Page 22 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

I toss my things aside and step out of my knock-off espadrilles before grabbing a glass of wine and plopping down on the couch with my laptop.

As much as my sister worries, I feel like I have given her more reasons than not to believe in me. Sure, my life is a bit unpredictable, up and down, and at times even risky, but I love it. It’s in my blood, traveling around, seeing and experiencing the world from the views and lives of others. The idea of being trapped in one place, specifically a crowded, urban place, makes my skin crawl.

Besides, opening these emails always feels a bit like a white elephant gift. You never know what is lurking under the funky wrapping pap–

“Shit.”

My voice echoes off the water-stained walls of my apartment as I stare at the email. I read the words frantically, then re-read them, still stumbling over the words.

Dear Miss Moore,

Thank you for your recent article reviewing Bale Resorts’ Miami location. You accomplished exactly what we were looking for and will no longer be needing your services. Best of luck with your future endeavors.

Conrad Associates

I blink hard and fast, like a butterfly’s wings right before it gets sucked into a jet engine. I don’t know if I read that right. Considering it’s all of about two and a half very straightforward sentences, I think it’s safe to say I’m reading it accurately.

There are no more jobs.

Which means two things–

I jinxed my luck in my overly flippant conversation with my sister.

And, “I am so fucked.”

Chapter 7

Morgan

“Good morning, Mr. Bale,” Alecia, the front desk secretary, says to me with a nervous smile on Monday morning. “I have your coffee for you, just the way you like it. Your spreadsheets are on your desk, the ones you asked for and–”

“What are the numbers?” I cut her off.

“Numbers, Mr. Bale?” she asks, shoving her horned glasses up the bridge of her slender nose only to have them slide down again because she’s so jittery.

“How many people have read the article?” I drill out the question as if it should be obvious. And it should be. Because as much as I drown out rumors and social media talk and every other obnoxious sound that comes out of the mouths of people who don’t matter and shouldn’t be allowed to have opinions, I’m also not dense. Especially when it comes to an article that is written about my resorts.

“I…I’ll check…I think…” she says, fumbling with her phone.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I say impatiently, and Alecia swallows hard.

“It’s at five hundred thousand.” She swallows. “And counting.”

I grit my teeth. Of course it is.

With that, I head toward my office. And as I predicted, everyone is whispering. Until I march past them, causing them to get back to work. It’s not the first time that someone has written a blasphemous article about Bale. Usually those articles buzz around for a few days and then fizzle out because our reputation has always been spotless.

Our parents saw to that.

I see to that.

Emphasis on me because if I had to guess, my brother hasn’t put in much effort to prevent things like this. Sometimes I wonder what Bale Resorts pays him to do. Then I remember that he is unfortunately an heir to the company as well. For better or for worse, our parents were fair about things in their will. They had more faith in him than I do. I think it’s safe to say I have more faith in gas station sushi.

“So I don’t think I need to tell you what’s first on the roster for the day…” Donovan falls into step with me on the way to my office. We hop into the first elevator that opens, despite a crowd of other people waiting for elevators. Everyone knows better than to join us.

“I just don’t understand how the fuck this happened,” I snap as I punch the close button with my index finger.

“Well I mean, social media, hatemongers, competitors trying to take us down so their numbers will go up.” Donovan rattles off.