29
It was strange to be this nervous for a date.
Aside from the shopping trip with Isabella, Brandon hadn't been on a real date in months.
Even back then, he'd never felt jittery like this.
The fact that his outing with Isa had been sprung on him had actually helped, short-circuiting his pre-date panic before it could even start.
But now, with Amanda, he'd spent days trapped in his own head, bracing for whatever she had planned.
Amanda and Isabella are in a whole different league. Way out of yours.
Saturday had finally arrived—the day Amanda promised she would collect on the date he'd had with Isabella.
They had been texting back and forth, and she adamantly refused to drop a single hint about where she was taking him.
That secrecy had only stoked his anxiety.
He was used to planning dates, picking the spots.
Then there was the glaring wealth gap between them.
Brandon still wasn't comfortable letting either of them foot the bill for him.
He wasn't the kind of guy who minded paying for his dates; on the contrary, he took pride in covering the tab.
But Isabella and Amanda lived in an entirely different tax bracket.
A casual night out for them could mean financial ruin for him.
He ducked into the bathroom one more time to check his hair. It was getting a little long; he really needed a cut.
He checked his phone to see if Amanda had texted. Nothing from her, just a message from Isabella wishing him good luck. He shot a quick reply back, and Isa texted right away asking for a photo once he was fully dressed; she wanted to see him all cleaned up.
He went back to the bathroom again. Fixed his hair once more.
Then he took in the clothes he was wearing.
Sally's gift was doing wonders to keep his anxiety from spiraling completely out of control; without it, he'd be drowning in self-consciousness over his wardrobe.
He smoothed down the front of the tailored black button-down, straightening the crisp fabric.
He debated whether to leave the sleeves down or roll them up.
He settled on cuffing them—no need to look too stiff—though he decided to bring a blazer just in case the venue called for it.
God, how do you even prep for a place where you know for a fact you'll be the poorest bastard in the room?
He stared at the tie resting on the bathroom counter. With or without? he weighed. He decided to slip it into his pocket just in case. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. He folded it neatly, sliding it into the blazer's inner pocket.
Isabella's bracelet added a tasteful gleam of gold against his wrist. At the very least, wearing it was a tactile reminder that she and Amanda were in his corner.
That neither of them gave a damn about what was in his bank account.
He took one last appraisal in the mirror, made sure everything looked sharp, and snapped a quick photo for Isabella.
She showered him with compliments and a string of flirty emojis.
Jesus! Why am I working myself up like this?
Then came the text from Amanda: she was pulling up to his building.
Brandon wasn't much of a car guy, but even from the building's lobby, he recognized the sleek lines of Amanda's dark blue BMW.
The car glided smoothly to the curb right out front.
He would have appreciated the view a lot more if Nancy hadn't been trailing right behind him, squawking in his ear like a relentless parrot.
The moment Amanda's text came through, he'd tried to slip out of the building unnoticed to dodge the old woman. No such luck. Nancy had cornered him before he reached the glass doors, seizing the opportunity to lay into him.
To be fair, she wasn't wrong to be upset. It was his rent that was past due. But as justified as her anger was, the venomous, badgering way she treated him skirted dangerously close to harassment.
"Again, I'm really sorry, Nancy. But like I was saying—"
"That's Mrs. Pursel to you, boy," Nancy cut him off, dogging his heels as he kept walking toward the front gate.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Pursel. But my paycheck hasn't cleared yet. Like I told you last time, I just started this new job. Please, just give me a few more days. I'll pay whatever late fees you want, I swear."
"I don't want excuses, boy. You signed a lease!"
"Yes, I know that. But you also know I've never missed rent before. I'm not saying this isn't on me." Brandon turned to face her, fighting to keep his voice level and respectful while fumbling with the gate latch behind his back. "Look, things just got a little tight for me these last months."
"I don't give a damn about past months. Paying on time was your obligation, and I'm not giving you a medal for doing the bare minimum."
"Of course, of course. That's not what I'm asking. Just... a few more days. I just want you to know I'm not trying to screw you over."
"You haven't paid! That is screwing me over!"
Brandon clasped his hands together, pleading with her once more. "Just give me until Tuesday, at least. Whatever it takes, even if I have to find another way to get it. I swear it, Mrs. Pursel."
"You should've found another way to pay it on time."
Brandon's face burned with raw humiliation.
He was painfully aware of his own pathetic situation, and he took no pride in it.
In fact, he'd been busting his ass, and the only reason he'd been dodging her lately was the certainty that his paycheck from the club would square everything away.
Having Amanda sitting right there in her car, watching this entire spectacle unfold, only poured salt in the wound.
The thought that she might overhear them made his throat tighten, his words faltering.
Nancy launched into another moral crusade about how the younger generation never honored their commitments, and how back in her day...
The BMW's door swung open, and the sight of Amanda stepping out onto the pavement froze the old woman mid-rant.
Amanda wore a silver dress, delicate and dangerously short.
The straps featured subtle detailing that matched the slender laces of her stilettos and the chain of her clutch.
God, she's statuesque, Brandon thought, completely captivated.
If he weren't suffocating under the sheer embarrassment of having her witness this pathetic scene, he would have burned alive with raw desire for his Mistress.
Click... click... click... Her heels clicked against the concrete like the measured, oppressive ticking of a death row clock.
It was almost too much for Brandon to bear.
Intrusive thoughts flooded his mind, a suffocating wave of insecurity screaming that this was it; the fairy tale of the past few weeks had just run out of road.
There was no way a woman like Amanda would stick around after seeing him like this.
She was stepping out of that car to cut him loose, to tell him to delete her and Isabella's numbers and never call again...
"How much?" Her voice cut through the air; the same frigid, commanding tone she used when putting him in his place. A razor made of ice.
"Amanda..." Brandon began, fighting through the panic, desperate to step between them. If everything was crashing down right here, he was at least going to go down with some dignity.
The blonde lifted a single finger in his direction and he fell instantly silent. The question hadn't been for him. It was for Nancy.
"How much does he owe?"
"That's not something I'd discuss with just anyone...
" Nancy started, bristling, but Amanda pinned her with an imperious glare that shattered every ounce of the old woman's resolve until compliance was her only option.
"Well... I can't just take the base rent.
There are late fees, contract penalties, plus all the sheer grief he's caused me... "
While the old woman rambled on, Amanda unclasped her clutch and retrieved a neat stack of crisp bills. Before Brandon could even begin to count how many she was pulling, Amanda was already holding the money out to the old woman.
Nancy hesitated. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the thick fold of cash and Amanda's piercing blue eyes.
Amanda raised her hand a fraction higher, and Nancy couldn't ignore the cash any longer.
She snatched it and began counting. She kept grumbling under her breath as she flipped through the bills, but it seemed to be enough.
"Come on, darling. Get in the car."
It took Brandon a beat to react. Amanda was already gliding back toward the driver's side as if the possibility of him disobeying didn't even exist. He hurried around to the passenger side, stammering the only words he could muster.
"Yes, ma'am." She caught his eye over the roof of the BMW, a feral smirk curling her lips.