16. Scarlett
Scarlett
“This is gorgeous,” I say as Morgan lets us into one of the rooms. It’s not the executive, but it’s as fancy as the one in Miami.
There are plants and cacti; everything is white and earth tones.
The temperature is perfect, and the view of the Pacific is unreal.
Not to mention the balcony boasts a staircase straight down to the pool and beach.
“It’s not the E-suite, but it’ll have to do,” Morgan says, running his finger along the countertop to check for dust. His face is scrunched into the usual amount of grumpiness, so it’s hard to say whether he found anything.
“So, is this your room or mine?” I ask as I continue to snoop around.
There are heated towels. Sheet towels. Mama is taking a bath tonight!
“Both,” he says, and it takes me a moment to process the words. When I do, I turn to look back at him, my smile slowly fading from my face.
“Both?” I ask. “We’re sharing a room?”
“We would have been sharing the E-suite,” he says and I sort of laugh.
“Yeah, but the E-suites generally have two rooms in one. This is…a room. With…a bed. Singular.”
“And?” he asks.
“And I don’t know if I am comfortable sharing one room and one bed with you,” I tell him, walking back towards him. “No offense, Morgan, but this isn’t a rom-com with forced proximity and just one bed and HEA and all that shit.”
“HEA?” he asks.
“Happily ever after,” I explain.
“Right. No,” he says. “But if you haven’t forgotten already, we are in a relationship according to the public’s eye.
According to my brother’s eye, which I guarantee you is examining our every move under a magnifying glass right now.
We can’t take a single step that would give us away, or his lawyers are going to have a fucking field day.
And staying in separate rooms would blow our cover sky-high. You got a trope for that?”
I open my mouth. And close it again. Because as much as I hate it, he’s right. I also hate that he gave the executive suite to the angry lady with the clogged drain. Surely this room would have sufficed.
“Still,” I say. “One bed? Couldn’t you have gotten a room with two queens?”
“Nope,” he says.
“Come on,” I argue. “Who would have known?”
Morgan takes a step closer, closing the space between us, towering over me. “My brother, that’s who. Because I guarantee he is checking every detail in the internal system. And if he saw a room with two beds in it–”
“Okay, okay.” I nod in exasperation. “At least it’s a king, I guess…” I mutter and turn to walk away. But before I can, Morgan grabs me by the arm and yanks me back against his chest.
Then he kisses me.
It’s hard and hot and unexpected and nearly knocks the wind out of me.
“What are you doing?!” I demand after ripping my lips from his. Honestly, I am two seconds away from slapping the man.
“If that’s the way you are going to react when I kiss you, something that we should be doing very naturally if we are going to convince people we are in love, then I am glad I did it here instead of in public.”
“Well, maybe if you gave me a little heads up I wouldn’t react that way,” I snap back.
“So I have to ask your permission to kiss you?” he asks. “That kind of kills the romance aspect of it all, don’t you think? Not to mention it looks very submissive on my part. Something I am not in any area of my life.”
I snort loudly at that. “God forbid the great Morgan Bale is anything but a dominating jerk,” I say, and Morgan glares at me. Then he slowly steps closer and closer to me again.
“If we are going to pull this off, it has to look natural. And considering your reaction just now, I think we are going to need to practice.”
But despite the fact that Morgan is very much, in every way, a dominant person, I am not backing down that easily. I laugh again. “No offense, Morgan, but I am pretty sure I don’t need any practice kissing.”
“Oh, really?” he asks.
“Really,” I state, squaring off again. God, this man is a whole thing.
“Prove it,” he says.
“Why should I have to prove it?” I hiss. “I just kissed you.”
“No. I kissed you. And it left a lot to be desired,” he says.
My eyes narrow at that. “Is that so?” I ask, and then I nod before taking another step closer.
I look up at him.
He looks down at me.
And our mouths crash back together.
I stand on my toes; he picks me up off the ground. I wrap my legs around him; he slides his hands through the slits in my linen pants, gripping my ass in his large, warm hands. I rake my hands through his hair, and the kiss goes deeper.
Then, after a whirlwind minute, he pulls his mouth from mine and drops me onto the bed.
“That was…better. I need to get to work. And so do you,” he says and turns to leave, stopping only to say one more thing. “Also. Don’t call me Morgan. I’m your boss. It’s Mr. Bale.”
He heads to the door, and right before it closes behind him, I call out, “There is a trope for it! It’s called fake relationship! And it never ends well!”
Then, I am alone. On the bed. Panting and trying to figure out what the hell just happened. But also, how can he not remember? That was the same passion as before. The same everything.
Frustrated, I decide to forget about it. For now. I sit down on one of the loungers, facing the ocean, and pull my tablet out of my bag. I’ve been taking photos since I walked in the door, so obviously I am going to post those. But first, I think it’s important to post something else.
I’m unsure just how it will blow over, but Morgan made something very clear.
He doesn’t want anything sugar-coated. He wants me to show it like it is.
And honestly, at face value, the resort is beautiful.
But I know what he’s talking about. I know that underneath the glitz and glam, it’s the details that matter.
And even more than that, it’s how the face of the company handles those details that the guests care about.
“So let’s show the world the face of Bale,” I say.
I google Morgan Bale and my tablet screen fills with photos of his face. But they’re just that. Headshots. Professional ones. Like something you’d see on a real estate billboard or a business card.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Bale, that is not the side of you people are going to want to see,” I say as I scroll through. Then I go deeper. Because that’s the thing about the internet. If you dig deep enough…
I stop when I come across a photo of Morgan.
It looks recent. It’s him at a bar with an Old Fashioned in front of him.
I don’t know who he’s with. There’s not really anyone else in focus in the photo.
It’s like it was taken by the bartender.
But none of that matters. What matters is that Morgan, Morgan Bale, is laughing in the photo.
Not smirking. Not even just grinning. He is laughing. It’s candid and imperfect and…perfect.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh; in person I mean. In fact, I know I haven’t. Which is why I am going to use this photo. Along with a couple of beautiful photos I took of the hotel. As well as one I took when we first got here. When he was talking to the angry drain lady.
There’s a hint of a smile on his face. But what’s more, the woman looks happy too. As happy as a disgruntled British woman with hair clogging up her hotel drain can look. And it’s perfect for what Morgan asked me for.
MooreToExplore My lovelies. San Diego is a DREAM.
But even dreams have their imperfections.
And that’s the thing about @BaleResorts.
If there is a problem, even something as small as a maintenance issue, they will fix it.
More than that, Morgan Bale will come to the rescue.
Because that’s what sets Bale apart from other resort lines.
Wear and tear is going to happen. Especially with resorts as popular as theirs.
Resorts that sell out even in the off-season.
The difference? @BaleResorts will fix it.
Morgan Bale himself will fix it. Because luxury isn’t about status. It’s about the details.
“And that,” I say as I send the post into the internet cosmos, “is how you do it.”
I smile and set my phone aside and lean back on the chair with a smile, knowing full well that the likes and follows and comments are pouring in.
And I’m pretty sure, thanks to my anxious followers and that sexy photo of his, that the outcome is going to be bright.
Almost as bright as this beautiful San Diego day that I am going to enjoy, even if Morgan did try to knock me off my feet earlier.