Page 69 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“He knows where we’re going,” I tell her dryly.

“So? It’s still fun to say,” Scarlett answers before thrusting a fist and half her body out the window. “To the market!” she calls into the morning, and I sigh. But Sebastian just smiles.

The sun is on the horizon when we pull up to the fish market. And sure enough, trucks are loading up with fresh, live seafood of all kinds moments after it’s carried off the boats. People buzz about, packaging and purchasing and smelling and smiling. There are even locals with grills and ovens cooking up food and selling it right there next to a storefront.

For a moment, we just look around, taking it all in.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asks with the world’s most Scarlett-smile and her hands clasped together.

“I have,” I tell her, and she turns to look up at me.

“Really?” she asks.

“With my parents. Many, many years ago,” I say.

“Oh.” She smiles before taking a couple of photos for the blog.

“Mr. Bale. Miss Moore,” Hannah appears next to us, and she’s smiling, something she didn’t do even once yesterday.

“Well,” I say, gesturing to the expansion of the market. “What do you think? Is it fresh enough?”

Hannah nods with a smile. “It’ll do.”

With that, we start shopping. Well, Hannah does most of the shopping. I might own five-star restaurants tucked into world renown resorts, but I am no chef. I can make a few good dishes, but this is Hannah’s territory. And as I watch her asking about things, questioning them, touching them, smelling them, I am in awe of her ability to find the perfect seafood and meats for the restaurant.

Even Scarlett is mesmerized watching her expertise in action, taking photos and asking questions as well. She’s fascinated with all of it, incredible with the market sellers and fishermen and even the locals cooking things up. Especially them.

“So what kind of fish is this?” Scarlett asks, referring to a red fish that has caught Hannah’s eye.

“This is Onaga.” She smiles. “A snapper. It’s hard to catch, making it very rare,” she says, and one of the chefs nods.

“Very,” he says.

“It’s beautiful,” Scarlett says.

“It’s also flaky, delicate, fatty, and buttery,” Hannah adds.

“It sounds delicious,” Scarlett smiles. “How do you prepare a fish like this?”

“At the restaurant, I’d bake and broil it whole. It’s too beautiful not to display in all its glory. But if I wanted to cook it up and eat it on the spot–”

“We’d grill it,” the man says. They all smile and the next thing we know, the man is grabbing one of them and heading over to his makeshift kitchen. We watch as he slices and fillets it.

“Salt, pepper, and avocado oil,” Hannah narrates as we watch him work. “A fish like this doesn’t need much. The flavor shines on its own.”

“Yes,” the man agrees. “With butter, garlic, and lemon. Maybe a little thyme and parsley if you want to be fancy. But you are right. Simplicity is key.”

As we watch him prepare it, Scarlett can hardly contain her excitement. She snaps a couple of photos and puts her phone away. Then she hugs into me, and I put my arm around her, and Hannah uses her phone to snap a photo of us.

“For the blog,” she says.

“You don’t have to do that,” Scarlett tells her with a smile.

“For the fish,” Hannah says to me, and I nod once as a you're welcome. Because honestly, what kind of boss would I be if I didn’t give my employees the best?

After the fish is done, Hannah enjoys some before following the truck back to the restaurant, anxious to cook. Scarlett and I take ours to go and enjoy it with some fresh fruit and coffee at a little shop down the way next to a pier.

“Now this is the breakfast of champions,” she says, taking a bite and savoring it.