8. Scarlett
Scarlett
I’m hungover.
Luckily, I have the breakfast of champions to help with that.
A cinnamon roll. Nothing like carbs rolled up with layers of cinnamon and sticky goodness to soak up last night’s wine binge.
I’m not a heavy drinker; I’m more a “wine when it sounds nice” kind of girl.
Problematically, after the email I just got, wine sounded very nice. Too nice. A bottle's worth of nice.
Still, I don’t have time for puking or headaches.
So I drink some water, chase it with a triple shot of espresso, pair it with my favorite pastry and get to work scrolling through jobs online.
Unfortunately, writing jobs aren’t easy to find.
It’s not like typing waitressing into the search bar and getting thirty-seven hits with one click.
It’s more of a you gotta know a guy sort of thing.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been “within” anywhere in a minute.
Not anywhere with consistent paychecks, anyway.
I search freelance job platforms, but other than a listing for a content creator and another for mattress reviewing, there aren’t a lot in the way of bloggers, especially not travel bloggers. I’m not surprised.
“Alright,” I say, licking the frosting off my fingers before trying another route.
Branding is usually my go-to. Through my social media platforms, I often get hits from companies that see my follower numbers and blue check mark.
People will usually DM me directly asking me to come to their restaurant, visit their hotel, talk about their shop, etc.
While bouncing from place to place for cash might seem like a dream, it’s not realistic.
It’s not like I can go to Seattle to review a new fair-trade coffee shop one week, then hop over to Colorado to promote the newest microbrewery, and then whirl over to NYC to gush over pizza.
Although New York City is very much on my bucket list. Despite the international travel I have taken, I have yet to go to New York, and I’ve always wanted to go there. So much so that it’s literally in my bucket list book that I’ve carried with me everywhere since college.
Speaking of that.
I set my phone down for a moment, my eyes narrowing as I look around the room.
Where is my bucket list book?
I usually have it on my person at all times. I’ve even fallen asleep with it in my hand or draped over my face as I dream of new places and experiences to add to it. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen it in a hot minute.
Not since–
“The Sapphire,” I say as I rummage through my messenger bag. “Shit.”
I rush back to my phone and search the hotel on Apple Maps. Then I click on the link for the customer service number.
After a sappy sales pitch intro followed by a string of press one for this number and two for this and three for that, I finally press zero and stay on the line.
As music that sounds like it should be on the Little Mermaid soundtrack plays, I replay that night, trying to think of where I would have left my book.
I mean, it’s not like I was there long.
I wasn’t even there long enough to actually unpack, which makes no sense.
Unless–
Surely not. Surely the mystery man didn’t take it.
Did he?
“Thank you for calling Sapphire Keys. This is Angel, how can I assist you today?” the woman’s voice comes into the phone.
“Yes. Hi. My name is Scarlett Moore. I stayed there a few weeks ago, and I think I left a book behind,” I say.
“Room number?” she asks.
“Uh…the suite?”
“They’re all suites, ma’am. Bale Resorts don’t have conventional rooms,” she says.
“It was the…the…” I pinch my eyes shut and snap my fingers to trigger my memory. “The executive suite!” I say on the last snap.
“Date?” she asks.
“No, I wasn’t on a date,” I say. “I was there for work.”
“I mean, what was the date of the day you stayed here?” she asks with a hint of annoyance. Add that to the review. Sheesh.
“Oh. The 6th,” I say.
“Alright, one moment please,” she says, and before I can say anything else, Under the Sea starts to play again.
I sigh, clicking my fingers on the counter.
Meanwhile, my mind is running wild. It’s not that I don’t know what’s on the list. I could rattle it off right now.
But that’s not the point. The point is, I bought that book at the airport before my first travel job.
Right after getting off the phone with an enraged Claire.
I told her I had to go and that we could talk about my life choices later, but that my flight was boarding.
I actually had an hour, but that’s not the point.
It’s sentimental, symbolic, and I need that book back.
“Ma’am?” the voice returns as I pace in front of my couch.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“You said it was a book?”
“Yes. It’s small and leather and–”
“Kind of a reddish color?” she asks.
“Yes! Yes, it’s wine-colored. You found it?!” I say, literally stepping up onto the couch.
“Housekeeping found it,” she says.
“Oh my God! So I can come get it?” I ask, dancing.
“It was mailed back to you,” she states.
And I stop.
“Mailed back to me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Overnighted, I believe.”
“But…I didn’t get it,” I say.
“I can’t help you with that,” she states. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“Oh no, you’ve done enough,” I say, and then she hangs up.
And I step off the couch.
“Unbelievable.” I shake my head. They are so lucky I already reviewed them because I have two more things I’d add to that list right now. Three if you include their shitty customer service.
I plop down on the couch with a sigh and pout as I mourn the death of my most prized material possession. I don’t have a lot of those considering I’m a travel writer and I prefer to be pretty untethered from physical items.
It almost feels like a bad omen that I lost it. Because since then, I lost my job. What’s next?
I sigh and throw my head back, staring at the popcorn ceiling above my head.
I can handle this, right? It’s not my first dry spell.
Obviously careers like this ebb and flow.
It’s why I typically have money tucked away.
Of course, with increased rent and gas prices and the airline crisis, that little nest egg has dwindled to almost nothing.
Which is why I needed that job.
Any job at this point.
I wonder if Jaque needs help in the bakery?
I do know a lot about pastries.
Suddenly my phone buzzes again. My attention trails down to the lit-up screen in a weary drag. Mostly because with my luck it’s probably my sister. She has a nose for sniffing out my poverty levels when they dip this low.
Fortunately for me, it’s not my sister. It’s a DM linked to my Instagram account. I sigh and open the message.
BaleResorts- Hello. This is Donovan Price, personal assistant to Morgan Bale of Bale Resorts. How are you today?
Uh-oh. This can’t be good. Something in me tells me they figured out that I am the mystery writer. After all, they are a billion-dollar company. They’ve probably got a pretty long arm. An arm that wants to strangle me, if I had to guess.
Still. I have to play cool. Even if they accuse me of being the writer, I have to deny it. I signed an NDA, after all. So they aren’t the only ones that will want to choke me out.
MooreToExplore- Hello! I’m doing amazing.
BaleResorts- Wonderful. I’ll get the point since I’m sure you are busy planning your next adventure.
MooreToExplore- Always. Haha.
I cringe, wishing I could backspace on the haha part. If this is real, which I think it is, I am talking to the personal assistant of Morgan Bale. The older brother of the Bale brothers. The one that runs the show, from what I know. And here I am writing, haha.
BaleResorts- Bale is looking for a travel blogger to fly out to a few of their locations and write reviews based on their experiences.
Reviews. Of Bale Resorts. It feels too easy not to have a catch. Except that this time, it’s not anonymous. It’s Bale Resorts.
MooreToExplore- So you’re wondering if I am interested?
I ask the obvious because either way, this is wild.
BaleResorts- Well, I’ve been sifting through social media platforms and yours has popped up multiple times. You have quite the following. And people seem to love your natural, fun-loving, witty approach.
MooreToExplore- Would it be anonymous?
BaleResorts- Of course not. How can you promote us if it’s anonymous?
Right.
BaleResorts- If you send me your email, I can send you the details. A short job description, expectations, duration, pay, and interview details.
Obviously, I do it. Because why wouldn’t I? This is exactly what I need, even if it is a little fishy. Again, what are the odds? Still, I’d be stupid to pass it up. As long as they don’t need a review of Miami, of course. And if they do, I will not be staying in the executive suite.
Plus, I can actually tell my sister I got another job. A job with a name. The email pops into my inbox immediately, and I open it. It’s a job with bulleted expectations, a timeline, and–
“Cheese and rice!” I blurt out.
…a very nice paycheck.
“Hell yeah,” I say, ready to text my sister right now that I have an interview.
Wait. When is said interview?
I scroll down the email and nearly have a panic attack.
“One o’clock! Today!?”
With that, I skip the text to Claire and rush to the bathroom to scrub off last night’s mistakes.
I cannot mess this up.