Chapter 43

Wednesday, June 16, 2021
Laguna Beach, California

Moving her elbow to scratch an intolerable itch in the crook of her arm, Lindsay couldn’t find solace in the tropical scenery and kaleidoscope of colors before her. Don’t be afraid to make difficult decisions. Bloodless lips twisted in a mockery of a smile, and poor Lindsay rubbed at her temples. I still can’t believe Colt made me do that.

With a sparkling sea of aquamarine as her canvas and the endless waves emulating the dancing hem of a long and flowing gown at her feet, Lindsay knew she should’ve been enjoying this temporary diversion to California and the sun-splashed crescent sands of Laguna Beach. But I’m not. Growing up in the unforgiving desert, how many times had she begged her straitlaced parents to take her and her three sisters out for a coastal adventure like this? Even if it was just once or twice a year? No, we had to stay in Citronelle, and bake in that oven. Never any fun as a kid.

One of Orange County’s hidden gems, and situated halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego, Laguna Beach was home to 20,000 acres of protected wilderness. From world-renowned mountain biking trails for all levels of expertise, countless miles of hiking, dramatic vistas, verdant hills, and yes, those terrific beaches, it provided the ideal vacation hotspot to dust off your flip-flops and surfboards or hiking shoes and water bottles and forget the rigors of everyday life.

At least for most people.

Don’t be afraid to make difficult decisions. The mantra that Pamela instilled in Lindsay had been playing in her mind on autoloop for nearly two weeks now (and counting). Be that leader, that people manager. If Lindsay didn’t assert herself and prove that she had what it took to be a leader and usher Happy Ending Ranch into a new iteration, Pamela and Colt wouldn’t sell it to her.

Well, she would have her opportunity come Saturday, wouldn’t she? The day my life changes forever. Colt and Pamela were returning to Maryland to prepare for the birth of their child. In doing so, they’d entrust their family business and all its major decisions to Lindsay and Jim for the foreseeable future. Really, just me. Jim would have input, sure, but Lindsay would ultimately assume all the responsibility – and any blame that went along with it – herself. That’s what good leaders do, right? Colt insisted that everything would fall on her.

Fear trickled like ice water through Lindsay’s veins. The captain always goes down with the ship. She swallowed hard at the sudden lump in her throat. Girl, seriously? Do you really think you have the chops for this? If she didn’t, Jeremy McCarron would purchase the brothel and make wholesale changes. He’s already said the entire staff will be let go. Jim, Francisco, Mindy, Jenn, and all the courtesans would find themselves unemployed. Mindy can’t afford to lose her job. Happy Ending Ranch is all Jimbo knows. He’d be destitute without it. Lindsay plucked at her fingernails. So. Much. Pressure. With such frayed nerves, she had no choice but to hug herself on the beach. Self-care was better than no care. Why am I the one who’s suddenly holding everyone’s livelihood in my hands?

However, the last person Lindsay felt any concern for, jobwise, was herself. I have four offers from other brothels, including Chastity’s Ranch. Even if she decided to take a break, Mr. Phalen had offered her $100,000 in cash if she’d spend two weeks with him in Santorini, the largest (and most luxurious) island in Greece’s Cycladic archipelago. Says it will be like a bondage honeymoon, but without the marriage. Just the bondage. She scrunched her face at that idea, though, and held the pendant on her necklace between her thumb and forefinger. I can’t see Mr. Phalen again. Not anymore. Kissing the pendent, Lindsay realized that if she got pressured out of Happy Ending Ranch, she wouldn’t have any issue landing on her feet someplace else. Pamela says I’m the most in-demand courtesan in all of Nevada. I can work wherever I want; make as much money as I want.

Still, that Jeremy guy is an asshole. Fucking prick. I can’t let a hotshot corporate demolitionist take over the house. I just can’t. People like him destroy lives.

Lindsay sat on the beach, her eyes moving from sand to stone, from rock pools to breaking waves. A crab stopped by and cocked its shell at her as if she were an unwelcome foreigner. Which she was. “Hey there, partner. How are you?” It skittered off. Maybe firing Becky turns out to be a blessing in disguise for her? No question, Becky had experienced her share of troubles at the brothel. Not everyone sees that job the same way you do, Linds. Pamela was right, wasn’t she? Pamela is always right. Regardless, Becky claimed to hate Lindsay now. Called me a backstabbing, two-faced bitch. Hasn’t returned any of my texts. Says I ruined her life. Lindsay shook her head in a swift arc as if it would provide some sort of consolation. Why did Colt insist that I be the one to fire her? Reliving that moment made Lindsay’s molars scrape. She’s like, one of my best friends in the whole world.

Or... was one of my best friends.

Easy. Trembling in sorrow, Lindsay stared blankly away, wiping errant tears. Don’t be afraid to make difficult decisions. Colt advised Lindsay the last time they spoke that “with great power comes great responsibility.” The only thing that takes precedence over the house’s success is the health and welfare of our employees.

If a turnout couldn’t handle the demands, she had to go. Period. End of story. There was no coaching her up. No, I’m not gonna be the one to fire Becky. You are, Lindsay. You want to be a leader? Take the next step? Do it. Fire Becky. Show me and Pamela that you can do it.

“Excuse me.” Lindsay glanced up and noticed a young Mexican-American man, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, jogging toward her. “Hi. I’m sorry, but I had to come say hi because you are so doggone cute.”

“Hi.” Lindsay arched a brow, a slight smirk spreading across her face as she accepted his handshake. “Umm, wow. Thank you.” With her left hand, she adjusted her bikini top, wet and see-through, and literally glued to her overinflated breasts.

The man tried not to leer, but damn...

“What’s your name, my love?”

“Lindsay.”

“Very nice to meet you.” He finished their handshake with an exaggerated flourish. “I’m Marcello.”

“Marcello?” Lindsay’s eyes rolled over the landscape of his angular face, studying him. At six-foot and maybe one-seventy, Lindsay could tell he kept in prime shape. Nice-lookin’ dude. Probably accustomed to most women ogling him, too, and practically doing cartwheels to get his attention. But Lindsay wasn’t like most women. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I was getting ready to leave.”

She was blowing him off? There was no way Marcello would allow Lindsay to step away without at least making a concerted effort. Okay, sure, he ultimately wanted to strip away that teensy-weensy bikini and deposit his payload in her ATM, but didn’t every other normal red-blooded man along Diver’s Cove have the same urge? Most of them, at least, had been gawking at Lindsay nonstop.

“No, wait. What are you up to today?”

“Well, I’m actually going to Coyote Run Trail.” She stood and gathered her belongings.

“Do you need a lift? I can take you on my motorcycle.”

“As tempting as that sounds since I’ve never been on one, I do have a rental car.” She pointed toward the parking lot with the hand that held her phone, and her courteous smile faded. “Oh, shoot. My phone has sand on it.”

“I can take care of that.” He snatched it from her without asking and wiped it on his swimming trunks. “There. It should be okay now. I’d love to take you out to dinner tonight. Ever been to Maritana? Want me to put my number in your contacts?”

That brought forth a curious smile as she pilfered the phone back. Mine! “Does that ever work?”

“No idea. I’ve never used that line until now.” Lindsay’s eyes darted nervously around the beach. Christ, now she looked all sweet and innocent. Marcello was only in California for a few more days until he returned to his own real life. But the thoughts running through his mind were anything but sweet and innocent. He studied Lindsay’s full, pink lips, and wondered how they’d feel against his or, better yet, wrapped around and sucking his hard dick. “A rental car, you say? Are you from out of town?”

He’s good. “I’m visiting from Las Vegas.”

“I am visiting from Las Vegas as well.”

The proverbial ice broke when Lindsay burst out into hysterical laughter; a sort of half-chuckle, half-sputter. “Oh yeah? How come this doesn’t happen in Vegas?”

“What?”

She bounced on her toes. “Random people coming up and introducing themselves to you like this.”

“Guys approaching you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve done it here or there a couple of times in Las Vegas.” He brushed a damp lock of long hair away from her face. “You’ve never been approached in Las Vegas? I’m sure you have.”

“I feel like it’s too – yeah, but I feel like, I don’t know. I feel like it’s different.”

“The vibe here is more laid-back, for sure. People aren’t upset about gambling away their life savings.” Holding her gaze, he ran his hands up her arms, from wrist to shoulder. “But then again, this is the beach, so what do you expect? I mean, beaches – by law – must be laid-back.”

Lindsay gave a half shrug. “So, you live in Vegas?”

“I was born there, so yeah. Summerlin. But I’m here on a work trip, visiting friends. A lot of my friends live in this area. I usually stay in Costa Mesa whenever I’m here. How long are you in town? And where in Vegas do you live?”

“Henderson,” she lied. “I’m leaving on Friday. Been here since Sunday.”

“What did you do last night?”

“Last night?” Lindsay crossed her arms, combating the breezy Pacific trade winds, and her eyes turned into crinkled slits. “We went to ... Café Vincenzo’s.”

“Very nice. Did they just open that one here? Or has it been here a while?”

She glanced at her phone and started thumbing out a text. “I’m not sure when it opened.”

Uh oh; he was losing her. “Look, I’m a good guy. Not a creep. A safe bet. A good choice. The best choice.” His brows danced once Lindsay again made eye contact. “Dinner? Let me show you a good time tonight, my love. Please, I’ll make it worth your while. You won’t regret it.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Don’t be afraid to hurt someone’s feelings. Put your foot down. Be firm. “I already have a boyfriend.”

Donald felt the soothing water cascade over his body, washing off the surf wax and sand, the salt and coconut sunscreen as, at the next faucet, Lindsay did the same.

Though by now he knew, intimately, every nook and cranny of her short, turbocharged body, Donald couldn’t help but sneak peeks at his girlfriend every chance he got. Water from the beach access shower splashed down onto Lindsay’s sun-bronzed shoulders and slender torso, drizzling all over – and through – her neon bikini before dripping down her sleek legs. If you looked up “world’s most beautiful woman” on the Internet, chances are (according to Donald, that is) there would be a photograph of Lindsay Anastacio attached for reference: the quintessential girl next door – imminently approachable with her bright blue eyes, shiny blonde locks, hourglass figure, and beaming smile. And she was his; all his.

Well, not quite...

Donald loved this time of day – late afternoon, early evening – the sky a heady blue while the horizon was tinged with hints of orange and black. The shadows fell on Lindsay’s body and, even as he paraded about in his board shorts, feeling better than ever after having lost over a hundred pounds in eleven months, Donald couldn’t believe that this was his life – and that he was Lindsay’s man.

Sex on a surfboard. Another reason he loved this time of day was because Donald knew, if the past several days were any indication, that after drying off and having a beer or two and getting a bite to eat, they would drive back to their high-rise hotel on Pacific Coast Highway.

There, they would slip from their bathing suits and tumble into each other’s arms, naked and sunburned, sore from their day of swimming, surfing, and hiking, but more than ready for another hour – or five – in bed, putting in another kind of “workout” all their own.

Donald turned their shower nozzles off and glanced down at Lindsay’s face. “In the mood for a Modelo?”

“When am I not? You?”

“Of course,” he said, handing her a warm, thirsty towel. “I’m just really glad, baby boo, that we’ve gotten to spend so much time here at the beach this week. I know Laguna Beach has always been on your to-do list. That’s why I suggested we have a mini vacation here while you had your time off from work.”

“I’m glad, too, Donnie. Thank you. You’re always thinking of me.” She tickled his forearm and ran the towel over her doused hair. “You’re way too sweet.”

He inched closer, helping to dry off the remainder of her body. “I just wish you’d stop attracting every man within a fifty-mile radius every time I step away from you.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for that guy to hit on me earlier! That playa was smooth. As. Fuck.” Lindsay gave Donald’s shoulder a spirited shake before offering to dry him off as well. “I can’t help it that I look like a sex on a stick. Or that I’m a dick magnet.”

“No,” he corrected her, “you look like a sex on a stick when you wear those platform heels of yours. You’re sex on a surfboard now. Get it right, will you?” He inclined his head, his eyebrows knitted together. “Dick magnet? Really? Where did that one come from?”

They dressed, Lindsay sliding into her favorite coverup, a black sundress Donald purchased for her during their three-day excursion to Lake Havasu, Arizona, in April.

It was comfortable while still dressy and, with her brown sandals and tanned skin, served as the ideal outfit for happy hour at Palomar.

“We’ll take two Modelos,” Lindsay told the server, who asked both she and Donald to show proof of age. Lindsay returned Donald’s smile as they settled at the cramped outdoor table. He looked crisp and clean in his soft blue surfer’s hoodie, such a far cry from the overweight, uncoordinated boy she knew him as during their school age years in Citronelle. While Donald would never grace the cover of GQ or be a social media heartthrob, he was a different person now – healthier, cool, confident, assured, yet still retained all the loyal, genuine qualities which made Lindsay fall in love with him to begin with.

“A surfer’s special for the happy couple,” the waitress said, placing a pair of cold, frosty mugs on the table. “Enjoy you two!”

They sat and chitchatted, the oceanic winds further drying their hair as the day’s activities left Lindsay’s limbs pleasantly sore and rubbery. Like the sun on her hair or the salt on her skin or Donald’s tongue buzzing away at her pussy, it was one of her favorite new sensations, and one she could hardly believe she lived without for so long.

“Look at you,” Donald said after a healthy gulp. “Moving up the corporate ladder, huh? The new general manager at Happy Ending Ranch. Soon-to-be owner.”

“Don’t remind me,” Lindsay quipped, finishing off her brew and snagging a pretzel.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, babe. You’re overthinking this. I have all the confidence in the world in you. I’m serious. And despite what you believe, so does Colt and Pamela. Otherwise, they wouldn’t even give you this opportunity. They want you to succeed. They’re giving you every opportunity to succeed. You’re strong, you’re independent, you’re put-together. You got this.”