like it did during Regency times in London. They also had a line of specialty baked goods.

Kessen hoped that by the end of the year, the product launch of their specialty creamers and coffee flavorings would be as much of a hit as the last surge of peppermint-flavored English breakfast tea. She threw something else in her bag and sighed. She needed to concentrate on packing rather than business. She couldn’t help if her mind was always on the next marketing plan or the week’s sales.