Page 39 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“So, what are the rules?” I ask. “Surrounding the new job description.”

“As far as the public is concerned, we are together,” Morgan says casually as he cuts into another scallop with perfect etiquette. “We have been quiet about it because both of us wanted to wait until it got serious. Now that you are reviewing Bale Resorts, it’s serious. There will be a proposal that I will brief you on when the time comes. It will be very public on purpose.”

“And in the meantime?” I ask, reaching for my water. My throat feels like sandpaper all of a sudden. “How will we act…or be…in the meantime?”

His eyes land on me in a way that I wish they wouldn’t. Despite the lack of a smile on his lips, there is something in his eyes. Something I remember from our banter at the Sapphire. Something I can’t bring myself to believe he could have possibly forgotten.

“Like I said…publicly, we are together. Convincingly so. However that may look.”

Our food comes, and I am thankful for it. I’m not very hungry, but I want something, anything, to help me process everything that just happened. I knew that taking this job was going to be a lot. I had no idea I was going to be in completely over my head.

Chapter 13

Scarlett

“I cannot believe you landed a job that is actually full-time,” Claire says as she refolds the clothes lying on my bed that I have already folded. I tell myself it’s just older sister stuff, that all older sisters act like undeclared mothers at their worst, but I’m probably lying to myself.

“It’s wild,” I say.

“And it’s not the shady people you wrote that article for,” she clarifies.

“No,” I say.

“What happened with that?” she asks, moving onto another pile.

“I guess they didn’t need any more articles,” I say casually.

“Seriously? I mean, I don’t keep up with a lot of online drama,” she lies. “But that article was widespread. Pretty sure it has over a million views. Which still makes me nervous, Scarlett. Pissing off a big company like that is bound to get you in a tight spot.”

You mean like practically being blackmailed into pretending to be in love with the CEO of the company?

“It’s fine, Claire. I signed an NDA. Even if they go sniffing around, I can deny it,” I tell her for the hundredth time.

We are at my apartment packing everything, and not just the things I want to take on my trip. Honestly, I usually pack light for my jobs. It’s easier. But it also leaves room for buying new clothes and shoes along the way. In fact, the majority of my wardrobe is from other places, not the mall or the internet. But right now, we are packing up my whole house, and most of it is going to Goodwill.

Claire believes it’s because I am just in a purging mood. She has no idea I am being evicted and will basically be homeless once I drive to the airport.

Obviously, I am going to leave that tidbit out.

“Well. I am just glad you found a better job. I never did like that anonymous stuff anyway. And you know what? I had a feeling things were going to work out.”

I stare at my sister suspiciously.

“What?” she asks.

“Since when have you assumed my life would work out?” I ask.

“I mean, you do find ways,” she says as she continues to fold clothes. “Even if you don’t necessarily follow the path I would. You figure it out. And look at you. You found something more consistent and stable,” she says as she tucks my things into my suitcase. At this point, I am just letting her.

I’ve resorted to digging through the boxes one last time to see if there’s anything I want to take with me. I don’t see how I can. I have all the clothes I can fit into my check-in bag, my laptop, camera, and flight necessities. There are certain things I need during a flight, like a sleep mask, a neck pillow, and hair ties. Then I have a multicolored woven linen blanket that I take everywhere with me. And that’s about it.

“So who are you working for?” she asks. “Or are you just hotel-hopping?”

I hate the way she phrases it. Like there’s no rhyme or reason.

“Well,” I answer as I come across a small, handmade doll I got from a little girl in Puerto Rico. I tuck it into my bag. “It’s kind of funny, really,” I say, and Claire’s smile turns to a grimace. She hates when I use that phrase. Usually because whatever I am about to say isn’t funny to her.

“Oh?”