Page 69 of Bossed By Three Billionaire Brothers

Speaking of which, I hadn’t received a single text or call from the guys that day. Maybe they were so upset that they knew they’d have nothing good to say to me.

The bartender came over, placing a chicken Caesar salad—the only thing that sounded good—in front of me, along with a refill of my club soda and lime. My stomach had been so damn queasy that something bubbly seemed essential to calm it down before my flight. I held my phone in front of me to do a little scrolling while I ate, but it was so hard to resist checking for emails or texts from the guys. Not wanting to look at it anymore, I tucked my phone into my pocket before taking a couple more bites of my salad, then pushed off my chair to head over to the nearby newsstand for something to read.

The din of the airport swirling around me, I scanned the trashy romance paperback books, some of them in French, some in English. A smile formed on my lips as I looked them over, the idea of settling into something tawdry for the flight back strangely appealing. I wanted to be totally detached from the world while I was up in the air, to be able to put the strange events of the past month behind me.

Down at my feet were a few stacks of tabloids. That kind of stuff had never been my thing, but I gave them a look over anyway.

Suddenly, my heart stopped.

“No way,” I said out loud to no one in particular.

I squatted down and snatched the paper tabloid from the stack, the world blurring around me as I looked at the cover. I was sure I was seeing things. After all, how the hell else could I be on the cover of a tabloid?

But it was me, clear as day. There were a few photos, one of me dressed in my bikini on the beach standing very close to Sean. It took a moment, but I realized the shot was from the day we’d nearly kissed. Along with that photo, there was one of me and Sean on the yacht, one of me, Seth and Sam lounging by the pool, and a couple of faraway shots of the house.

The title, however, was the worst part: “Billionaire Brothers Boffing the Babysitter.”

My hands shook as I read it. After a moment, I managed to collect myself enough to look around, to see if anyone had possibly noticed thatIwas the one on the cover. When the coast was clear, I did my best to walk casually back to the lounge, taking my seat in front of my drink and salad. The idea of eating, however, was the last thing on my mind. Instead, I opened the paper and read the article, trying to ignore my heart beating so hard that I worried it might explode.

I scanned through the piece. To my surprise, it contained correct information—not only did it explain that the brothers and I were all involved in a four-person polyamory situation, it also mentioned how Amy had arrived and walked in on us. There was even a picture, taken from a distance, of Amy and Sam in the middle of their argument. How thehellhad they gotten that?

There was nothing about me leaving, which suggested that the article had been put out before that morning. I had no doubt though, that if the person who’d taken the photos knew about all of the other details, they were well aware that I had left, and that information would soon be out there as well.

I felt dizzy, sick to my stomach. I blinked hard, trying to focus and work through the dizziness and nausea. The light touch of a hand on my shoulder brought me back to the moment. I turned to see the man next to me, a middle-aged guy with graying hair and a kind face, regarding me with concern.

“Miss,” he said, his voice tinged with a French accent. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…” Before I could finish the sentence, I looked down to see that the tabloid was still open, a picture of me front and center. Without another word, I grabbed the paper and folded it quickly, bounding out of my seat and hurrying toward the ladies’ room.

I ran to the bathroom, finding an empty stall and dropping to my knees in front of the toilet, throwing up what little happened to be in my stomach.

I threw up until I was coughing, my face red. Afterward, I pushed myself off the ground and left the stall, gathering what little poise I had left to stand in front of the mirror and wash up. Thankfully, none of the other women in the bathroom paid me any attention.

After I’d composed myself as best I could, I left the bathroom, finding the nearest empty bench and spreading the tabloid out on top of it. Once that was done, I took one picture after another, then attached them to a text to all of the brothers.

You guys need to fix this.

My thumb hovered over the send button for a moment, a tinge of hesitation running through me. If the guys hadn’t yet seen the photos, their worlds were about to be rocked.

I hit send.

Chapter 26

Seth

Iwas fuming. Fuckingfuming. I held a copy of the printout from the texts that Gen had shared with us, the photos clear as day.

“Any luck?” Sam spoke to Sean, the three of us in Sam’s office as we tried to get our heads wrapped around the events of the day. First, we’d woken up to discover that Gen had flown the coop in the middle of the night. Then, we’d learned that the four of us were front-page fodder for some shitty British tabloid.

“None at all,” Sean said, seated on the couch with his phone in his hands, shaking his head as he regarded it. “Not a text, not a call.”

“Makes sense,” Sam said. “She might be on her flight right now.” Sam was trying to play it cool, but there was no doubt that he was good and pissed off about what had happened.

The Gen situation, we could understand. Shit had gone totally sideways, and it wasn’t unreasonable that she’d felt overwhelmed by the whole thing. The tabloid issue, on the other hand, made us furious. I couldn’t stop imagining getting my hands on the paparazzi who’d taken the photos, wringing his fucking neck for putting ours and Gen’s personal business in the open like that.

Sean tossed his phone onto the table, shaking his head in frustration. “Listen, I know it doesn’t do a damn bit of good to think this way, but I’d hoped we’d gotten away from all this shit when we moved here.”

He was right. When the guys and I still lived in Cali, the press being in our business was part of life. Self-made billionaires seemed to be a hot topic of interest for the thousands of millennials moving to California in order to create their own utopia and build their empires. Tech jobs were hot and many were curious to learn of how we made our money, looking to follow suit. The dark side of it all was they were also interested in our private lives, hoping to catch us doing something that society would frown upon. So the press vultures were constantly in our business, hoping to satisfy the curiosity of gossip mongers while making a name for themselves. So, when we’d made the decision to get away from all of that, finding a home where we could live without fear of getting pictures snapped was a huge consideration.We thought we’d found it in France but clearly we were mistaken.

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