06
The next two days fell into the exact same routine as Brandon’s first week on the job.
He was shuffled from station to station across the club, covering the grounds, the gym, and the golf course.
The links were uncharted territory. He hadn't ventured out that far yet, only to discover the Sterling Grove estate was vastly larger than he’d imagined.
It felt absurd that such a massive stretch of land existed solely for rich old men to whack little balls into holes, while folks poorer than Brandon had nowhere to live.
If this were all turned into housing, he mused. Didn't I hear somewhere that you could house millions of people if you converted enough golf courses?
Sure, reality was obviously more complicated than that. But standing there in the middle of that endless green expanse, waiting on two old men between swings while attending to their every whim, the thought kept creeping back into his mind.
Seems like a fair trade to me, he thought. I’d swap the greens for housing in a heartbeat.
The photographer in him couldn't help framing the shot, wishing he could capture the scene. But club policy banned cameras, and even his phone had to stay locked away during his shift.
He hopped behind the wheel of the golf cart and drove the two seniors to the next hole so they could continue their match.
His mind drifted elsewhere, circling back to Monica. He’d crossed paths with her a few more times, and she seemed even more painfully shy around him than before. He knew that was just who she was, but still, this feels like overkill. Did I do something to upset her?
“Hand me that other iron, son. Come on, Joe here doesn't think I can close this out in under four strokes.”
“Right away, sir.”
Brandon obliged, snapped out of his reverie. He carried the club over and handed it off. The two old-timers traded jabs for another minute while Brandon fought down the urge to roll his eyes. He was getting remarkably good at suppressing that reflex.
Afterward, he retreated back into his head.
It was all he had left, especially since he hadn't crossed paths with Amanda at the club since that night.
He caught himself scanning every blonde who walked past, even knowing deep down it had likely just been a one-off—a rich girl's passing game, toying with a cute young staffer for kicks.
Still, in dull stretches like this, he had little else to do but let his imagination run wild, reliving what had happened and dreaming up how his little game with Amanda would have finished.
He shadowed the two men until they wrapped up their round, making a handful of runs back to the clubhouse to fetch drinks and whatever else they demanded.
It was the longest of the four days he had to endure before Brandon’s luck finally struck again.
“Amanda told me all about how good you made her come in the hot tub that night,” Isabella purred in Brandon’s ear.
She had slipped up behind him, catching him completely off guard with that sultry whisper, sending a sudden shiver racing down his neck.
Brandon stood frozen on the pool deck, a fresh stack of towels cradled in his arms, waiting to hand them to a pair of older club members climbing out of the water.
After four days without a single trace of Amanda or Isabella, having her materialize out of thin air sent his heart hammering against his ribs.
He scrambled to mask his burning blush, his tongue tying itself in knots.
He figured staying quiet was his safest bet.
What the hell was he supposed to say after having something like that breathed into his ear?
His mind scrambled for a comeback that wasn't too filthy to mutter within earshot of the two elderly women currently reaching the pool ladder.
Brandon turned to face her. Her sweet, intoxicating perfume hit him first, dizzying his senses.
Her rich brunette hair cascaded past her shoulders in loose waves.
The pleated skirt barely covered her thighs, and her fitted top squeezed her breasts together, spilling cleavage that stopped him dead in his tracks. She was stunning.
She looked completely transformed from the night they’d met, when she and Amanda had spent hours drinking in one of the spa’s hot tubs.
Isabella had overindulged and gotten sick, which had left Amanda looking to Brandon for entertainment.
It had been a damn good night—he certainly didn't regret it.
Now, she looked totally revitalized, cheeks flushed with color and lips curled into a bright, wicked smile.
A tennis bag was slung over her shoulder.
“Come on... nothing to say?”
“I don't—” Brandon held up a finger, asking for a second. He hurried to the water's edge, handed the towels to the two women, and slipped right back over. “Keep your voice down. If anyone catches wind of that, I'm fired.”
Isabella giggled softly. Brandon knew exactly where this road led—or at least, where he craved for it to go. God, how does she manage to look so sweet and innocent while saying dirty shit like that?
“All the more reason for you to do whatever I tell you, don't you think?”
“You going to blackmail me like your friend did?”
“Oh, don't be silly. It's not like you'd hate it, would you?” Isabella pouted, a performance so convincing it nearly fooled him. “Besides, I want my turn, too.”
“If my manager catches me slacking off, I’m screwed.”
“I’ll take care of Laura. We’re old friends.” Isabella stepped into his space again, her chest brushing against Brandon’s arm—unmistakably on purpose. “Like I said, you have to obey me, don’t you?”
Brandon gave a reluctant nod.
The memory of the night he’d met her flashed through his mind—the sight of her in that bikini in the tub, dripping wet skin... It was more than enough to make him hastily shift his weight to hide an erection right there by the pool.
“Wait. Don't you think your friend might be pissed? I mean, not that there’s anything between us—we only hung out once and all—what I mean is... look, I just don’t want to do anything that gets her mad.”
“Amanda? Oh, sweetheart. Thoughtful of you, but you don't need to worry your pretty head about her. We have our own way of playing... It wouldn't upset her in the least.”
Isabella drifted close and stepped back, playing it casual whenever someone strolled past. Yet she was brutally efficient at teasing him, brushing subtle fingers against his body just to show how eager she was to drag him away.
Brandon struggled to think straight, but that was a losing battle when Isabella sounded like the devil whispering on his shoulder without an angel on the other side to argue back.
“Alright. If you swear it's cool with Amanda.”
“Come on. Meet me at tennis court number two in twenty minutes.”
“What if I don't?” he asked, trying to salvage some scrap of dignity.
Of course he was going. Despite the massive risk of losing his job if he got caught, Isabella was far too tempting to resist.
“Oh, honey. I think you misunderstood. That wasn't a request.” The sweetness on her face vanished for a fleeting second, replaced by sheer dominance. There truly was no angel of reason perched on his shoulder to save him.
Isabella tilted his chin up with her fingertips, forcing his gaze to lock with hers. When color flooded his cheeks, her smirk widened with deep satisfaction.
“You wouldn't want to test me, would you?” Isabella murmured, stepping back from Brandon with a slow, knowing wink.