7. Morgan #2
Conrad’s eyebrows arch. “I don’t do any of the work?
” he echoes. “You don’t think visiting the hotels and doing inspections and showing face, something you wouldn’t do with a gun pointed to your head, is work?
News flash, brother. You might be on the throne of Bale for now, but the only reason anyone even knows who you are is because the paparazzi catch side profiles of you from time to time at the whiskey bar down the street.
In fact,” he chuckles, “the word in those comments is that a lot of people didn’t even know you were still alive. They thought you died when–”
“Finish that sentence and you’ll be digging your own grave,” I growl, and it’s not until I feel Donovan’s hand on my shoulder that I realize I’ve closed the space between my brother and me and I am standing chest to chest with him.
“Morgan,” Donovan says.
I take a step back.
“I think you need to prepare for the worst,” Conrad dares to go on.
“Shit like that is going to tank us. A lot of things in those comments have the power to tank us. But if I had to guess, you haven’t even read the comments.
You just looked at the aftermath, the numbers, and ordered your sidekick to find a solution.
Well, I have a solution for you, brother.
It involves me lawyering up and you stepping down. ”
I meet his eyes with a hard glare. Conrad engages for a moment before leaving, slamming my door behind him.
“He’s all talk,” Donovan says after a minute. “He measures his dick against yours every few months and then goes back to his shenanigans. This time won’t be any different.”
He’s right. But something about this threat felt different. Like, for once, it might not be empty. I make a mental note to keep an even closer eye on my brother.
Conrad has always done anything he can to get under my skin.
And when Bale Resorts was passed over to us, most of it fell into my lap because he was only fifteen, making me the undeclared CEO.
But ever since he came of age, my brother has been challenging that.
And while it has been mostly talk, that talk is getting louder and more persistent as of late.
“Circling back,” Donovan says. “I have an idea. Current added issues considered…”
“Whatcha got?” I ask.
“You’re not going to be happy,” he says.
“Oh, because I’m just elated about things right now,” I say.
“I mean, you’re really going to hate this…”
I arch my brows to move him along.
“What would your parents have suggested?” he asks and I think about that. I can think of a million things they might have done to make customers happy. Customer satisfaction was literally their top priority. Second to experiencing their resorts on a regular– oh. No. Absolutely not.
“If you’re suggesting what I think you are–” I start in.
“When’s the last time you visited any of your resorts?” Donovan asks. “Not counting the Sapphire.”
Honestly, I have no fucking clue. In fact, there are a good handful of them I’ve never even seen in person. That is mostly Conrad’s job. He loves to travel. I prefer running the business right here in this office with the A/C set to sixty-five and my coffee delivered by Alecia every morning.
“That’s not my MO,” I tell him. “And you know that. You also know why,” I warn him. We aren’t getting into a whole conversation about what Bale used to be. Not right now.
“I know. But…this is kind of a disaster. And not just a flash flood,” he states.
“I thought you said it was just a toy slingshot to an empire,” I state.
“Well, that was before the article was pushing one million views…” he mutters.
“And before Conrad threatened to go postal, legally speaking. So, just hear me out. We find a travel blogger. Someone people love. Like Guy Fieri status but for resorts, not hole-in-the-wall barbecue joints. We send them on a little tour of our resorts with you by their side.”
“And what would be the point of that?” I ask. “Nobody wants to look at me.”
“Maybe not, but if they saw billionaire Morgan Bale was actually staying at his hotels, it might sell them on the idea of this not just being a retort to the bad article. Also, it gives you an edge over your brother. Proves to him and the world that you don’t just hide behind your desk. It’s something–”
He trails off before finishing the sentence. Because we both know what he was going to say.
It’s something your parents would have done…
“It’s something to think about,” he says instead. Then he leaves me alone as well.
I sit at my desk, staring at the article on my screen. Then, after a hard moment of hesitation, I click on the comments, speed-reading through them.
Conrad is right. They’re bad. Everything from complaints about experiences at Bale Resorts (which I can’t understand) to assumptions about me.
About what happened two decades ago. I turn away.
None of these people have any right to assume anything about my family.
About me. And yet, they’re going to think what they want.
Until I do something to prove them wrong.
I think about what Donovan said.
And he’s right. About both. And as much as I hate it, I know it might be our best option.
Shit, if we pass a million, it might be our only option.
And even if I HATE the idea of it (of travel, of beaches, of beds that aren’t mine, of flying, of sunburns and cesspool grottos) it really is the best way to change the narrative.