Page 68 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“So, what’s the problem?” Morgan asks impatiently.

But Hannah doesn’t waver. “The problem is a lot of our food is being imported. Frozen.”

“Frozen?” Donovan asks, and his jaw is unhinged.

“Yep. To cut costs. And because apparently, it takes less time to order food online to be sent to us than to keep an eye on what’s fresh and in season around us,” she states.

“Which management are we talking about?” I ask.

“Who do you think?” Donovan asks, and I frown.

“Conrad…”

Morgan pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I’ll take care of it. We’ll shift the entire menu.”

“Sounds great,” she says, though she’s not smiling. The woman is clearly beyond frustrated. “How long will that take?”

“We’ll do some research, shopping around,” Donovan says, but I just smile.

“I have an idea. We’ll have a new menu for you complete with food tomorrow,” I say, and everyone just stares at me.

“What are you talking about?” Morgan asks, but I keep smiling.

“Don’t worry. This is what I do best.”

Chapter 25

Morgan

“Hey. Hey, wake up…” Scarlett’s voice yanks me from a dark, dreamless slumber that is no doubt the product of the sex we had the other night. Thanks to an epic orgasm and quenching a thirst that had me high and dry for a month or so, I am happy to report I haven’t endured any painfully unfulfilling dreams lately. Which is why her subtle coaxing has me a little startled.

“What? What’s wrong?” I blurt out, bolting upright in bed.

“Nothing,” she tells me, standing over me with her usual smile. A smile I’ve grown to appreciate. Except when she’s using it to wake me up before the sun.

“What time is it?” I mumble.

“Four thirty,” she tells him.

“Oh. Then I’m going back to sleep,” I tell her, rolling over away from her. It’s not that I’m not a morning person. I’ve woken up at 6:30 am sharp every day for over twenty years. Even on holidays. Even when I’m sick. But not 4:30 am.

“No,” Scarlett says, yanking the down comforter off me and flippantly tossing it aside. “It’s time to wake up.”

“Why?” I grumble.

“Because the trucks are coming,” she says, turning on a light. I groan and cover my head with my pillow.

“What trucks?” I mutter.

“The fishermen’s trucks…” she says with magic in her words, and with that my eyes flash open.

After throwing on some shorts (yes, I own shorts) and a t-shirt (same response), Scarlett and I hurry off to the Escalade where the driver is waiting for us.

“Good morning, Seb!” Scarlett says with a huge smile and enough energy to fuel the sun.

“Good morning, Miss Scarlettt. Boss,” he returns, and I simply nod.

“To the market, Seb!” Scarlett says, and I roll my head to look at her.