Plan in motion

William, Julia, and Riley left early that morning for a four-day “pre-holiday” ski trip in Aspen that William booked last-minute for tax reasons. The house is empty except for staff (who have the weekend off) and Angela, who stayed behind with a flimsy excuse about sorority recruitment planning.

Nick spends the morning in the gym and by the pool, making sure he looks his best—tan deepening under the Southern California winter sun, abs cut from weeks of disciplined workouts, hair styled just messy enough.

At 1:30 p.m. the gate buzzes. Angela’s Range Rover pulls up the driveway followed by a white Jeep Wrangler. Four doors open.

Angela steps out first, in a modest black one-piece and an oversized sun hat, face tight with barely concealed tension. She doesn’t look at Nick as she leads the three girls around the side gate to the pool deck.

Madison – the brunette – comes next. Long dark hair in loose waves, olive skin, toned legs that seem to go forever, wearing a tiny emerald-green string bikini that ties at the hips. Designer sunglasses hide her eyes, but the smirk on her lips says she knows exactly how good she looks.

The redhead – Chloe – follows. Pale freckled skin, copper-red hair in a high ponytail, and the ass Nick remembered from Angela’s Instagram stories: round, high, barely contained by electric-blue bottoms that ride up with every step. She’s laughing at something Madison said, carrying a can of spiked seltzer already.

Last is the blonde none of them expected Angela to bring: Savannah. Tall, Scandinavian-looking, with waist-length platinum hair and an almost comical hourglass figure. Her white bikini top strains against huge, clearly natural tits—easily double-Ds—that bounce softly when she walks. She’s quieter than the others, giving Nick a shy little wave and a smile as Angela introduces him.

“Hey, little bro,” Angela says, voice clipped. “This is Madison, Chloe, and Savannah. Girls, this is Nick.”

The three visitors greet him with varying degrees of interest.

Madison gives him a slow once-over, lips curving. “Angela wasn’t lying. You did grow up.”

Chloe laughs, popping her hip. “Cute. Hi, Nick.”

Savannah blushes but holds eye contact. “Nice to meet you.”

Nick smiles back, easy and confident, gesturing to the cabana and the spread he had the caterer drop off earlier—trays of sushi, fruit, champagne flutes already chilling in ice buckets.

“Pool’s heated. Music’s on. Make yourselves at home.”

The girls spread out towels on the loungers. Angela sticks close to the cabana bar, pouring drinks with mechanical precision, avoiding Nick’s gaze.

Nick strips off his shirt and dives into the pool, giving them a show of broad shoulders and defined back as he surfaces. When he climbs out, water streaming down his abs, he catches Madison watching openly, Chloe whispering something to Savannah that makes the blonde bite her lip.

The afternoon unfolds exactly as planned: music, sun, **** loosening tongues and inhibitions. Angela plays the perfect hostess on the surface—refilling drinks, suggesting they move to the hot tub but every time Nick brushes past her she stiffens.

By four o’clock the girls are tipsy and glistening with oil, bikinis getting smaller as strings come untied “accidentally.” Madison and Chloe are in the pool playing volleyball with Nick, bodies brushing his deliberately. Savannah sits on the edge, legs in the water, laughing as she watches.

Nick knows the leverage is working. Angela brought exactly who he asked forand threw in an unexpected bonus with Savannah.

Now he just has to decide how to play the next move: isolate one, push for a group thing, or let the **** and the empty house do the work for him.

He leans back against the pool edge, water lapping at his chest, eyes moving slowly over the three perfect bodies in front of him while Angela watches from the shadows of the cabana, trapped and silent.

The weekend has barely started.