15. Scarlett
Scarlett
I have been to California before. Sonoma, San Francisco and upstate during a drive along the coastal highway clear up to Canada. I have never been to San Diego, but let me tell you, it lives up to the hype.
It’s sunny but not hot, putting Miami to shame in that department. It’s also beautiful. Sailboats and beaches with gorgeous cliffs. Palm trees and an epic skyline. Shops and markets, and piers.
As we drive from the airport to the resort, I am making a checklist on my phone of all the places I want to visit while I am here as we pass them.
“This is just amazing,” I say. Honestly, I am a little annoyed that I am tucked into the back of the SUV.
While I understand that this is a private shuttle from Bale Resorts and I am riding with Morgan Bale himself and his personal assistant, I don’t know how I am supposed to get photos and videos of the journey from the third row of an Escalade.
“Do you think you could roll your window down?” I ask, leaning in so my head is poking through the two men in front of me.
“What for?” Morgan spits out. “Also, do you literally have no regard for seatbelts at all?”
I ignore the second question. Because I am wearing my seatbelt. The lap belt anyways.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I sass back. “Maybe so I can do my job? It’s kind of hard to get photos of the city when my only view of it is out of a tiny tinted window. People are going to think I was kidnapped.”
“Your job is to document the resort,” Morgan argues without looking at me. “You can take photos when we get there.”
“No,” I argue back, undoing my seatbelt and crawling over the middle row to the passenger seat. “My job is to show the world the city. People care about the city the resort is in, you know. That’s how they pick which one they want to go to.”
“Are you crazy?” Morgan snaps.
“No,” I grunt as I get into my new seat. “But I am very good at my job.”
I smile as I click the seatbelt on. Then I turn to the driver.
“Hi. I’m Scarlett,” I tell him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Morgan mutters. Donovan is chuckling. I don’t know if he finds me funny or if he just thinks it’s funny when someone ruffles Scrooge’s feathers.
If I had to guess, both.
“Sebastian,” the driver grins, clearly unbothered by my edit to the seating chart. “But you can call me Seb.”
“You can call him nothing,” Morgan snaps. “Because you have no reason to talk to the driver.”
“I will, Seb,” I emphasize before rolling my window down. “Now, if no one minds, I have a travel profile to update.”
With that, I stick my head out the window and grin as the wind catches my hair, tossing it behind me. Then I hold my phone out to catch a video of it, making sure the Pacific Ocean, trees, and the beautiful houses are all visible behind me.
“Hello beautiful people! You’ll never guess where I am this week.
San Diego! I know it’s been a minute since I’ve posted anything, but I am back.
So get ready. I am about to flood your feed with photos and videos of all that San Diego has to offer, from dining to beaches to markets and more.
And wait until you see where I am staying.
Because I am about to take you on a worldwide adventure.
Over the next few weeks, I will be reviewing a string of luxury hotels that will have you renewing your passports and emptying your pockets.
So pack your bags and don’t forget the sunnies because in a few hours, you’ll be on vacation with me. And it’s going to be luxurious.”
“God, I missed this,” I say as I roll the window back up. In the rearview, I catch Morgan shaking his head.
“Do you really think anyone can hear you in the wind?” he asks.
“That’s what mini mics and edits are for,” I say, playing the audio back, and sure enough, it’s twice as clear.
I glance in the mirror. Morgan is not impressed.
But Donovan is smiling.
“She’s good,” Donovan whispers, loud enough for me to hear him. And I am pretty sure it’s intentional.
“Lordy sakes alive,” I let out as I step out of the car and close the door behind me. I nearly fall off the curb as I stare up at the resort. It literally looks like a white beach castle.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Donovan asks. “It’s one of my favorites.”
As Seb unloads our bags onto a golden cart, I look back at Morgan.
I expect to see him on his phone or glaring, or doing something negative, but he is also staring at the hotel.
His lips are slack, and as he lifts his shades off his eyes, there is a small sense of wonder in them. Something almost haunting.
It’s instantly apparent that he truly does not visit the resorts. Or at least he hasn’t in a very long time.
“You did well with the updates,” Donovan tells him. “The gardens are a lovely touch.”
“She would have liked them,” he says with an indifferent sniff before heading towards the door.
She?
We walk into the resort, and it is everything I imagined.
It’s similar to the Sapphire in Miami, but more.
The lobby is twice as big. The marble extends from the floor to the walls to the ceiling.
There are giant fish tanks and windows overlooking the ocean.
There are two fountains and two glass elevators that lead up to open-space floors.
Every room is on the ocean side of the building. Every room is a suite with a view.
But despite the luxury of it all, it’s instantly obvious that the resort is no fairytale. A guest at the counter is literally screaming at one of the front desk people, and Morgan stalks over. Obviously, we follow, though standing back.
“I told that housekeeper three times that the drain in the bathroom was not draining, but nothing has been done about it!” the woman cries out.
“Which drain is it again?” the desk person asks.
“The sink! The bloody bathroom sink!” she cries out again, her British accent more prevalent than before. “I didn’t hop the pond for stopped-up sinks and stale pastries. Oh! And don’t get me started on the coffee.”
“The coffee?” the girl asks, clearly flustered.
“It’s burnt. Always burnt. You call this luxury?” she shouts, and her accent echoes against every wall in the lobby.
“I will call maintenance right now,” the girl says, and that’s when Morgan steps in.
“I’ll handle this,” he says, and the girl looks at him. Her eyes dilate with recognition, and she steps aside. Meanwhile, Donovan and I just watch from a safe distance.
“I take it they didn’t know he was coming?” I ask Donovan.
“Nope. He didn’t want any of the middle management scrambling to cover up or putting on a show. He wanted to walk into whatever shitshow conditions were in play.”
“I think he’s getting what he wanted.” I say as I continue to watch.
“And who are you?” the woman demands.
“I’m Morgan Bale,” he says. “I own the resort.”
“Well, Mr. Bale, your quality is not what it used to be,” she snaps back. “I visited this very resort thirty years ago and even without the updates and the fancy amenities, it was volumes better than it is today. Your parents knew how to run a hotel, Mr. Bale.”
“I am going to set you up in a new room,” he says.
“I’ve already unpacked,” she says.
“I understand the inconvenience, which is why I am putting you in the executive suite. I can assure you there will be no imperfections,” he states, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.
“There’s the Bale standard,” Donovan smiles, crossing his arms.
“Also, someone will caddy your belongings over to the new room, and dinner at the Sand Dollar Restaurant is on us tonight.”
“And how much is all of this going to cost me?” she asks, still sneering.
“Not a dime, Miss Turner,” he says, because in the middle of her ranting he’s already pulled up her name on the screen. “In fact, we are refunding your stay back to you in its entirety.”
She blinks, clearly shocked. But then she smiles. If I had to guess, it’s something that she rarely does.
“Thank you, Mr. Bale. There’s hope for you boys yet,” she says, and Morgan offers her a smile with zero visible offense to her sideways compliment.
Then he turns to the desk girl. “Make the changes,” he says, and she nods quickly before getting on the phone.
“Um, Mr. Bale?” she asks as the woman walks away. “The E-suite was booked for you tonight.”
“Then I guess you’re going to have to give me the second best, aren’t you?” he asks. “Oh, and make sure none of the drains are clogged.”
“Of course, sir.” She nods, and Morgan walks back over to Donovan and me.
“Did you get all that?” he asks as he passes me.
And honestly, I’m still trying to process.
In less than one minute, I saw two completely different versions of Morgan Bale.
He went from stern and dominating to attentive and polite.
As I watch him head to the bar, I realize that there are probably more sides to Morgan than I ever considered.
I have a feeling I am about to meet all of them.
* * *
“This is a disaster,” Morgan says after he takes a sip of an Old Fashion. We are seated in a private room that is more like a balcony overlooking the beach. “I don’t understand how things could be so bad.”
“It’s just a drain,” I say, fully aware that I am poking the bear here.
“It’s not just a drain,” he snaps. “It’s never just a drain.
Just on my walk over to the bar, I overheard half a dozen other complaints.
Everything from the linens are scratchy to the pillows are too firm to the windows having splotches on them.
What the hell is even the point of every room having a view of the ocean if guests can’t see through fingerprints and seagull shit. ”
“But that’s not really your fault,” Donovan says.
“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It’s middle management.”
“Who oversees middle management?” I ask carefully. I’m not trying to make Morgan angrier than he already is. I’m just trying to understand the weight of the situation here.
“Conrad,” Donovan answers as Morgan scowls into his drink, and there is a moment of silence tense enough to make my skin crawl.
I hate tension. I also hate problems and negativity. So I speak up, whether it’s my place or not.
“I don’t mean to get involved with the business side of things,” I tell him.
“But if you want…I can sort of meddle around, find out all the complaints customers have. And report back to you so that you can find solutions. And in the meantime, I’ll write glowing reviews and show only the positive sides of the resort for the articles. ”
Donovan looks to Morgan, but Morgan shakes his head.
“No. Don’t sugarcoat it. That will only prompt more negative reviews, and then I’ll look even worse than I already do.
” Morgan turns to look at me. “Write it like it is. Show the issues, the problems, and the complaints. And then show the measures I am going to take to fix those problems. Show the world that Bale Resorts has been slacking, and that I am personally making every possible effort to correct it.”
Morgan takes another sip of his drink and stares out over the ocean. Donovan smiles and does the same. And I have to admit. For a grumpy asshole, Morgan’s not half bad. A decent guy, almost. Maybe this won’t be too hard after all.