Page 59 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“I got it,” I say before having Sebastian head back to the resort. Meanwhile, I call Donovan.

“How’s the ring shopping going?” he asks as soon as he answers the phone. “Are you thirty thousand dollars poorer? Did you keep the receipt?”

“I need you to call the bank. Have them get into the property safe,” I tell him.

“What for?”

“I need my mother’s wedding ring overnighted here. We’re going to push the engagement to tomorrow night. Tell the staff and Scarlett,” I say.

“You’re…you’re using your Tamera’s ring for a fake proposal?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Because you couldn’t find a ring at Tiffany’s you liked?” he asks.

“Because none of the rings at Tiffany’s suit Scarlett Moore,” I tell him before hanging up.

After I get back to the resort, I head to the kitchen of the Crystal Lounge, the restaurant/bar where the proposal and after-party will take place. Not only do I want to chat with the chefs about tomorrow’s menu, but I’m also starving. Luckily, it’s mid-afternoon, so they are between rushes when I walk in.

“Our current specials are the Kumamoto oysters with yuzu mignonette and finger lime pearls,” Rafael, the kitchen manager, tells me. “As part of the raw bar. We also have Santa Barbara uni, heirloom tomato salad with fresh mozzarella and basil, butter-poached Pacific halibut and local swordfish, grilled with salsa verde.”

I nod, overlooking the kitchen. While it all sounds amazing, something about the atmosphere feels off.

When I don’t say anything right away, the staff looks worried and Rafael speaks up again. “Of course, if we have until tomorrow night, we can put in an order for anything you want. Our seafood usually arrives on trucks before the sun even comes up.”

“No, the cuisine sounds great,” I tell him. “We can come up with an event menu, and I’m sure it’ll all be fine. But there is something else I am concerned about.”

My statement seems to have the entire staff shifting in their shoes.

“Anything, sir,” Rafael says respectfully. “Anything that isn’t to your liking can be changed with immediate effect.”

“How are the working conditions?” I ask, and they all look at each other before looking at me.

“The conditions, sir?” Rafael presses.

“Yes. For you and for your staff. How are the hours, the pay, the benefits, breaks, expectations, incentives…” I rattle off.

None of the staff outside of Rafael will look at me now.

“No offense, sir,” he says. “But we don’t get benefits or incentives. If we show up, we get paid.”

“And the pay?” I ask.

“It’s enough,” he says, and I rake a hand through my hair, my jaw clenching with frustration. Not at Rafael or the staff, but because they are actually afraid to say anything. To complain.

“Enough for what?” I ask. “Enough to pay your bills each week? Or enough to live comfortably?”

A unanimous grumble circles the room, and even Rafael lets out an involuntary snort in response to that. “No offense, Mr. Bale, but I don’t even know what comfortable is. We’re just the cooks. We don’t expect–”

“Just the cooks?” I cut him off. “Rafael, this is a five-star resort. Higher than that. The food at resorts on this tier of luxury aren’t just meals. They’re dining experiences. Experiences that should be mind-blowing and transcending. The hands that prepare that food are doing God’s work in my opinion.”

“Of course, sir. And it’s never short of perfection,” he stammers. But again. I’m not scolding him. I am trying to get to the bottom of why my kitchen staff is afraid to talk to me.

“I have no doubt.” I nod. “Which is why I don’t understand your working conditions. What are you getting paid? All of you? What do you take home every day?”

They tell me and my stomach bottoms out. “And how long have you worked here?”

Almost all of them have been here for a minimum of two years. And Rafael has been here since…well, the beginning.