Page 112 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Only since the appointment you forced me to go to. They did an ultrasound and realized I’m having twins,” I say.

“You said you were just dehydrated and exhausted,” he says, missing the point entirely.

“I am dehydrated and exhausted! You have no idea how stressful it is to find out something as life-altering as being pregnant and have to keep it a secret,” I tell him.

“You didn’t have to keep it a secret,” he mutters. “We could have weaved it in.”

“And we could have weaved in that you and I have been fuck buddies for weeks and that you stole my bucket list,” I say with just as much salt.

And for a moment, both of us just stare at the other. I don’t know what to say at this point. I want to explain why I didn’t say anything. But at the same time, I’m still hurt over his omissions too. Finally, Morgan speaks first, saying what I think we are both thinking, even though it breaks our hearts.

“Maybe we were wrong about each other. Maybe we didn’t know each other as well as we thought. Maybe…none of this is what we thought.”

I swallow and take the ring off, handing it back to him.

And with that, he walks away with Donovan, who gives me an empathetic look before following him. And I have no idea what to do.

Chapter 42

Morgan

Bale Resorts Headquarters, Miami, FL: The next day…

The lobby of Bale Resorts is cold. Too cold. It’s the same temperature it always is. The temperature I keep it locked at. But that’s kind of the problem. Maybe all the resort hopping softened me up too much.

Maybe everything about the trip softened me too much.

I make a mental note to put on a suit jacket when I get to my office. Unfortunately, it’s going to be a moment before I get to my office. Because first I have to cross the lobby, which means I have to talk to people. People who haven’t seen me in weeks other than on social media (I literally can’t believe I am saying those words, inwardly or otherwise) and are probably accepting that version of me. A version of me I left in the security line at the Myrtle Beach Airport.

Then I have to get coffee, which I should’ve grabbed on the way here but skipped because I was already running late. Actually, I’m on time, but I prefer to be early. That wasn’t going to happen today because I may or may not have gone searching for where things went wrong in the bottom of the bottle, and getting up this morning felt like stumbling around in hell.

The point is, I can’t skip the coffee. Though I can skip talking to people. And luckily, nobody seems to want to talk to me anyways. In fact, most people seem to be avoiding me. Which leads me to believe that they heard about what happened. You better believe I’ve turned off notifications and haven’t checked social media since the blowup. I can’t imagine it's anything less than a shitshow right now.

“You look like hell,” Donovan says, falling into step with me.

“You’re talking too loud,” I grunt.

“Ah. You feel like hell too, then,” he says in an empathetically quieter voice. “You know, nobody would have judged you for not coming in today. We weren’t even supposed to be back for three more days anyway.”

“Well, I’m here so I might as well be here,” I tell him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need coffee. And I’d like to get it and head to my office before I run into–”

“Good morning, brother…”

Conrad’s voice is like sandpaper on an open flesh wound, and I gristle before turning to face him.

“Let’s not do this right now,” I tell him. “Or at all. I’m pretty sure there’s a communication cut-off point considering we are going up against each other in court.”

“So I take it this means you never made it to New York,” he says.

“No, brother. I did not. Because somebody thought it would be funny if my jet was grounded. The same person who thought it would be funny to spread rumors all over the goddamn internet about me and my fiancée.”

“If I remember correctly, I didn’t spread any rumors. I showed the truth. How it was perceived and how it made you look doesn’t change anything. Not for my case, anyways,” Conrad says.

I’m not a violent man. I am not a man who bangs his chest in conflict. And I am definitely not a man who airs out his laundry in front of other people. But there are a lot of things about me that have changed in the past twenty-four hours, and right now, I don’t care.

Because I am done.

I spin around and step up to Conrad, standing close enough that if we puffed our chests, they’d be touching. Close enough that I’m pretty sure he can feel the heat of my breath on his smug face. People are watching, frozen in fear, probably because the two Bale brothers are about to duke it out. But again. I. Don’t. Care.