I'd been working as a security guard for the woman at the old mansion for more than two months now. Some of my friends expected that I'd have tales of tackling cat burglars to the ground or exchanging gunfire with terrorists, but fortunately, real life was far less exciting. I spent most of my time patrolling the grounds or playing cards with the other guards. Today, I was guarding the boss' private beach. Some might have found the task boring, but as far as I was concerned, I was being paid to hang out at the beach. My job was to sit in the shade wearing sunglasses and read a book, and if anyone walked past the "Private beach" signs, I would make them leave. The only difference between work hours and off-work hours was that I didn't have a beer in my hand.
Most of the time, asking firmly, but politely, was enough. When people are told to leave the premises by an official-looking, muscular, six-foot-tall man, they usually comply. If they refused repeated requests to leave, I phoned the police and asked them to remove the trespassers. I wasn't permitted to use physical violence, but not all of the teenagers that came here knew that, so an angry glare as I stood up could make them flee – which was both fun and effective, for they rarely came back after that.
It was about an hour left before my lunch break when I heard footsteps, and looked up to see a young woman in a bikini and flip-flops approaching the beach. She was a petite woman with short-cropped red hair and a face full of freckles, and I'd say she'd was in her early twenties. I stood up, deciding to be gentle – young women walking alone were usually easier to scare off, and I wanted to make her leave, not traumatize her. "Excuse me, miss, but this is a private beach."
"I know," she said, smiling at me. She tried to walk past me, and I stopped her.
"That means you can't be here," I told her, still gently, but my tone was firmer.
"Oh, those signs aren't for me, silly!" she giggled.
I frowned. This clearly wasn't Audrey, the woman I was working for – I knew how she looked and wasn't stupid enough to make that mistake. She also lived alone, with no partner or children. Could this young woman be working at the mansion? But I had never seen her before, and besides, none of the employees came here unless their boss was here.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I told her in my stern security guard voice.
To my surprise, her only response was to roll her eyes, and she placed her towel down on the beach. "You can ask me whatever you like, but I'm going to stay right here and work on my tan." She smirked. "If you start being nicer, I'll let you help me with the sun lotion."
I glared at her. "A tan? I'll put you across my lap and tan your hide if you don't clear off!" Now, like I said, I wasn't allowed to use violence, nor was I allowed to make threats, but the girl's rudeness was getting on my nerves, and I wasn't thinking straight.
She'd been looking into her purse for something, but at my words, her head whipped round, and she stared wide-eyed at me. It was clear my threat had made an impression on her. I expected her to apologize and leave immediately. After a few seconds, however, she shook her head and looked at me dismissively. "An empty threat. You look too soft – I don't think you have it in you."
Most of the time, asking firmly, but politely, was enough. When people are told to leave the premises by an official-looking, muscular, six-foot-tall man, they usually comply. If they refused repeated requests to leave, I phoned the police and asked them to remove the trespassers. I wasn't permitted to use physical violence, but not all of the teenagers that came here knew that, so an angry glare as I stood up could make them flee – which was both fun and effective, for they rarely came back after that.
It was about an hour left before my lunch break when I heard footsteps, and looked up to see a young woman in a bikini and flip-flops approaching the beach. She was a petite woman with short-cropped red hair and a face full of freckles, and I'd say she'd was in her early twenties. I stood up, deciding to be gentle – young women walking alone were usually easier to scare off, and I wanted to make her leave, not traumatize her. "Excuse me, miss, but this is a private beach."
"I know," she said, smiling at me. She tried to walk past me, and I stopped her.
"That means you can't be here," I told her, still gently, but my tone was firmer.
"Oh, those signs aren't for me, silly!" she giggled.
I frowned. This clearly wasn't Audrey, the woman I was working for – I knew how she looked and wasn't stupid enough to make that mistake. She also lived alone, with no partner or children. Could this young woman be working at the mansion? But I had never seen her before, and besides, none of the employees came here unless their boss was here.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I told her in my stern security guard voice.
To my surprise, her only response was to roll her eyes, and she placed her towel down on the beach. "You can ask me whatever you like, but I'm going to stay right here and work on my tan." She smirked. "If you start being nicer, I'll let you help me with the sun lotion."
I glared at her. "A tan? I'll put you across my lap and tan your hide if you don't clear off!" Now, like I said, I wasn't allowed to use violence, nor was I allowed to make threats, but the girl's rudeness was getting on my nerves, and I wasn't thinking straight.
She'd been looking into her purse for something, but at my words, her head whipped round, and she stared wide-eyed at me. It was clear my threat had made an impression on her. I expected her to apologize and leave immediately. After a few seconds, however, she shook her head and looked at me dismissively. "An empty threat. You look too soft – I don't think you have it in you."
