Harley’s P.O.V. Next morning, I adjusted the crisp white polo shirt, still not believing that it was real. The logo of the exclusive Redwood Pines Golf club gleamed on the left side of my chest like a brand. A shiny, too-good-to-be-true promise. “First day?” The front desk manager asked as he handed me a list of tee times. “Yes, Sir!” I responded steadily as he gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Just smile, carry the clubs, and make polite conversations. You will do great.” The tips of my fingers tingled, a telltale sign, my instincts were stirring, but I pushed it down. I really needed this job. The clients on the field were pleasant, even charming. Wealth dripped from their words, their watches, and their perfectly manicured swings. One gentleman named Logan, around forty-five years old, was paired with me by the third hole. He was clean-shaven, but rugged in a polished sort of way. His expensive perfume could be smelled from a mile way, screaming money. “So,” he said as I han
Last Updated : 2025-06-07 Read more