Page 82 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“You’re loving it,” he says, and he’s not wrong. I’m loving all of this. The locals. The hidden cove. The adventure. My new bathing suit that I am very much going to wear without shame from here on out. And the kisses he proceeds to shower me with.

Chapter 30

Scarlett

Am I a bad sister for ignoring literally every call and text from my sister? Maybe. But I gotta be honest. I do not have the mental capacity for the chaos that would ensue if I answered my phone right now.

I am fully aware that she is fully aware of my recent posts. The kisses. The budding romance plastered on the World Wide Web for all the land to see. Not to mention the whole engagement thing. And I know for a fact she is losing her shit back in Miami.

But for what it’s worth, I’m not an entirely terrible human being. I have let her know in a very short message that I am doing well and things are crazy and I have limited cell service. Which is all true, other than the last part, of course. If that part were true, she wouldn’t be able to see half the chaos going on, the chaos that has her blowing up my phone in the first place.

But my discrepancy is in her best interest. Kind of.

Either way, Cabo is gorgeous, and I am living in the moment.

That night we eat dinner at La Perla, the resort restaurant that is obviously very fancy. They have all local, fresh food. It’s safe to say that after the Hawaii incident, every Bale Resort kitchen has upped their game so it’s nothing less than fresh lobster, sea bass, ribeye, and coconut panna cotta, a personal favorite of mine that I order before even ordering dinner.

“Dessert for an appetizer,” Morgan says as they set it down in front of me.

“What’s wrong with that?” I ask, taking a careful bite and relishing every second of it.

“Absolutely nothing.” He shakes his head with a smile that doesn’t fade even after I swallow and take a sip of my smoothie. I think it’s safe to say pregnancy cravings are real, and mine, for whatever reason, come in the flavor of fruit.

“What?” I ask, smiling back at him.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head gently. “I just love the way you live.”

“The way I live?” I ask, feeling a soft blush rise to my cheeks at the attention. It’s not that I’m not used to people staring at me. It’s kind of a given in my field of work. But I’m not used to an abundance of compliments. Not the way he says them, with devilish eyes and a smirk that curls his lips at the corners.

“So freely,” he explains. “You enjoy everything. Savor everything. Try everything,”

“At least once,” I say.

“That’s what I mean. Right there. Most people are too worried about what other people think to live that way. Too focused on why they shouldn’t do something that they completely forget why they should.”

“Well, I believe that everyone should do something that scares them. Challenges them. Get their feet wet. Taste new flavors, listen to new sounds, find new views. I mean, why not? What’s stopping us?” I ask.

“Nothing at all,” he says. Then both our phone’s buzz at the same time. “And speaking of that. Have you seen the ratings and reviews? It’s been five stars non-stop–”

But with that, he does stop. Morgan’s smile tips downward into a frown as he looks down at his phone.

“What?” I ask. “What is it? A hater comment? Just flag it and forget about it. That’s what I have to do.”

“It’s a little more than a bad comment,” he says, and my smile fades a bit too as he shows me the screen, displaying a new article that is already going viral.

“Morgan Bale Ignores Environmental Issues by Dumping Chemicals into his Pools While Swimming in Waterfalls with Fiancée,” I read out loud, and Morgan takes his phone back.

“Seriously? What are they even talking about?”

“Probably the fact that the resort pool was tested for the wrong pH,” he mutters, his jaw clenching.

“But how would anyone know that? Even the guests think it’s just routine maintenance,” I say.

Then I stop. Because I do know who would know what’s going on. A person who knows where we are, what’s going on, knows every detail of the resorts, and is keeping a very close eye on our personal life. “Your brother,” I state flatly.

“My brother.” He nods, reaching for his drink and tossing back a good swallow of it.

“Why is he so intent on ruining your life?” I ask. “Making you look bad only makes him look bad too.”