30. Scarlett
Scarlett
Am I a bad sister for ignoring literally every call and text from my sister? Maybe. But I gotta be honest. I do not have the mental capacity for the chaos that would ensue if I answered my phone right now.
I am fully aware that she is fully aware of my recent posts. The kisses. The budding romance plastered on the World Wide Web for all the land to see. Not to mention the whole engagement thing. And I know for a fact she is losing her shit back in Miami.
But for what it’s worth, I’m not an entirely terrible human being.
I have let her know in a very short message that I am doing well and things are crazy and I have limited cell service.
Which is all true, other than the last part, of course.
If that part were true, she wouldn’t be able to see half the chaos going on, the chaos that has her blowing up my phone in the first place.
But my discrepancy is in her best interest. Kind of.
Either way, Cabo is gorgeous, and I am living in the moment.
That night we eat dinner at La Perla, the resort restaurant that is obviously very fancy.
They have all local, fresh food. It’s safe to say that after the Hawaii incident, every Bale Resort kitchen has upped their game so it’s nothing less than fresh lobster, sea bass, ribeye, and coconut panna cotta, a personal favorite of mine that I order before even ordering dinner.
“Dessert for an appetizer,” Morgan says as they set it down in front of me.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask, taking a careful bite and relishing every second of it.
“Absolutely nothing.” He shakes his head with a smile that doesn’t fade even after I swallow and take a sip of my smoothie. I think it’s safe to say pregnancy cravings are real, and mine, for whatever reason, come in the flavor of fruit.
“What?” I ask, smiling back at him.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head gently. “I just love the way you live.”
“The way I live?” I ask, feeling a soft blush rise to my cheeks at the attention.
It’s not that I’m not used to people staring at me.
It’s kind of a given in my field of work.
But I’m not used to an abundance of compliments.
Not the way he says them, with devilish eyes and a smirk that curls his lips at the corners.
“So freely,” he explains. “You enjoy everything. Savor everything. Try everything,”
“At least once,” I say.
“That’s what I mean. Right there. Most people are too worried about what other people think to live that way. Too focused on why they shouldn’t do something that they completely forget why they should.”
“Well, I believe that everyone should do something that scares them. Challenges them. Get their feet wet. Taste new flavors, listen to new sounds, find new views. I mean, why not? What’s stopping us?” I ask.
“Nothing at all,” he says. Then both our phone’s buzz at the same time. “And speaking of that. Have you seen the ratings and reviews? It’s been five stars non-stop–”
But with that, he does stop. Morgan’s smile tips downward into a frown as he looks down at his phone.
“What?” I ask. “What is it? A hater comment? Just flag it and forget about it. That’s what I have to do.”
“It’s a little more than a bad comment,” he says, and my smile fades a bit too as he shows me the screen, displaying a new article that is already going viral.
“Morgan Bale Ignores Environmental Issues by Dumping Chemicals into his Pools While Swimming in Waterfalls with Fiancée,” I read out loud, and Morgan takes his phone back.
“Seriously? What are they even talking about?”
“Probably the fact that the resort pool was tested for the wrong pH,” he mutters, his jaw clenching.
“But how would anyone know that? Even the guests think it’s just routine maintenance,” I say.
Then I stop. Because I do know who would know what’s going on. A person who knows where we are, what’s going on, knows every detail of the resorts, and is keeping a very close eye on our personal life. “Your brother,” I state flatly.
“My brother.” He nods, reaching for his drink and tossing back a good swallow of it.
“Why is he so intent on ruining your life?” I ask. “Making you look bad only makes him look bad too.”
“In the long run, yes,” Morgan says. “But right now, while he’s trying to prove that I’m not fit to be the CEO of Bale, he’s making himself look good. Or so he thinks.”
I shake my head with a pout, and eyes that I know are filled with worry. I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings in terms of my expressions. Claire likes to say that my face doesn’t have an inside voice. She’s not wrong.
“So, what are we going to do?” I ask. “Because this looks pretty bad.” I get a little quiet after that, and Morgan notices. He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his.
“Hey,” he says gently. “It’s okay. We will find a way to discredit him. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years, believe it or not.”
As sweet as it is of Morgan to try to make me feel better about this, it still sucks.
“I don’t know. Those videos and photos you posted were so wonderful.
They showed the beauty of the waterfall, the people, and the culture.
The places you can go off the grid when you travel the world in search of something new.
And then bam. One negative headline negates it all. ”
“That’s not true,” he tells me. “Those photos are still beautiful. Very beautiful,” he adds, and I blush at what he’s insinuating. “He can’t take all of that away with one headline.”
I’m actually kind of surprised how calm he’s being about this. But it still doesn’t change the fact that we have damage control to do. The hotel is actually dumping chemicals into the pool as we speak.
Our dinner comes, and I try to focus on a food post. While I’m getting the angle and lighting right on my baja grilled sea bass, Donovan appears and pulls up a chair to our table for two.
“So we switch to saltwater,” he says and while I don’t think either of us are in the mood to talk about it anymore, I have to chuckle at the delivery. Donovan has a way with words; I’ll give him that.
“Just this resort or…?” I trail off.
“No,” Morgan says as he takes a bite of his lobster and dips it into melted butter. “If we do it, we do it across the map.”
“How much does that cost?” I ask.
Donovan sucks a breath through his teeth. “Well, commercial salt chlorination equipment is going to run us on the upside of forty K per pool. Plus about ten to fifteen more for installation, and then the initial salt is around three. Multiply that by twenty-five and we are looking at about–”
“One point three mil,” Morgan says casually while taking another bite.
I, on the other hand, choke on my sea bass. “For saltwater?!” I cough.
“Fancy salt water,” Donovan says, and I can’t believe either of these men can just throw around numbers like that.
“Alright.” I nod. “You switch to saltwater, but in the meantime, how do we combat the bad press?”
Morgan answers with a smile and a wink that I don’t trust. And then he proceeds to go through the rest of dinner without saying another word about it.
In fact, I have no idea what he’s up to until 5:30 the next morning.
“Rise and shine,” Morgan says, ripping the blankets from my shivering body. It’s very reverse déjà vu, and I’m not loving it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“We have some damage control to attend to,” he says.
“Now?” I ask.
“Yes, now,” he says. “In fact, you’re going to want to hurry up, or we’ll miss it.”
“Miss what?” I mumble into the pillow.
“Something you’re not going to want to miss. Trust me,” he says, and there’s the tiniest hint of magic in his voice. And considering Morgan Bale’s typical lack of magic, I’m curious enough to drag myself out of bed.
Thirty minutes later, Seb puts the car in park on the beach. The sun is coming up, and he actually did a coffee run before picking us up. Despite still being tired and not knowing why we are parked at a beach at sunrise, I at least feel a little more human.
“Come on,” Morgan says, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the SUV. Before I can even swallow a sip of my coffee, he’s opening my door and pulling me out. He takes the coffee and sets it aside and closes the door again.
“Hey!” I whine.
“Nope. You don’t need it,” he says, ushering me off in the direction of the sand.
“I beg to differ,” I mutter, but Morgan is in a hurry. As we trudge through the sand, over the dunes and around the rocks, I am confused as all get out.
“If you wanted to get some sunrise beach photos for the media, that’s fine and dandy,” I say, trying not to fall as we climb over more rocks. “But you could have picked a more pedestrian-friendly beach.”
“Nope,” he says again. “It has to be this beach.”
“Why?” I ask, staring at him when we finally come to a stop. But then I see it.
I see the people gathered around the nests. I see the cameras and the trucks and SEE Turtles jackets.
“Wait,” I say, stomping through the sand closer to the action. “Shut up. Are you for real right now? Are they really doing what I think they are?”
“Releasing baby turtles that are hatching as we speak into the ocean?” Morgan asks with a smile.
Meanwhile, the salty morning breeze is tugging his linen shirt open, revealing sneak peeks of his perfectly toned and recently tanned chest. And yet even that does not distract me from the reality of what I’m seeing.
I think this would be a good time to mention just how much I love animals.
Turtles specifically. I owned one as a kid.
His name was Sheldon McLettuceChomper, and I had him for years until he got lost in the backyard.
Nostalgic story aside, I have always wanted to be a part of tiny turtle liberation and never knew if or when it would happen. It was even on my bucket list.
But what ices the cake is when one of the guys from the conservation team looks up at me and asks if I want to help.
“Can I?” I ask, and I literally have no shame at how excited I am. I am practically shaking.
“Of course,” he says. Meanwhile, Morgan pulls out his phone to capture all of it. “So usually we would do this at night. Cooler temperatures and fewer predators equal a higher survival rate. However, these little guys decided to come a day earlier than we projected.”
“Yeah they did,” I coo as I squat down to watch their little heads break through the shells. “So, what do we need to do?”
“It’s all about getting them to the water with minimal human intervention but maximum safety,” he explains.
“Basically, we have to make sure nothing tries to eat them,” one of the other guys says, and everyone chuckles.
“We will help any that aren’t hatching properly on their own,” the first guy says while softly handling one of them. “And then kind of just direct them towards the water.”
“Why don’t you just move the nest closer to the water?” Morgan asks.
“Their journey, unsafe as it may be, is important. All these little guys are going to imprint the sand. The females will sense it and return to this beach to lay their own eggs.”
“That and it helps their little muscles prepare for their swim,” the second guy says.
“Are you getting all this?” I gush back at Morgan.
“Every bit of it,” he says. “In fact, MooreToExplore is live,” he says and I smile at that.
“This, my lovelies, is a veteran of my long-lost bucket list,” I say in my influencer voice. But it’s no secret as we watch the turtles make their way to the water that I am crying. And I don’t even try to hide it. Not from the camera, or the crew, or even Morgan. Because why would I?
After we get back in the car, I relax into the seat with a contented sigh. I’m so happy, in fact, that I don’t even care if my coffee is cold. It was worth it.
“Well,” Morgan says after scrolling his phone a bit, as I sit in the romance of everything I just experienced. “The fans are loving it.”
“I don’t even care,” I tell him, and he looks over at me. “For once, I don’t care if the attention is good or bad or in between. Because that was…one of the most special moments of my life.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Morgan says, putting his phone down and turning to face me as Seb starts to drive. “But you should also know, it’s going to destroy everything Conrad tried to say about us. And it’s doing SEE Turtles a huge favor too,”
“How so?” I ask.
“Because I made a nice little donation to the foundation and included a link in the post as well, so your followers can get involved. Which they seem happy to do.”
With that, my eyes fill with tears. And I take his hand in mine as we drive back to the hotel, the beach fading behind us but the memory remaining vivid in our minds.