03
It was Brandon's first night shift since landing the job at Sterling Grove Club, the town's sprawling playground for the ultra-wealthy.
He'd never imagined Narrow Creek could harbor this many rich bastards, but reality had quickly proved him dead wrong.
Brandon himself wouldn't have been caught dead inside the gates if he wasn't on the payroll. He was flat-out broke.
His bank account was mirrored in the piece of junk he called a car—an eyesore with a mismatched bumper that broke down far more often than it ran.
But Janet's magic touch had coaxed a few more days of borrowed life out of the beat-up Ford, just enough to rattle along the highway and carry him through the club's gilded front gates for another shift.
Working nights was fundamentally the same grind as working days: catering to the wealthy.
Whether around the pool deck, inside the spa, out on the tennis courts and golf greens, or behind the bar, Brandon was at their beck and call.
The second a member snapped their fingers, he dropped whatever he was doing to jump at their command.
Brandon hated the members of Sterling Grove.
Rich assholes, he thought. Spoiled brats who can't even wipe their own asses without ringing for an attendant.
He paused for a beat, caught off guard by just how fast that resentment had festered over the past few days.
It wasn't any single member in particular; it was just a raw, simmering disgust with the whole lot of them.
At least the club quieted down after dark. None of the daytime swarm of old farts hobbling toward the greens, or snooty matrons lounging poolside with their lapdogs, barking orders for towels, cocktails, or whatever else struck their fancy.
No. The night shift belonged to their trust-fund heirs. Their sons and daughters—just as spoiled, just as entitled.
That was how Brandon met Amanda.
“Hey! You over there! Hustle up, I need another drink.”
Brandon caught the voice calling out as he walked past one of the hot tubs.
Having only passed by during daylight, he hadn't imagined how striking the gardens looked bathed in the deep blue landscape lighting switched on at night.
Following the voice, he stepped into a secluded nook outfitted with the tub, two chaise lounges, and a low cocktail table.
A scatter of empty stemmed glasses ringed the bubbling water.
Two women sat inside the tub. Both looked to be in their mid-to-late twenties, one blonde and the other brunette. The rippling water distorted their submerged figures, but that didn't stop Brandon from noticing the generous swell of their breasts spilling just above the waterline.
The women clearly enjoyed the way his eyes lingered.
“Did you hear me? I need another drink!” the blonde barked.
“I think what you really need is him, Amanda,” the brunette chimed in, pointing straight at Brandon. “Way better than that old geezer who was waiting on you.”
They both burst into giggles again.
A warm flush crept up Brandon's neck, and he asked what they were drinking, anxious to get the hell out of there.
The brunette was visibly hammered and bound to need a bucket before long.
The other one, Amanda, wasn't nearly as far gone; she just seemed amused by her friend's drunken antics.
For some reason, the blonde looked familiar, but Brandon was notoriously awful with faces.
He jotted down their drink order and turned on his heel toward the bar.
“You know, Isabella, that might actually be your first good idea all night. It’d be fun to play with someone after so long...”
Amanda's voice faded as Brandon hurried down the stone garden path.
He racked his brain trying to figure out where he knew her from, but the sheer flood of people he'd seen at the club over the past few days made it impossible; he was probably just recognizing someone he'd waited on during a day shift.
He brushed the thought aside as he approached the spa.
Monica was standing by the entrance, directing an older gentleman toward the thermal baths.
“Everything okay?”
“Just the usual,” she said softly. “What about you? Didn't think I'd see you pulling a night shift so soon.”
“Well, my bills didn't really leave me a choice. At least it's pretty dead around here.”
She let out a soft, shy chuckle.
“I, uh…” Monica stole several glances at him, her cheeks warming to a rosy pink. “I was thinking...”
“Yeah?”
She clasped her hands behind her back, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I... I guess we've never really...”
Whatever she was about to say vanished when the old man reappeared, waving a dismissive hand and beckoning her over to run some trivial errand.
“We'll talk later, okay?”
“Of course.”
Brandon stood there, watching her scurry after the man.
Weird...
With that, he got back to his mission: fetching the drinks for the two girls in the hot tub.
“Are you going to be much longer, darling?”
When Brandon returned with Amanda and Isabella's drinks, an older man was standing beside the hot tub. Late sixties or seventies, decked out in the kind of casual luxury that screamed Sterling Grove membership.
“Ugh, leave me alone, Dad. You dragged me here when I didn't even want to come, and now you want to bail?” Amanda's dripping disdain sent Isabella into another fit of giggles. Even under the blue garden lighting, Brandon watched the man's face flush deep red with frustration.
“Now listen here... Amanda!”
“Are you done?”
“Fine. Charles and Joe are playing another round, and I'm hitting the sauna. After that, we're leaving.”
“Whatever...”
The old man stomped away, locking eyes with Brandon for a split second and letting out an exasperated huff. At least he didn't take it out on me, Brandon thought. Amanda's father was seething, muttering to himself as he marched down the stone path toward the main spa pavilion.
“You planning on just standing there, handsome?” Amanda's voice slipped right back into that commanding, seductive purr she'd used on Brandon earlier.
He crouched down, handing the drinks to her and Isabella.
Up close, their beauty was downright breathtaking.
Amanda's blonde hair, swept into a loose bun, had strands framing a delicate face and piercing eyes that practically stripped him naked.
The elegant slope of her neck flowed down to prominent collarbones that contrasted sharply with the heavy, full breasts spilling out of her skimpy bikini top.
The churning water swirled around her body, accentuating every lush curve.
“Done staring yet?” Amanda asked, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.
Isabella dissolved into laughter, sloshing a mouthful of her drink into the tub. She tried to steady herself, barely keeping her chin above water by leaning heavily on her friend.
Brandon quickly averted his gaze, scrambling for composure.
Heat rushed to his cheeks as he reminded himself to keep it together and get out of there before he invited serious trouble.
There was no denying both women were gorgeous, but he'd never have the nerve to actually hit on them.
He was just a low-level club grunt—average-looking and flat broke.
If he wanted to be humiliated and have his self-esteem utterly shredded, he could just call his parents.
He didn't need to risk his livelihood hitting on two gorgeous, wealthy girls for that.
The two of them stared at him for a second, making him realize he was still hovering there, lost in his own head.
“Can I...” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Can I help you ladies with anything else?”
“Oh... absolutely...” Isabella pointed a wobbly finger at him. “Come on, get in here with us...”
“I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't do that.” Obviously, it wasn't a genuine invitation.
It was just two booze-happy rich girls looking to clown on him.
Just like the older matrons treated him with polite condescension during the day, this was clearly how the younger socialites got their kicks.
The brunette, Isabella, was completely wasted, visibly reeling.
“I thought you staff had to obey whatever a member tells you. Don't you?”
Both of them burst into laughter again.
“Isabella! Have some decency. You don't even know the poor boy's name.”
Another fit of breathless giggles followed.
“I bet it's—” Isabella suddenly clamped her lips shut, her eyes going wide as saucers. Everything she'd downed was rushing right back up.
She scrambled to hoist herself out of the tub, swaying unsteadily on the slick stone.
Amanda boosted her from behind by the thighs, and Brandon rushed forward, gripping the girl by the forearms to drag her clear.
If she pukes in the water, I'm fucked. I'll be the one stuck draining and scrubbing it.
She barely made it a few paces before emptying her stomach across the stone deck beside the tub.
“Ugh! Isabella, for God's sake!” Amanda gagged, her face twisting in pure disgust. “Get her out of here, handsome. Go on. She’ll be sick for a while once she starts.”
Brandon nodded, supporting the brunette by the shoulder and steering her wobbling steps down the stone path toward the spa. Spotting him struggling with her, Monica rushed over and took charge of the girl.
Brandon rolled his eyes, dreading the fact that he'd have to clean up Isabella's mess. The night shift might boast fewer members, but dealing with drunken fallout made him seriously question whether he'd ever volunteer to cover another evening shift.
He headed to a supply closet down the spa hallway, near the sauna, grabbing disinfectant and cleaning gear.
In the chaos, he'd completely forgotten to ask Monica what she had wanted to tell him earlier.
At least he had a cast-iron stomach; watching someone heave didn't make him nauseous, which was the only silver lining to an otherwise revolting task.
Heading back down the path illuminated by the garden's blue accent lights, his head spun with sheer frustration. If he didn't desperately need this job, this would be the exact moment he tossed his badge and walked out. Sure, the club paid better than average, but not nearly enough for this shit.
Had Brandon known he was about to get far more out of this job than just a paycheck, he might not have been sulking quite so hard on his way back to the hot tub.