Triple Throuple


Chattering in a foreign language, they've all come to a halt. Eyeing me, as I eye them, one of them addresses me, in the foreign tongue... The position of a Personal Assistant, nearly forced upon her, Omari, was trying to help a friend, and ended up becoming a personal assistant, to one of the most famous Korean pop bands in the world. BTS... seven to ten years the senior of most of them, she knew nothing of them, their culture, or language. Catering to their every whim, she learns more about each of them, and ends up falling for two of them. Tae's young and inexperienced, but she loves his dedication to his craft, humility, and the way that he dotes on her, seemingly maternally. Jin, the eldest, assertive, fun, more her type and speed, has her in a state of lust over his dominant alpha nature. Unable to choose between the two, she keeps her relationships a secret from the both of them, and under the strict policy of the "no dating rule", neither is none the wiser. She's enjoying every bit of the attention, and adoration that both men are heaping on her, but eventually she'll have to choose, and break one of their hearts...

Erotica / Romance
Lizzy Landon
5.0 1 review
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

It’s another Saturday, spent alone, single, thirty two, no kids and a dead end job. Life has definitely passed me by, too much time wasted on the single life, now I’m stuck in it. Unmarried, and no hope of a possible long term relationship in sight, my quest to find a meaningful relationship has come to an abrupt halt, and the search to find love, has come to a bitter end.

I’d outgrew the club scene a decade plus ago, and overdose on “upscale lounges” a few months ago. Trying to find a life partner, i’m sick to death of movies, and dinners, and I’m so done with dating altogether. I’d rented a house on the beach, and took a mini vacation, citing mental health issues. And here I am, brooding once more and bemoaning my misfortune.

“My life’s a mess, a hot ass mess at that.” I complain, to my best friend over breakfast. Smiling sardonically, she delves into her plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and grapefruit. “Hungry much?” I inquire, at the sight of her literally inhaling the food.

She has got to be bypassing the chewing process, and going straight to the swallowing part. “I’m in trouble.” She says, in between mouthfuls of the food. “What’s wrong?” I ask, genuinely concerned.

“We have this huge client, that’s in need of a PA, and you know that, shit flows downwards. My boss passed the freaking buck, and now I’m stuck with finding a PA post haste within 24 hours.”

What? This is what has her downing thousands of calories in one sitting? “You’ll find someone, it’s your job, and you’re good at it.” I state, unsympathetic to her plight.

Mia works for some swanky temp to perm employment placement company, that caters to the likes on JLO, Tom Hiddleston, Ariana Grande, and Khalid, to name a few. If you need a chauffeur, stylist, trainer, or escort last minute, because yours is experiencing some type of emergency, that left you high and dry, then no need to worry, they got you covered.

“Personal Assistants are a dime a dozen, you’ll find someone.” I add, at her sickly expression. Her phone’s ringing, and answering it in an unsure voice, she excuses herself, with a quiet goodbye.

I hope that she get’s her shit together, a job shouldn’t stress you out like that. Clearing the dishes, I spend the rest of the afternoon, on the beach, trying to look sexy, while expiring in the 90 degree weather. I hate what my life’s become.

Coming back from my early morning jog, I receive a frantic text from Mia.

“My job’s on the line, and I need you to do me a favor.”

“What is it, and am I going to hate you after?”

“The PA job, I need you to take it, it’s for a famous client.

“I’m on vacation.”

“Look, it’s only for a few days, $1500.00.”

“If they’re famous, then they can afford to pay $1500.00 a day.”

“You’re hired, I’ll email you the paperwork, and info. Thanks!”


I wasn’t given any details, as to who the famous person was, and upon my arrival, I’m greeted by an attractive Asian man. “Omari Taylor?”


“I’m Jae-Hyuk, but you can call me Jae. I’m one of BTS’s managers.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“The first thing that I want to address, is the dress code. Your attire is a bit much, and is very much frowned upon.” He says, in reference to my cami top and thigh slit skirt set.

“I thought the dress code was casual.”

“Yes, but that’s not code for whore.”

The skirt’s ankle length, and the top although spaghetti strapped, covers everything. “Look, I don’t know who you think that you’re talking to like that...”

“You are to be seen, and not heard, and... you should know the job well, as you’ve worked for Beyonce, and Colin Farrell. Although I must admit, that you seem a bit young, to have Michael Jackson as a reference.”

“It was brief, and only a year before he passed.” I reply, meekly.

I am so going to kill Mia, Beyonce... really!

A loud bang, followed by a clang and a few clatters, interrupts us. Quickly hurrying off to see what the racket was about, my eyes roam freely over the decor, simple, yet elegant. The lifestyles of the rich and famous... Admiring the jaw dropping, mammoth chandelier, my attention’s drawn to a group of young men coming into the hall.

Chattering in a foreign language, they’ve all come to a halt. Eyeing me, as I eye them, one of them addresses me, in the foreign tongue, and I nearly faint on the spot.

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