R.S. Grey - The Fortunate Ones.pdf

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THE FORTUNATE ONES
Copyright © 2017 R.S. Grey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical,
without written permission from the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or
reviews.
This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If
you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the
seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
the author’s work.
Published: R.S. Grey 2017
authorrsgrey@gmail.com
Editing: Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading: JaVa Editing
Cover Design: R.S. Grey
CH AP TE R O NE
This is the last outfit I would ever choose to wear,
but it’s not my choice to make. It’s my work
uniform: a skintight blue polo paired with a pleated
khaki skirt that cuts off much closer to my crotch
than my knees. Combine that with an embroidered
baseball cap and gleaming white Keds, and I’ve
become everything I hate in in this world:
a country
club cabana girl.
My name is embroidered on the shirt in a
scrolling font. Above it sits the club’s pretentious
logo, a laurel wreath hugging the Twin Oak initials.
It hasn’t changed in 50 years, and that’s just the
way the members like it. Old money likes old things
—except, of course, when it comes to the elite
amenities in a place like this. Here, they want new,
bigger, better. Acres of perfectly manicured lawns.
18 holes of world-class golf. An Olympic-sized
swimming pool with all the kid-friendly
accouterments any day-drinking lacrosse mom
could ask for. From what I’ve seen, there’s a
members-only spa, formal dining room, and
gentlemen’s cigar lounge. Beyond that, there’s no
telling what else lies within the grounds of Twin
Oaks. The scope of my job really only entails
access to the pool and main clubhouse. Aside from
that, I’m not particularly encouraged to roam.
When each member arrives, they drive through
a bougainvillea-covered arched iron gate guarded
by no less than three men at any given time. The
level of security strikes me as overkill, as if the
architects envisioned lower-middle-class hordes
crashing through to get their first taste of crab legs.
But, then again, I’m not dripping in diamonds like
half the women here, so whatever. If Julio, Matt,
and Nico make them feel safe, that’s great.
The truth is, their only real talents are scanning
ID cards and kissing the asses of wealthy members,
like this guy.
“C’mon beautiful, give us a little smile.”
I want to ignore him. I’m focused on the sleek
black Porsche driving up the tree-lined drive. In a

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