12. Scarlett
Scarlett
Dear Mr. Morgan Bale,
After careful consideration, I have decided to accept the job as travel blogger for Bale Resorts. I am available immediately and look forward to working with you.
Scarlett Moore
MooreToExplore
I wrote the email that night, right after texting my sister back and right before downing the last glass of wine my box wine bladder had to offer.
It was desperate and pathetic and completely beneath me and–very effective.
Because the next morning, I woke up to an email from Donovan.
I work for Bale Resorts, and the job starts today.
Well. A second interview disguised as dinner with Morgan, anyways.
“Wow,” I say as I sit in the leather-bound chair that is being pulled out for me by a man who looks like he could be the butler in an Agatha Christie novel. Sans the murderer part. “Just wow. This is…really fancy,” I point out.
“Is it?” Morgan asks as he sits down. I scoff so loud I might have just sprayed my immaculate water goblet with spit. I am doing great so far.
“Yeah,” I let out as I unwrap my silverware and place the cloth napkin on my lap.
“I thought you were well-traveled,” he says, eyeing the wine menu.
“I am,” I state. “But I don’t usually go to ritzy places.”
“Interesting,” Morgan says. It feels so weird putting a name to the face. The face of the company. The face of the Sapphire. The face of the man I fooled around with at the Sapphire. “So where do you go then…when you travel?”
“I’m more of a hole in the wall kind of girl,” I admit as I look over the menu. It literally takes physical effort to keep my eyes from dilating as I look at the prices.
“So dives and such?” he asks.
“And such.” I smirk at him. This guy really is three pieces all the time.
I thought it was just a tough day at the office when he walked into my suite.
Yes. I am calling it mine until the day I die, because it was.
I didn’t realize it was his entire personality.
I bet the man sleeps with cufflinks on. “No. Not dives. Local restaurants. Family owned places. Food trucks. Markets. That is where the good stuff is.”
“The good stuff,” he echoes. “So what would you, a well-seasoned traveler, call the things on this menu?”
Overpriced? Over-hyped? Overrated?
“Flashy,” I say. And when my eyes meet his, my smirk disappears quickly. “Sorry. I suddenly get the feeling I am saying all the wrong things.”
“How so?” he asks.
“This is like part two of the interview, right? I should be trying to make a good impression,” I say as the waiter comes back and goes through all the flashy motions of serving our wine to us, leaving the bottle on the table afterwards.
Morgan orders the black truffle scallops, I am assuming as an appetizer, before answering my question.
“You already did make a good impression. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting in front of me now,” he says and something about his tone feels like he’s implying more. Does he remember me? Is he making a sideways reference to the night at the Sapphire? Surely not.
“Of course,” I answer. Because as much as this man’s constant reminders that he is quote-unquote better than me, the ice below my feet right now is still thin. I would be wise not to go stomping around.
“So let’s get to it then,” Morgan says after taking a sip of wine and setting his glass back down on the table. I follow suit. It is a Spanish wine after all. Aged. Oaky. Plum with a hint of vanilla and spice.
Perfect.
“We will be traveling to Bale Resorts. San Diego, Maui, Cabo, the Bahamas, the Keys, and NYC,” he rattles off.
“So the Villa Pacifica, The Oceana, The Baja Pearl, The Sea Pearl, The Sunset, and Seabreeze Estate,” I say, taking a sip of my wine and savoring it.
Morgan blinks slowly. I’ve learned in the small handful of times I have met him that the slower the blink, the more the shock.
He won’t show outright shock; it’s more of a subtle thing for a man like him.
I am an observant girl. What I have observed about Morgan Bale is that you can catch him off guard if you know how… and impressing him is how.
“You’ve done your homework,” he states, reaching for his glass again. His sip is a little fuller this time, another very subtle and very telling hint that I am slowly leveling the playing field.
“And here I thought I was traveling the country with a carefree nomad,” he says as the waiter sets down our scallops.
“I may be a nomad of sorts, but this is my real job, Mr. Bale, and I would hardly call it carefree–wait. Did you say traveling the country? We? As in you? As in–”
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks. “Or should I come back?”
I blink multiple times, much faster than Morgan’s aforementioned blinks. It’s my telltale sign that I have been thrown off my game. Morgan nods at me. “Ladies first,”
“I…I’ll have…the chicken,” I say.
“The pistachio-crusted or the chicken roulade?” he asks.
Chicken. I don’t know. Just chicken. If I heard right, and I’m pretty sure I did, I just found out that I will not only be working for the man I slept with at the Sapphire, but working with the man I slept with at the Sapphire.
Those are two different things. Two very different, complicated, unagreed to things.
“The pistachio is great,” Morgan suggests.
“Yes. The pistachio is fine,” I say, handing the waiter the menu with a tight smile.
I don’t even hear what Morgan orders. The static in my ears from all my chaotic thoughts seems to be drowning out everything in the room. And as soon as the waiter walks away from our table again, I lock eyes on him.
“What do you mean, we?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, I thought I'd mentioned that. I’m coming with you,” he states as he serves each of us two scallops with some kind of creamy risotto on small plates. If I wasn’t so nauseous, I would say it looks divine.
“Why?” I sputter out. Morgan looks around, and it’s obvious that my voice is way too loud for this setting, so I lower it before going on. “I mean…I’m not trying to sound rude, but I usually work alone. It’s kind of my MO.”
“That’s fine,” he says, cutting into a scallop that is so tender it could probably be eaten with a spoon. “And for the most part, you will be alone. Writing and enjoying the amenities at each resort as we discussed.” He takes a bite and nods. “You should try the scallops.”
I look down at my plate and slice into one of them with my fork.
Then I stab it and take a bite, chewing quickly at first so I can loop back to the conversation.
But halfway through noshing, I stop, slowing down.
Because this is the best freaking scallop I’ve ever had.
And I have had some scallops, let me tell you.
“It’s like butter,” I say, covering my mouth, and I practically have to refrain from making sex noises as I chew.
“You were saying?” he asks, and I swallow.
“I just don’t understand why you are coming along?” I ask.
Morgan finishes the scallop, taking his time. Then he sets his utensils down, dabs his mouth with his napkin, and takes a small sip of wine before answering. I must say, he is the least hurried businessman I’ve ever been around. Everything he does is intentional.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” he states.
“Please.” I nod.
“That article that came out about Bale recently…it nearly flattened us. People are saying things, making assumptions, and labeling us as something we are not. It is not what we stand for nor how I want to be perceived. I realized that hiring a travel journalist to reshape our reputation isn’t enough.
The guests, and the world, need to see all the effort that’s put into Bale that makes it great. The people need to see my efforts.”
“So you’re traveling to the hotels to…?” I trail off.
“To show them who we are and how the article was wrong,” he says.
“Makes sense.” I nod. And it does. It still doesn’t sit easy with me, but it at least makes sense. “So you’re going to be in the articles and the posts?” I ask. “On social media?”
Morgan visually cringes at that. “I mean, I’ve never been one to hang out in the limelight. My brother is usually the one who does that,” he says.
“So why isn’t he going?” I ask.
Morgan’s jaw twitches at the corners, a sign of hesitancy before he goes on.
“Because he is half the reason we are knee-deep in this gutter,” he spits out, and it’s no secret there are some family issues under all that mud.
“He’s usually the one to visit the resorts.
But if all the bad reviews and comments are true, he’s slacking.
So, rather than sit here and argue with him about quality, reputation, and generational standards, I’d rather just roll up my sleeves and see what’s going on myself,” he says.
I am honestly impressed with the amount of vulnerability in that statement.
Even if the man is gritting his teeth through it.
Still, it coaxes a smile out of me that I attempt to bite back, but not before Morgan sees it. “Sorry, I think all that is great. I really do,” I say.
“But?” he asks.
“I just don’t really see you as a roll up your sleeves kind of guy,” I say.
“And that’s why I have to do it. That, right there. The assumptions. Assumptions make people talk. Talk that is mostly rumors. Rumors that leave fingerprints on the transparency of who Bale strives to be. I am going to shut down those rumors in person with you at my side every step of the way.”
Every step of the way.
I take another hearty sip of wine to process those words.
“So we will be seeing a lot of each other then,” I say, and he nods.
“More than I originally intended,” he says, and I give him a questioning look.
“There’s another component to the job requirements that I didn’t mention before. A new clause,” he states, and I can already tell I don’t like where this is going.
“Which is?” I ask.
“You and I will be engaged,” he says.
“Engaged in what?” I ask.
“Engaged.”
I blink. “Like…to be married? Me and you?” I point between us as my head spins; I’m so confused.
“Yes,” he says, and I cannot believe I am hearing him right. Surely I’m not.
“Respectfully, Mr. Bale,” I chuckle uneasily. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“There was another article,” he states. “Apparently, people have gotten the idea that I am promiscuous.”
“You are promiscuous,” I blurt out. “You’re a freaking billionaire.”
I realize my voice is too loud, but this time I kind of don’t care. New boss or not, he’s talking crazy. Certified insane.
“You can’t be suggesting that you and I get married to sparkle up your reputation on a personal level, Mr. Bale,” I tell him.
“Oh, of course not,” he corrects me. “That would be extortion. The engagement would be fake, of course. As would any implication of an intimate relationship.”
I laugh, cupping my cheeks in my palms. “You want to pretend that we are together, that we are engaged as part of this job?” I ask. “No offense, Mr. Bale, but I didn’t sign up for that.”
Then Morgan leans in, his eyes growing dark in a familiar way. A way I’ve seen before. A way I do not trust. A way that makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up and my blood warm all at the same time.
“I don’t know if you fully understand just how detrimental the recent articles have been to Bale.
Not just to my career and what I have built, but what my late parents built before me.
It’s not just an empire, Miss Moore. Two generations of one family’s dream are in shambles because of those ill-intended articles. ”
Morgan’s words make my stomach go sour as guilt floods over me. I say nothing, but he goes on.
“But surely you understand, as someone who also makes a living through ratings, what it means to have your reputation threatened. And you understand why it’s important that the heir of Bale Resorts doesn’t look like he doesn’t care about his guests or the Bale name.
Being in a relationship, or appearing to be in one, would strengthen my image and repair the damage done. ”
I bite my lip. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. But I don’t feel like I have a choice at this point. In the heat of the moment, I wrote that article without a second thought. I had no idea it could destroy a legacy.
Finally, I take a breath and sit up straight. It wouldn’t be the craziest job I’ve ever taken.
“So, what are the rules?” I ask. “Surrounding the new job description.”
“As far as the public is concerned, we are together,” Morgan says casually as he cuts into another scallop with perfect etiquette.
“We have been quiet about it because both of us wanted to wait until it got serious. Now that you are reviewing Bale Resorts, it’s serious.
There will be a proposal that I will brief you on when the time comes. It will be very public on purpose.”
“And in the meantime?” I ask, reaching for my water. My throat feels like sandpaper all of a sudden. “How will we act…or be…in the meantime?”
His eyes land on me in a way that I wish they wouldn’t. Despite the lack of a smile on his lips, there is something in his eyes. Something I remember from our banter at the Sapphire. Something I can’t bring myself to believe he could have possibly forgotten.
“Like I said…publicly, we are together. Convincingly so. However that may look.”
Our food comes, and I am thankful for it. I’m not very hungry, but I want something, anything, to help me process everything that just happened. I knew that taking this job was going to be a lot. I had no idea I was going to be in completely over my head.