Page 60 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

It’s disgusting.

“This is unacceptable,” I tell them. “Your salaries should be double that.”

“Salary?” one of the workers asks.

“Yes, salary,” I answer. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“James,” he answers. Then I look from person to person and they all tell me who they are.

Brandon, Philip, Cody, David, Nick, Cassie, and Ash.

“All of you will be making salaries from now on. Forty hours a week and no more. Kitchen work is not light work, as you all know. And you will be getting full benefits: 401 with 5% matched, PTO, and sick leave. Oh, and incentives!” I tell them, and their expressions tell me they have no idea what to think. Which is ridiculous in itself. “Is that alright with you?” I ask.

Rafael pulls the bandana and hairnet off his head and runs his hand through his long, wavy hair. His tired but honest brown eyes are filled with tears.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Bale. But no one has ever cared about our work conditions before,” he tells me.

“No one has ever seen us before,” Brandon adds, and I swallow with a nod.

“Well, I see you, and things are going to change.”

I roll up my sleeves, and we get to work on the menu for tomorrow’s event. And as I sit with these people, the working class, passionate, talented people, all I can think about is the string of resorts I have yet to see. If I had to guess, I am going to be rolling up my sleeves a lot.

Chapter 21

Scarlett

“Does this look okay?” I ask, tugging at my dress in the full-length mirror in the living room area of the suite. Morgan is somewhere in the resort, prepping other things, no doubt. Meanwhile, I am with Donovan, who has offered to help me get ready because it’s not like I have a maid of honor or my sister here with me.

Thank God.

That’s going to be a whole thing when this goes viral. But I can’t think about that right now. Right now, I am focused on the task at hand. Not hating the dress I’m wearing.

“I think it’s very flattering,” Donovan says, standing behind me in the mirror.

“What does that mean?” I ask, my eyes meeting his in the reflection.

“It means that it fits you and your shape well,” he says.

I snort. “Yeah. I’ve got plenty of that, that’s for sure,” I say, attempting to flatten the yellow frills around my hips. Then resigning to the fact that the poof is just my hips, not the dress.

“It’s very How To Lose A Guy,” he goes on to say. “With more flair.”

“Yeah well, I might just lose a guy,” I mutter. “Because I feel nothing like Kate Hudson right now.”

“She’s overrated,” Donovan waves his hand.

“You might be the only man who thinks so,” I tell him, tugging at the dress some more.

Donovan takes another step forward. “I’m pretty sure she’s not Morgan’s type either,” he whispers even though we are alone.

“Does Morgan even have a type?” I joke.

Donovan just smiles, his eyes meeting mine again, before turning to the door. “Wear the dress.”

“This is gorgeous,” I say as I walk into the garden. It’s dusk, giving the entire pool area a dark ambiance, lit only by fairy lights, fire pits, and the orange sky over the ocean. I’m taking it all in while taking photos. There are candlelit tables, a handful of well-dressed guests, food, drinks, and even a band playing softly in the corner.

I find Morgan talking to someone from the kitchen staff, a man that looks like he’s probably the manager. They’re both smiling and nodding. I even manage to catch a photo of Morgan laughing, which is absolute gold.