Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
When I make it back to the bar, I stuff the second hundred into the tip jar because I’m basically as generous as Jesus, except instead of turning water into wine, I turn misogyny into money. Also, coincidentally, I don’t think I can stuff any more cash into my pocket without it becoming conspicuous.
I take off my Twin Oaks Country Club baseball cap and hang it on the back of the door then salute the poor schmuck who has arrived to relieve me. She’s new, Cari or Cara, something like that. Behind her, Will and Kyle are manning the kitchen. Compared to the main dining room, the fare out here is simple at best: chicken salad sandwiches and fresh veggies, hotdogs and hamburgers for the kids. They do a pretty good job of it though, and I gratefully accept a club sandwich to-go. There would be no more freebie deli delights if they knew how many tips I keep for myself, but it’s only fair. They get to listen to music and chat in the safety of the bar and kitchen while I’m stuck out there with the wildlife, trying to keep all my limbs intact.
“See you tomorrow?” Will calls from behind me.
“Nope. I have the day off.”
I try not to sing the words.
He groans in annoyance, but I can’t even feign sympathy.
It’s going to be magnificent. I’m going to sleep in and go for a run, job search for a couple hours, and revel in the real world, where people carry Target purses instead of Birkin bags and children have to follow rules. At Twin Oaks, everyone is well connected. That little boy nearly drowning his sister in the pool right now? His mom is a senator. The teenager pouring vodka into her Sprite? Her dad owns half the commercial real estate in Austin. Nothing is scarier than a teen with powerful pedigree, and I steer clear of them as I weave around the pool and head inside.
The main clubhouse is referred to by most of the staff as The Manor because the sprawling two-story building looks as if it’s been teleported from the English countryside. Symmetrical, ivy-covered, and old enough to harbor some pretty juicy secrets, it’s a building I’d like to take out for a drink. Large, square windows line the first and second floor, and in the center of the limestone facade sits a massive porte cochère where guests can opt to leave their cars with a suited valet before swooping through the main entrance.
I’ve made the short walk from the pool to the clubhouse more times than I can count, but it’s still exciting to pull open the heavy doors and step inside the foyer. Beneath a large coffered dome sits an antique marble table, there for the sole purpose of bearing a dramatic floral arrangement that gets changed out every morning. Today it’s made up of a dozen cylindrical vases of varying heights. There are orchids and garden roses, hydrangeas and peonies. The guests in front of me breeze right past it without a second thought. I shake my head, walk around the table, and stroll down the large hallway that leads past a pair of bathrooms and a private lounge. Beyond lies the main dining room, the real gem of the clubhouse. In that room, the ceiling opens up, reaching heights that could rival any cathedral. Windows stretch across the back wall from floor to ceiling, showcasing the manicured gardens and the par-three eighth hole of the golf course.
The dining room itself looks as if an old French monarch rose from the dead and demanded that the entire room be decorated in an opulent shade of blue. There’s plush wallpaper, starched table linens, and heavy drapes, all ranging from royal to robin’s egg. My favorite detail is the pale blue and cream damask velvet that covers the antique French dining chairs. It’s completely impractical. I can’t imagine the cost of upkeep over the years, but the chairs are beautiful and I’d take one home with me if I could get away with it.
This room is where I spend the other half of my time at Twin Oaks. If I’m not stationed for a shift out at the cabana, I’m perched behind the hostess podium for the lunch service. That spot is currently occupied by my older sister, Ellie, who’s watching me with a smirk as I approach.
“Done with your shift, or are you about to quit in a blaze of glory?”
I grin and pat my pocket. “The first one, but if these tips keep coming, I should have enough saved for the latter soon.”
She laughs. “You really have to swap with me one day for beer cart duty. You think you get good tips at the cabana, but you have no idea what you’re missing.”