37. Morgan
Morgan
“This isn’t New York City,” Scarlett says as we hit the runway. “Where are we?”
One of the many glories of having a private jet is that I can pretty much tell the pilot to go anywhere I want, and the passengers have no idea what’s going on.
Well. That’s kind of a lie. Sebastian knows because he’s in contact with the transportation department.
Anyone else with Bale would use local drivers on staff with Bale Shuttles.
But having been an office body for so long, I’ve gotten attached to Sebastian, which is why I’ve flown him around with us.
And Donovan knows because he’s Donovan. So, really, it’s only Scarlett that has no idea what I have up my sleeve.
“You’re right. It’s not NYC,” I say.
“But we are still going there, right?” she asks. “Surely we are still going there. It’s kind of important to me. It’s been a bucket list item for years and–”
“Don’t worry.” I smile. “We’re still going to New York. This is just a pit stop. And I think it’s one you are going to enjoy.”
Scarlett looks skeptical, and I know why. It’s no secret (to me) that going to NYC is on her bucket list. Though it is a secret to her that I know that secret. A secret that will come out when I give her the book back. Or she finds it in her things and assumes she just misplaced it.
For a moment, my mind goes back to the complications of all of this.
Like that I know she is the girl from the Sapphire.
But to be fair, how could we not know that?
Honestly, I’m pretty sure we’ve ignored that truth because it doesn’t matter.
What matters is that the lines have blurred since we signed the contract.
Whatever we thought we were doing has evolved.
And at some point, that will all come out.
When it’s appropriate. When it doesn’t cost either of us our jobs or give the media a field day.
It’s complicated, yes, but at the same time, I plan to talk to her about everything.
After I give her a romantic night in Myrtle Beach.
“Guess,” I tell her as we stand to exit the plane.
“Well, we aren’t far from Florida,” she says. “That was like a two-second flight. Pretty sure we barely hit altitude before we were back on the ground again. And it’s a beach. But which beach? I’m not sure. There are a lot of beaches between here and Florida.”
“I’ll give you three guesses and then you can check your phone,” I say, snatching it away from her before she turns airplane mode off.
“Myrtle Beach,” she says, and my teasing smirk falls off my face.
“How did you guess?” I ask.
“I’ve looked it up before,” she says.
“Let me guess. You’ve been here,” I say.
“No. But I’ve always wanted to come. Despite its negative reviews, I hear a lot of good things too.
Like a coffee shop that sells records and a pretty stellar aquarium.
I love aquariums,” she says, and I suppose I’m not surprised.
She actually cried at the turtle release, which is exactly why I booked this part of the trip.
There’s something very specific she mentioned in her bucket list book here, and after everything she’s been through, I think it’s the perfect time to add it in, seeing as how it’s on the way.
“Well, we are going to head to the hotel, and you can relax while I get some work done,” I tell her. “But save your energy for tonight because I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise,” she echoes. “Am I going to like it?”
“What kind of surprise would it be if you didn’t like it?” I ask. But Scarlett just studies me before turning to Donovan.
“I bet you know what he’s up to. Tell me and I’ll give Alex my recipe for empanadas.”
“How do you know Donovan and Alex like empanadas?” I ask, but Donovan’s wearing every expression but his poker face.
“Because they post cooking videos on Instagram all the time. They loved Mexican, Spanish, Portuguese and Costa Rican food,” she answers.
That would explain the avocado lie he told at the beginning of all of this.
“Nope,” Donovan shakes his head. “I can’t do it,” he says, walking ahead of us on the tarmac.
“But Donovan,” Scarlett calls out.
“No can do.”
“They’re from Argentina,” she adds.
“Mum’s the word,” he says, picking up the pace.
“A great-grandmother’s recipe!”
“My lips are sealed!”
“Beef tallow dough…”
“I can’t hear you!”
Donovan takes off with Scarlett hot on his trail, and I just laugh.
After we get to the hotel, Donovan disappears into the lobby, pretending he has things to do. I’m pretty sure he’s just trying not to think about Argentinian empanadas.
Scarlett heads to the room, hoping to take a bath and maybe a nap, which is perfect for me because I have some business to take care of. Business that I decide to take care of at the pool bar.
We are at the Crescent Palms, another Bale Resort along the beach line of luxury resorts.
It wasn’t one of the hotels I planned to stop at; we already had a pretty hefty lineup for someone who doesn’t enjoy traveling.
Actually, I didn’t enjoy traveling, but I was feeling a little spontaneous.
And after seeing her suffer so much with getting sick and dealing with Conrad’s bullshit, I decided we could both use a little more fun.
“Alright,” I say as I sit with my phone and my drink at the bar. “First things first. House of Blues.”
It was on her bucket list. Visit the House of Blues.
As I stare at the notebook, flipping through the pages which are decorated like a mix between a passport and a scrapbook, and while it’s an interesting peek inside her soul, it’s also starting to feel a little invasive that I still have it.
It also doesn’t give me any specification on which House of Blues she wanted to visit or what she’d want to see while she was there.
“Well,” I say, pushing it aside and pulling up my phone again. “I guess we are going to…Morgan Wade,” I say, snagging two tickets.
I don’t know who Morgan Wade is, and I’m not even sure if Scarlett knows. But I think she’ll like it. At the end of the day, if she didn’t include who or what she wants to see, then it’ll have to do. We are only here for one night and she’s who’s playing.
“Morgan Wade it is,” I say, before glancing at the notebook again before closing it up.
“Working hard or hardly working?” Donovan asks, and I shove the book in my bag.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” I say, making a point of trailing my eyes down his beachy outfit.
“Listen, this was not part of the itinerary,” Donovan says as he takes a seat on the stool next to me and glances over the drink menu. “As far as I am concerned, if you are sitting at a bar by the pool reading a book, then I am off the clock.”
“Fair enough,” I say, and he looks back at me. “Speaking of that…what were you reading?”
“Oh nothing. Just a travel book,” I lie. Well, actually, it’s not really a lie. It is a book about travel. Just very specific and personal to one person.
Donovan is still studying me. Waiting. Eventually, he stares long enough that I give in. I know him well enough to know that he’s not going to leave me alone until I tell him the truth. And he knows me well enough to know that if he waits long enough, I’ll crack under the pressure.
I sigh and pull the notebook back out of my bag.
“Since when do you journal?” he asks, and I unravel it, splaying it open to the first page. “Since when do you have a bucket list?”
“I don’t,” I sigh again. “It’s not mine,”
“I didn’t think so,” he says. “It’s not really something you do. And neither is falling in love in NYC–wait. Is that Scarlett’s?” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I nod.
“Where did you get it?”
“She left it at the Sapphire that night,” I answer.
“Does she know you have it?” he asks.
“No,” I answer, putting it away again. “Because that would imply that I remember her from that night.”
And with that Donovan’s face drops nearly to the bar top.
“Neither of you have admitted to…that night? Still?”
“Nope,” I answer.
“No offense, Morgan. I know you’re my boss and everything. But as your friend, what the fuck?”
“I guess I figured it would complicate things. And I really wanted to hire her. But I didn’t want her to think there was a reason why…”
“Ah.” He nods. “And when you didn’t say anything…”
“Neither did she,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Donovan nods. “Though I don’t really understand why you still haven’t talked about it.”
“No reason to?”
“No reason, because there’s nothing to talk about,” I push back.
“Nothing to talk about as in nothing going on, or you have a mutual understanding that you’re falling in love with each other?” Donovan asks.
“What?!” I bark out, and then immediately lower my voice again. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Morgan. I can see it. I bet a lot of people can see it. It’s real. Somewhere along the line it became real, whether you like it or not. Whether you intended it or not. You need to tell her how you feel. That you know who she is and have all along. That it wasn’t just a one-night stand,”
“But it was just a one-night stand,” I say, trying to chuckle but failing to even smile. It’s kind of hard to when you’re being backed into a corner and have no way to defend yourself.
“One-night stands don’t have two week comebacks,” he says and I respond by turning my whiskey glass on the table.
“You need to tell her. And you need to give her the notebook back.”
“I plan to,” I blurt out. “I plan to do all of that. When the timing is right.”
“And when do you feel like the timing is right?” he asks. “Because right now, you have this girl who is clearly falling for you, and you’re romancing her around the country. I think the sooner the better.”
“And I think there’s too much at stake right now,” I state.
Donovan nods and then clicks his tongue before going on. “The right time, Morgan, is any time before she figures it all out. And considering that’s a time bomb with no readable numbers on it, I think it would be wise to make haste. But that’s just my advice. Friend to friend.”