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"Scarlet, I'm sorry, okay?" He walked toward me, stepping on some of the spilled chips as he came closer. "I mean, we can give each other another chance. I love you."
He reached out for my hands, but I took a step back. I pointed to the corridor again. "Get the f**k out of my house."
"Please, we can just... talk. I'm not leaving until you say yes."
I grabbed hold of his shoulder and shoved him outside. "Don't come looking for me ever again," I said, before slamming the door.
"Scarlet! Don't shut me out like that. You look so beautiful today, babe. Think about all we've been through. C'mon, let's give each other another chance."
I realized I forgot something and opened the door.
He spread his arms opens and beamed a vomit-inducing smile. "I knew you'd come around."
I was so close to slapping him. “Keys.”
“What?”
“Give me your keys. I don’t want you coming back here to mess up my place.”
“Really, Scarlet? Come on, for old time’s sake.”
“I’m taking the keys back from you because of old time’s sake. Hurry up and hand them over.”
“I’m not going to.”
My left eye twitched with annoyance. “Give them to me, or I’ll sue you for trespassing.”
He squinted his eyes. “You don’t have a lawyer.”
“I’m sure the twins have plenty.” I felt bad using their name as a threat, but if I didn’t, I’d have to wrestle Damien to the ground to get his keys. I really hated the thought of having him in my apartment again. The smell of the place was nearly comparable to a public restroom. I had to clean this all up before joining Tyrone downstairs, or it’d be growing fungi by the time I returned.
“At least unblock me from your phone. How am I supposed to get in contact with you?”
“That’s the point. I don’t want to see you anymore, Damien. We’re over. Get that in your head.”
He flashed me sad, puppy-dog eyes as he took out his wallet. I would’ve fallen for it one month ago, but I was too sick of his shit to care about how bad he felt now. “Not even a second chance? I’ll be here for you, Scarlet, not like the Crawford brothers. They’ll leave you after they get bored.”
“Keys!” I raised an open palm.
The keys chinked against each other as they fell into my hands.
“I’m just warning you,” Damien said.
“Thanks for your concern, but I don’t need it.”
“See you around.”
“No, thank you.”
I shut the door after Damien made a turn around the corridor, locking myself in with all the bacteria he left behind. I studied the situation in front of me: the bag of chips spilled earlier, half-empty cup noodles on my coffee table, a couple of dirty socks lying around... I made a mental groan and went to the storeroom to pick up a trash bag.
As I was halfway done cleaning up, I stumbled onto something that made me pause—a pair of panties.
They weren’t mine, for sure. I hadn’t seen them before, and the pink frills and the see-through behind indicated they didn’t belong to me. They might’ve been left behind by that blonde chick he screwed before we broke up, but then I also stumbled on a couple of used condoms in my trash can.
I distinctly remembered clearing out the trash after we broke up.
That Damien was a son of a bitch.
***
“You have an appointment with Riesling Financial today at one p.m.,” I said to Riley. “I’ve cleared your schedule. After that, you’ll have an hour free before another meeting with the sales executive of Crawford.”
I reported his schedule to Riley about once a day. Initially, I thought he didn’t pay attention, since all he did was nod his head while reading some other document of his. However, he always walked out of his office on time, without ever needing me to remind him about his appointments.
“Okay, that’s good,” he replied. He picked up a file from his desk and glanced through it briefly. “Summarize these documents for me. I need them for the meeting, but I don’t have time to read through all of them.”
“Yes, sir.”
We kept a professional relationship in the office, most of the time. Sometimes, he’d spring out of the normal routine—pun intended—and I’d find myself sucking his private parts. But other than the occasional instance, Riley was serious about his work.
He looked so amazingly sexy when he got serious like that.
“Is that all, sir?” I kept up the formalities, calling him ‘sir’ at the office, but when the doors were closed, and we were left alone—with Ryan, of course—I’d begin screaming out his name. Sometimes the twins decided to get naughty, coming up with their dominant-submissive play, and then 'sir' would return to my vocabulary once more.
