08
Brandon wasn't running late for work, and for a second, he wondered if his encounters with Isabella and Amanda were the reason why.
The prospect of seeing them again was more than enough to put a spring in his step.
It wasn't just the way Amanda had used him during his night shift; he'd been caught even more off guard when Isabella tracked him down a few days later.
Things like that just didn't happen to him.
In fact, nothing remotely like that had ever happened in all his twenty-odd years of life.
He locked his door and stepped out into the apartment hallway. The overhead bulb was on its last legs, buzzing with an irritating flicker. He wasn't about to mention it to Nancy, his landlady. Not when he was actively dodging her over his past-due rent.
So, as much as he had fresh motivation to head to work, slipping out of the complex remained a stealth mission to keep from running into her.
Luckily, Nancy didn't live on his floor. Unluckily, she lived on the ground level, which meant running the gauntlet right past her door regardless.
He crept down the stairs, keeping his steps virtually silent. Clenching his keys in a tight fist to muffle any telltale jingle, he peeked around the corner, watching for any sign of her at the door or even a twitch from behind her open curtains. The coast looked clear, so he pressed on.
He darted down the hall past her apartment, and the moment he hit the stairs leading to the parking garage, a wave of pure relief washed over him. He'd made it. Now all he had to do was get in the car and drive to the club.
Yanking open the door of his beat-up Ford, he tossed his backpack onto the passenger seat.
He turned the key with the agonizing caution of a kid trying to microwave a 2 a.m. snack without waking his parents.
The engine sputtered to life, and Brandon winced, trying not to press too hard on the gas while giving it just enough to keep from stalling.
Still no sign of the woman.
He shifted into gear and rolled out through the garage gate. Now, finally, he was free.
Once again, his thoughts drifted back to Amanda and Isabella, and it took Sally calling his name a second time to drag him back to reality. Fortunately, the older woman was far sweeter than most club members and didn't take offense.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. What did you say?"
"Everything alright, Brandon? You seem a little distracted today."
"Just thinking of the best way to keep you happy, ma'am," he replied with an easy smile, deftly dodging the question.
He'd been strictly warned that employees were never to share their personal lives with members.
They were there to serve, not to fish for bigger tips.
Naturally, those weren't the exact words in the rulebook Brandon had been handed, but it was brutal how cruel the club's regulations could be beneath all that soft, polished phrasing.
"Oh, you don't have to talk like that with me! Still having trouble sleeping? I've told you before, you need your rest. You'll run yourself ragged like that."
"I will, ma'am. I'll work on that." Brandon cleared her empty glass and wiped down the table. "Can I get you another drink, ma'am? Something to eat while you wait for your yoga class?"
"Actually, yes, sweetheart. Bring me another juice."
"Right away."
Brandon stepped away, taking the empty glass toward the nearest beverage station.
They were in the garden area beneath the gym and the activity hall.
The trees cast a cool shade, especially welcoming on hotter days.
Wrought-iron and wooden tables were scattered across the lawn in a classic style that, no matter the time of day, gave Brandon the impression the members were sipping tea at a Parisian café.
It was an odd thought, and probably way off base, but that was the vibe he associated with the place.
He set the glass on the counter as the barista started preparing the refill.
Leaning against the wall while he waited, Brandon caught sight of someone crossing the stone pathway on the other side of the seating area.
It was Monica. She was one of the few people Brandon genuinely talked to at work.
According to the shift schedule, he spent most of his days in the central grounds—between the pool, the gardens, the front athletic courts, and the spa.
Because of that, he crossed paths with her quite a bit, which had brought them a little closer.
Over the last couple of days, though, something felt off. Maybe he was just reading into it, but Brandon was starting to think Monica was avoiding him.
Any doubt vanished when he waved to her and Monica looked downright shocked to see him.
A flush burned across her cheeks, bright enough that he could see it even from a distance.
Torn on what to do, she grew flustered before finally managing an awkward wave back.
Right after that, she picked up her pace and bolted toward the spa.
Strange, Brandon thought. There's definitely something going on.
He was jarred from his thoughts when Sally's drink was ready.
Grabbing the tray, he went back to serve her.
If his memory served him right, his next scheduled shift was at the spa, which meant spending the whole shift right beside Monica.
That would probably shed some light on the girl's bizarre behavior.
He'd been lucky that morning, but his luck ran dry by nightfall. Nancy caught him the second he parked in the garage. She didn't seem furious, but she wore that same severe scowl as always. It looked like the woman hadn't smiled in years.
He cut the engine, grabbed his backpack, and walked toward the stairs.
"Are you hiding from me, Brandon?"
"Good evening, ma'am." Brandon stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up, taking in the woman in her mismatched floral blouse and floral pants, the clashing patterns jarring even in the dim light. "No, I've just been working late. Got a new job."
"I hope that new job came with my rent money."
"I... I'm sorry, ma'am. The car needed repairs and a few other things came up. I thought I'd have it together in time."
"This is your last warning, young man. I don't want any trouble with you."
"You won't have any, ma'am. I'm sorry."
Nancy pressed him a bit more, chewing him out over being late and accusing him of hiding from her—which was true, but only because he genuinely didn't have the rent money, not because he was trying to rip her off.
Once she finally had her say, she spun on her heel and slipped inside her apartment.
Brandon sighed and began climbing the stairs to his floor.
As lucky as he felt about whatever was happening with Amanda and Isabella, the rest of his life was still a bitter pill to swallow. Maybe that was why he let himself get so lost in romantic daydreams about the two of them. It was the only comfort he had.