Page 50 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Speaking of vacation, don’t you have something you should be doing? Like working?” I growl into the phone.

“Hey, you called me,” he says.

“And I’m hanging up on you too,” I say before doing just that.

Fuck me.

What was I thinking bringing Donovan along? Or coming here at all?! At least if Donovan had stayed behind, I’d know that things are actually being taken care of.

I rake my hand through my hair. Calling Conrad was pointless. And I do need to be here. Obviously. Because he is right about one thing. We are not Mom and Dad, but I know what they would have wanted. The conditions the resorts are functioning at is not it.

After my adrenaline comes down a couple of notches, I take a look at Instagram. I should probably be overseeing what I hired her to do, after all. And Conrad is right. The photos are great. I mean, I could do without the one of me at the bar. I don’t even know when that was taken. But the one of me talking to the angry lady earlier is a good play. Especially after I read what she wrote.

“Well, I’ll be damned, girl,” I say as I read the comments. She did both what I asked and also made Bale look good at the same time. She made me look good, and it’s not fabricated. The positive comments prove that.

Suddenly, a text notification pops up on my screen.

Donovan- She’s good. I don’t know if you’ve seen, but numbers are up.

Morgan- Followers? Reviews?

Donovan- Yes and yes. But I meant bookings. We’re on cruise control again. The Villa Pacifica is booked out completely for the next four days.

Wild.

Morgan- You think it’s because I’m here?

Donovan- No offense, but I think it’s because MooreToExplore is here. I think we hit a gold mine by hiring her…

Maybe so.

With that, I quit my bitching and head upstairs. My new employee deserves dinner. But also, public dining is a good PR move.

Chapter 18

Scarlett

“Get dressed,”

I hear Morgan’s voice before the door even has time to slam behind him, and I nearly drop my towel. I am literally in the middle of getting into the shower when he blasts into the room.

Talk about déjà vu.

“What’s going on?” I ask because that amount of urgency must mean something is wrong. Like the hotel is on fire, or he owes someone money and they finally found him.

“It’s time to work, that’s what,” he says, and I let out a sigh, though I am a little irritated that there is in fact no fire.

“Now?” I ask. “I was about to get in the shower.”

“You can shower later,” he says, and I just stare at him. This man truly is against me bathing, I swear.

“I have a better idea. You can stop telling me what to do.”

But Morgan just glares at me. The man is still in the suit he was wearing when we got here. The suit he had on in the plane. He might have been less constipated about flying if his tie wasn’t so tight. “Put on something nice. We’re going to dinner,” he states.

“I thought you said we were working,” I say, heading to the closet where I hung my clothes earlier.

“You are my writer and my girlfriend. Dinner is working,” he says, and I take in a deep breath and let it back out with a quick nod.