Chloe
“Looking good, Mr. Smith!” I gave a cheery wave as I passed an octogenarian stretching his quads by the pool. “Nice moves, Mr. Weiss.” I turned my attention to an aging man who was intent on the young aquafit instructor in the pool, despite being on dry land himself. He was the deeply tanned shade of a well-cured leather bag.
I snapped my gum, tutti-fruity flavor, and enjoyed my circuit of the pool. The pool was my domain, and I ruled over it like a benevolent queen. The eyes of the rich, arrogant, but mostly harmless members of the golf country club followed me. Many of the wives hated me, which made sense. I was twenty-two years old, a lifeguard forced to wear a club swimsuit that barely covered my tanned ass. It wasn’t my first choice in clothing, but hey, the extra tips were nice.
Hill Crest was like one of those country club resorts from the movies, where the rich played tennis with handsome instructors and golfed with their buddies. The bar was full of braying wall street banter, and the dancing evenings were rife with wandering hands. Sadly, the staff were used to it, and I was no different.
I’d worked at Hill Crest for a couple of years, and only during the summer, but I’d had more than a glimpse of the kind of life a Hill Crest wife could expect. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that the staff who succumbed to the seduction of the bored husbands or wall street players cooling their heels over summer would actually become wives. They were trophies to be won, like the ones on the links. Once summer had passed, they’d be forgotten, the memory of their night together gathering dust in some asshole's mind.
“Mr. Sutton! We didn’t expect you today!” The loud, irritating nasal tones of a coworker rang out, far too close to my ear.
I turned an annoyed glance on Phil and followed his beady eyes. Who was Phil perfecting his suck-up pucker for so early in the morning?
“Don’t expect me to know or remember your name,” a deep voice replied. It was chock full of arrogance, attitude, and just the right pitch to make me want to roll my eyes.
The man coming toward us suited his deeply masculine voice perfectly. He was a muscled chunk of silver fox, and I might have looked him up and down a little too closely. He was nothing like the other beer-bellied, balding greaseballs who sleazed up to me as soon as their wives turned their backs.
He was wearing a linen shirt that followed the lines of his thick torso and swim shorts, revealing his long, muscled legs. The man looked like a quarterback who’d decided to play billionaire. The man carried an aura of wealth that wouldn’t wash off in the pool. It was more than skin deep. He had dark hair, liberally sprinkled with gray, and his chiseled jaw was shadowed with stubble. I couldn’t see his eyes, but considering his face, I’d place him in his late thirties or early forties. Hello, daddy.
“Of course not, Mr. Sutton. I wouldn’t expect you to,” Phil stuttered beside me.
The silver fox’s head turned to me. From behind his glasses, his gaze was like a warm spotlight shining on me, as if I’d been in darkness until I felt the beam of his attention. My skin prickled, and my scandalously tight, red swimsuit suddenly seemed too revealing. My nipples pebbled, and I turned away before I could blush. I didn’t do blushing, well, not for the men who thought funding my minimum wage job entitled them to feel me up whenever they got the chance.
I turned toward the lifeguard post and walked away slowly, forcing myself not to hurry. Hurrying did the damn hem of the bathing suit no favors; it only prompted my ass to swallow it up faster. Well, it wasn’t my fault that the bathing suit hadn’t been designed for someone with my kind of behind.
I reached the lifeguard post as old Mr. Perkins appeared. He liked to do his squats near me in the morning and try and stare down my suit as I got myself situated for the day.
“Morning, Chloe, dear,” Mr. Perkins said, his eyes fixed on my chest.
“Good morning, Bob. Going for a new squat record today, are you?”
“Yes, dear. I might need help if I get stuck.” His eyes darted to my face and then bounced right back to my chest like my nipples were magnets he couldn’t escape.
“Right. I’ll keep my eyes open,” I called to him with a sigh.
I turned to climb up my tower and collided with a towering shape. It was a body, harder than any body had a right to be. Huge, ham-like hands moved to hold my shoulders and steady me so I didn’t tip into the pool. I looked up and up again. It was Mr. Sutton, the big, burly, billionaire dreamboat.
“You should be more careful around the pool, being the lifeguard and all.” There was that incredible voice.
“I like to keep my skills sharp. Saving your own life is the trickiest, haven’t you heard?” I quipped. I was incapable of standing down from a good goading.
Mr. Sutton lowered his glasses, and I got my first glimpse of his eyes. Sea green. Far too pretty for a man like him.
“Is that right? Name?” he snapped.
I looked at him.
“I asked for your name,” he repeated when I failed to answer.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you were calling a dog, or Phil was within earshot.”
Mr. Sutton’s lip quirked. It was sexy as hell and all too fleeting. “What is your name, please?”
“Chloe Devereux.”
“And I take it you’re a lifeguard here?”
“No, I like to cosplay Baywatch during the summer.”