Boss Daddy Read online

  Boss Daddy

  By

  Shanna Handel

  Copyright © 2019 by Stormy Night Publications and Shanna Handel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Handel, Shanna

  Boss Daddy

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Dreamstime/Julie Lubick and iStock/4x6

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  More Stormy Night Books by Shanna Handel

  Shanna Handel Links

  Chapter One

  Always the wedding planner, never the bride.

  My goal in life was to give my brides the weddings of their dreams. Turn their stress into excitement. Stretch every dollar of their budget to its fullest potential and give them the day they had been dreaming of since they were a little girl.

  They say, ‘do what you know.’ What I knew was how to throw a tear-jerking, smile-stretching, memory-yielding, one-of-a-kind wedding.

  As a child, I’d learned to read flipping through the glossy pages of my favorite bridal magazines. For my birthdays I would ask for craft supplies. With little bits of tulle and strings of plastic pearls, I decorated my dollhouse with a romantic flair that even Barbie envied. My little sister Josie never tired of being marched down my makeshift aisles. Whether they were in the backyard, or down the hallway of our house, time and time again she would happily come to the altar at the end and marry her favorite teddy bear, Mr. Sparkles.

  I’d watched every wedding movie my mother would allow me to. The only time I remember getting in trouble as a child was when I snuck out with a friend to the theater to see Runaway Bride when I was supposed to be studying for a math test.

  I was obsessed.

  It all started after my father abruptly left us. He had been an absentee father all along—worked long hours then came home and sat in front of the TV—but having him disappear altogether was devastating. I could still hear his tires crunching over the gravel as he pulled out of our driveway for the last time. My mom tried to hide her tears, but I knew she was lonely.

  We never spoke of my dad.

  My mom was a beautiful, generous, loving woman and she deserved to have a great guy. In my mind, one day she would meet the real love of her life, a man who would always care for her and never leave her. They would have a big, gorgeous ceremony to celebrate their union. Josie and I would dress up in pink satin dresses and hold Mom’s bouquet for her while she and her groom—our new, loving father—exchanged vows.

  It never happened.

  By my freshman year of high school, it was obvious my mother was not interested in meeting anyone. I began to wonder why Mom and Dad had come together in the first place. One day after scouring our house for wedding albums, and finding none, I worked up the courage to ask her how she had met my father.

  We sat at our four-seater kitchen table, the dim light hanging above us making the lines in her face show how much she aged over the past decade. Placing her hand over mine, her skin feathery soft, she told me. “It was a long time ago—gosh, I was just eighteen, maybe just turned nineteen? I did pageants back in those days—”

  “You did? I had no idea,” I said.

  A sadness fell over her tired face. “I hid it from you girls. I didn’t want to make it seem glamorous.” Her tone turned cold as she said, “It wasn’t.”

  “Okay, well, what happened?” I asked.

  “I won the Bluebonnet Miss Teen crown. My small town of Texas went wild. They even threw me a parade.” She gave a disgusted chuckle. “There wasn’t much going on in that town. Having a local girl win such a big crown really gave them something to talk about. After that day I had men coming in and out of the ice cream parlor I worked at, just wanting to catch a glimpse of Miss Bluebonnet in person. Gosh, I sold a lot of double scoops that month.”

  She got quiet and I could sense we were getting to the part about her meeting my dad. Not wanting her to stop talking, I prodded her, “Is that how you met Dad? Was he one of the ones who came in to get a glimpse of you?”

  Her eyes turned to me. A mixture of happy times washed away by sadness reflected at me. “No. Just the opposite. He was originally from Texas but now lived out of town... Wyoming to be exact. He was in there meeting with the local pharmacy—he sold the machines that count out the pills manually, so the pharmacist didn’t have to. Anyway, he was... sweet, and polite. And so different from the other men who had come into the parlor—he had no idea I was a beauty queen. When he left, he asked if he could take me to dinner that night.”

  “And what did you say?” I was on the edge of my seat, hungry for a story of romance, of love.

  “I said yes. I was flattered, I suppose. He was a little bit older than the other boyfriends I’d had. And he had a steady, grownup job; that meant something to me. And of course, as you know, he was handsome.”

  “Where did he take you?”

  “He took me to a little Italian place. I felt so grown up. There was a white cloth on the table, candles, linen napkins, the whole nine yards. I was so nervous, I barely knew how to act—luckily the pageant had required me to take an etiquette course, so I made my way through the three courses just fine. Your father even snuck me my first glass of wine.” A small smile spread across her face as she looked past me, her eyes focusing on nothing as her memories washed over her.

  “Well, what happened after that? Did he kiss you when he took you home?” Her gaze came back to me. I couldn’t read the look that rested in her eyes. “What is it, Mom?”

  “Louanne, I went back to his hotel room with him.”

  “Oh. I... ah...”

  Her hand squeezed mine. “And you were born nine months later.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I felt like a cold sweat was going to break out over my forehead. I was the only reason my parents were together? Just a one-night stand... an unplanned pregnancy? “Mom, I—”

  “Louanne Dixon. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Seeing your little face, the moment after you were born, honey, that was the most magical moment of my life. And the way you reached up and instantly wrapped your tiny little fingers around mine—it was like you already knew me. And then, he gave me Josie. You girls are the most precious thing in my life and I’d take all the pain your dad gave me in exchange for the joy of having you both,” she said.

  We cried then, buckets of tears, trying to stay quiet so we didn’t wake Josie.

  Instead of marrying, my mom got a nursing degree and spent her days working providing for my sister and me. I took care of Josie, and with no mom available to run me to soccer practices or dance recitals, I had a lot of time on my hands. I spent it developing my passion for creating all things wedding. And now, I got to live out my dream.

  I stayed incredibly busy, especially in spring—that’s what I call ‘Wedding Season.’ There are cakes to be ordered, menus to be prepared, staff to hire and train, and my favorite—decorations to be planned, purchased, and carefully laid out. Throw in music, a dance floor, and a few signature Louanne
Dixon touches to ‘wow’ each unique bride, and you had yourself a wedding they would (hopefully) be talking about for years to come.

  I gave each of my weddings a nickname that reflected its theme. For example, one of my favorites I dubbed Wedding at the Castle. The bride was a princess at heart. For her, I found mock cut-crystal goblets and decanters at the dollar store. I placed translucent glass plates over silver chargers, and voilà! With only four dollars spent per head I had a dinner setting fit for royalty. Each place was set with a tiny, sparkling tiara for the female guests, and a gold crown for the men. (I had begged the manager at the Burger Barn to part with fifty of his cardboard kiddie crowns, then spray painted them gold.)

  Thousands of lights were strung from the rafters above the dance floor. Not only did they give a romantic glow to the room—and add a touch of whimsy—the tiny lights performed a much more important task. As the bride twirled on the floor with her groom, the Swarovski crystals and beads that were embroidered on her ivory gown reflected the light, creating a dazzling, sparkling effect that made her look like a real live princess.

  The bride and groom left the reception in a horse-drawn carriage.

  Planning weddings was what I lived for. Seeing the bride’s face absolutely light up the first time she walked into the barn for the ceremony made it worth every minute.

  From time to time, a client would ask me, “Doesn’t it get old? Always being the wedding planner, but never being the bride?” Did it get lonely at times? Sure. Was I fearful that I would become my mother, hiding my tears and crying myself to sleep in the dark night? Of course. But getting married myself just hadn’t been on my mind. I had too much to do. And so, when people asked if I was lonely, I told them ‘no.’

  And that had been true. Until very recently.

  Before his return, I was happy. My sister Josie had recently turned twenty-one and we would have a glass of wine together once a week. I took my mom shopping and out for manicures. And, I worked. But then, my lifelong crush came back to work on his family’s ranch—the very ranch at which I was the event planner. And his presence made it difficult for me to put my nonexistent love life aside and focus solely on work.

  Hayes was back and his very nearness made my skin feel all tingly. When he would lean over me to see my computer screen, his clean, masculine scent would waft my way. His arm would brush against mine and goosebumps would rise on my skin. Just hearing him say ‘Louanne,’ in that slightly southern accent he had brought back to the ranch with him made my panties damp.

  Hayes Jenkins.

  The all-American boy next door I had known since grade school.

  I thought about the day he walked into our social studies class. Little Peak was a tiny town, kids bussed in from all around the rural area—some riding for over an hour to get to school. Everyone knew each other, their families all knew one another, so a new kid showing up was a huge deal.

  Hayes had stood at the front of the classroom, looking confident beyond his years as the teacher introduced him.

  “Class, this is Hayes Jenkins. He and his younger brother Colton are transferring to our school, from Jackson. His family bought the Turner ranch. His older brother, Brody Jenkins will be taking over the Turners’ cattle ranch operation, as well as adding vacation cabins. They have renamed the ranch, CLAS. It stands for ‘clean living and sunshine,’ meaning there will be no drugs or alcohol tolerated on the property—you could all take a page from Brody’s book, we will be discussing the dangers of those substances later this semester. The town is excited for the Jenkinses to bring some wholesome fun to the community. Please make the Jenkinses feel welcomed here in Little Peak.”

  Some of the kids had latched on to our teacher’s admiration of what CLAS stood for and tried to tease Hayes about his brother Brody’s ‘clean living.’ Hayes wouldn’t have it and after a few playground scuffles, he had won the respect of the boys. He already had the whispered admiration of the girls.

  Our mothers met at Little Peak Baptist church and became good friends. When my mother wasn’t working, her, my sister and I were frequent visitors on the ranch. Hayes and I played tag, rode horses. When we were older, we hung out together, had the same friends. My junior year, his older brother and ranch owner, Brody, hired me as a part-time employee, helping out on the weekend. I was super organized and loved to make things pretty, so I was a no-brainer to be his assistant when he needed help with event planning.

  When I graduated high school, Brody asked me to come work at CLAS for the summer. He was busy hosting corporate retreats, family reunions, that sort of thing, but wanted to take on weddings. The business was growing, and he needed help. I quickly obliged.

  And never left.

  After that summer, I chose a college close to home, returning every weekend to work. I’d stay with my mom in town or if an event had overnight guests (which we almost always did) I would stay in the women’s bunkhouse on the ranch.

  Hayes had the most serious disposition of the four Jenkins brothers. Anything he undertook he gave his all. College was no exception. After being offered a full academic scholarship to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill’s business school, he waved goodbye and headed south. The program was intense. Hayes was offered internship after internship and we rarely saw him. After he graduated, he went on to get his MBA, while working full-time as a risk management analyst, ensuring that corporate policies adhere to governmental regulations—the perfect job for a serious guy. He came home for the occasional holiday and roundup days, but over the six years he was gone, we rarely saw one another.

  While Hayes was busy slaying the business world in North Carolina, I remained focused on my work in Wyoming. As the event side of things on the ranch continued to grow, so did my responsibilities. My junior year of college, I switched to all online courses and continued to work the ranch, living with my mom in town. I spent nights hunched over my computer, trying to ignore the gorgeous wedding décor on Pinterest and focus on my online classes. That was a busy two years and I had no time for a social life, much less my boyfriend at the time. I loved him, but I loved ranch life and my work more. He eventually dumped me.

  I haven’t dated since.

  I graduated college with my own degree in business—though my GPA was a full point below Hayes’. On the day of my graduation, Brody gave me a triple chocolate cake (courtesy of Memaw) and a yearly salary plus benefits. I became the full-time event planner for CLAS ranch. I bought myself a cute little house in town. And I worked. The years went by in a pleasant, bustling manner. Georgia moved onto the ranch, she and Brody started dating and eventually married. The second eldest Jenkins brother, Travis, finished up his doctorate program and met and married Bridgette. They had the cutest little girl, Lila Bell.

  Since the oldest two brothers had gotten married and the business continued to expand, Brody split the ranch up into co-owners. Brody oversaw business deals and finances. Travis, with his PhD in animal husbandry ran the cattle ranch. Brody’s wife Georgia, a vet tech, became Travis’ assistant. Colton, the youngest brother, was responsible for all things recreation—fishing, boating, day trips to Jackson Hole, horseback riding lessons. Keeping the weekend guests happy. Their grandmother, Memaw, oversaw the onsite restaurant, the Mess Hall. She chased her staff—which often consisted of her grandsons—around with her wooden spoon, bossing and cooking the best food in Wyoming.

  Then, after six years of being gone, out of nowhere, with no real explanation, Hayes had returned to the ranch.

  Brody cut him into the business. With Hayes’ MBA, no-nonsense personality and perfect organizational skills—that were only second to my own—he was a perfect match to oversee events. I implemented the planning and carrying out of the parties while Hayes saw to all of the scheduling, budgeting, vendor relations, and repair and maintenance of the buildings we used. Recently, he was taking on developing relationships with small businesses in order to create a gift shop for visitors by selling products from local entrepreneur
s.

  Hayes managed one full-time employee. And that was me.

  Though Hayes and I had never been more than friends, during our teen years there was the inevitable tug and pull of sexual tension running between us. Beyond a little harmless flirting, nothing ever came of it. The closest thing that had approached crossing that line of friendship had happened one night when Hayes was home for the holidays, the two of us laid in the bed of his truck after a long day of work on the ranch. The stars stretched over us like a dotted blanket. The full moon glowed so brightly, we could see one another’s faces clearly. We laughed and chatted, attempting to name the constellations we saw. That night, Hayes had given me the nickname, Luna the moon goddess, because of how beautiful he thought I looked under the moonlight. I still remember how his compliment made my cheeks burn with shyness and pleasure. I thought he was going to kiss me that night, but he didn’t. He still calls me Luna, and it makes me blush.

  Now that we were both single, grown adults working together, I felt that same hormonal teen attraction. If he was walking by and accidently brushed against me, delicious shivers ran down my spine. Once in a while, we would disagree about something. His brow would rise sternly, and he would take ‘that tone’ with me—the one that made my pussy tingly and melty.

  Hayes was back. Forever. And that’s how my crush became my boss.

  But none of that mattered. I was a professional woman and I would not date my boss. Also, I was going to have to remind him who was in charge of events on the ranch. A few times we had gone head to head over safety concerns—him having the mind of a risk analysist. He had nixed the fire dancers I ordered for Luau under the Stars—too dangerous. Killed the gymnast hanging on silk threads from the false beams—‘false beams mean false, Luna... they can’t hold weight.’ And most recently, he had asked me to stop using real candles—‘total fire hazard, not worth the risk involved when there are perfectly good LED lights on the market these days.’

  Can you imagine? Tacky battery-operated lights at one of my weddings? Please.