A Double Dose of Billionaire - Part 3

"Let me go," I said.

His eyes searched mine. "We don't want to fight. If you'd just let us talk, and accept our apology, it'll make things easier. Do you want to spend the rest of this week feeling bad and throwing tantrums?"

I tried to wiggle my wrists out of his grasp, but it was too strong. "Yes, I do. Now get your hands off me. The both of you have tied me down long enough," I scolded, alluding to what happened last night.

He ran his fingers through his hair, giving me the urge to wrap my fingers in his hair, too. But I wasn't in the mood to succumb to any of that just yet. "We enjoy doing that... stuff...immensely, but if you don't want to, we'll stop. We're sorry, and we'll do anything to make you forgive us."

I enjoyed it too, but I let them have too much control and they abused it. "You should have clarified whether I liked it or not before the both of you went apeshit."

"We gave you a safe word."

"And then f**king gagged me. How the hell was I supposed to say it after you gagged me?”

"We didn't consider that," Ryan said under his breath. "We were stupid, I know. We'll tell you what we're going to do next time. I promise."

I sucked in a breath. "I'll think about it."

Their faces brightened up at the mild prospect of forgiveness. I wanted to slap them to erase whatever hope they had. I was in a mood that let me sadistically enjoy their misery.

As I walked away, not feeling like talking to them any longer, I said, "Drink your soup. It's getting cold."

When I climbed up the stairs, I glanced to the side. I was surprised to find them reluctantly forcing my horrible mixture down their throats, gingerly dipping the mass-produced bread into the soup as they did.

***

I wanted to skip my day at work, not because of the twins, but because I felt like I had been stuck on a ship for a thousand years. I was feeling nauseous the whole morning. I retched into the toilet soon after leaving the twins to their horrendous breakfast. They should have been the ones puking, not me. Life always ends up becoming unfair.

It could have been the after effects of yesterday. This morning was a horrendous episode of lightheadedness and swollen eyes.

I entered Tyrone's car anyway—too much work at the office to complete. The twins and I travelled in separate cars when heading to work, so the paparazzi didn't get any shots of us together. I was thankful for this arrangement today. I didn't want to be sandwiched in between them again. It would make me feel disgusted, angry, and perhaps, hot and bothered, which would disgust me even further.

The car ride made my head spin even more. I paid attention to the turns and corners, eager for the ride to end.

We stopped at the basement's entrance in front of a few paparazzi. It had been a struggle to get past them in the beginning, but the twins and I soon became old news. They had found some other celebrity to bother. What used to be a horde had dispersed into a light scatter, which wasn’t too much trouble in comparison.

My fingers still massaging my forehead, I stepped out of the car. Tyrone was gentlemanly enough to open the door for me.

"Scarlet!" a voice shouted.

I looked down, and covered my face, not in the mood to deal with those pesky reporters.

"It's me, Damien; don't ignore me!" the same voice shouted over a number of disrespectful comments.

My head shot up. What in the world was he doing in front of my workplace? I'd had enough of that idiot, and I definitely didn't have it in me to deal with his nonsense today.

He was dressed in a plain tee and jeans. Waving his hands as he moved forward, he beamed at me, as if he was a welcome audience. Seeing him tempted me to once again cover my face and act as if he were another one of the paparazzi. I didn't want them catching my back-story. "What is it Damien?"

"I really need to talk to you."

I tapped my company card onto the sensor and slipped into the lift lobby. The stupid bastard dared to trespass and slipped in along with me.

He grabbed my shoulder. The paparazzi were furiously clicking away at their cameras, taking as many pictures as they could, no doubt with the intention to splay them onto their magazine pages and web articles.

"You're not allowed in here," I said, narrowing my eyes.

He pursed his lips. "But I really need to talk to you. It's not about our relationship, I swear." He held up three fingers, and then crossed his heart.

"Stop bothering me." I pressed the lift button. They were still on the fifteenth and twentieth floors. Too slow.

"After this, I won't anymore. I swear. I just need you to lend me five thousand dollars. Kelly is in debt, and I need to bail her out. I told her not to gamble, so many times. But she didn't listen to me. The loan sharks are at her doorstep every day. She can't sleep in peace, and neither can I, knowing she's undergoing so much pressure..."