Page 70 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Better than a cheese danish?” I tease.

“So much better,” she says. Then she looks down at her phone. “Well. The reviews are skyrocketing.”

“Really?” I ask. “People are already commenting? On what?”

“On everything. The market, the chefs, Hannah, us, the food,” she says, and I bite my lip, picking up my phone too. But I’m sending a text.

Morgan- Hey. What are the booking numbers for Tide and Torch?

Donovan- You saw that too. Reservations are booked out through the next month.

Morgan- Jesus…

Donovan- Guess Hannah is going to be making a lot more early morning market stops.

Somehow I don’t think she’ll mind.

And despite how early it is and how much I didn’t want to get up this morning, sitting here, enjoying the freshest fish I’ve had in years with some of the best company I’ve had in years as well, I can’t say that I mind either.

Later that night while Scarlett is showering, I am going through her posts on my phone. Not only is she a writer and a great influencer, she’s also an artist. And the fans see that.

I read through some of the comments and I’m impressed. Very impressed.

You always catch the beauty in everything.

I’m literally updating my passport now. Forget FOMO. It’s YOLO from here on out!

Look at you finding love and showing the world the good sides of Morgan Bale. Who knew?

But as much as that comment has a hidden knife twist, it’s the next comment that sends me.

Am I the only one who sees the resemblance in Morgan Bale to Jeff Bale? Not just physically, but in the way he creates experiences through a love for seeing others enjoy it?

I swallow hard. Because it’s the first time I’ve heard something like that in a very long time.

Needing something else to think about, I grab my messenger bag and open it up, pulling out my tablet and a couple of other things. I haven’t done a lot of actual work since we left Miami, and it wouldn’t hurt to go through things. But as I organize everything on the desk, I come across the manila envelope. The one Donovan brought me that I shoved aside when Conrad came barging in.

Curiously, I tear it open. I can’t imagine what the Sapphire could have sent me. Until I see it. And my expression drops.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I let out as I stare down at Scarlett’s bucket list book. “I thought I threw you in the trash.”

And yet, here it is. Following me, it would seem.

My eyes flash up to the bathroom door. There’s still steam swirling out from under the door, and the water is still audibly running.

So I open the book again.

Bucket list (in no particular order)

Cross the country

Go north! Somewhere cold.

Get a passport and get out of here

Visit somewhere that is not landlocked

Four corners!