42. Morgan
Morgan
Bale Resorts Headquarters, Miami, FL: The next day…
The lobby of Bale Resorts is cold. Too cold. It’s the same temperature it always is. The temperature I keep it locked at. But that’s kind of the problem. Maybe all the resort hopping softened me up too much.
Maybe everything about the trip softened me too much.
I make a mental note to put on a suit jacket when I get to my office.
Unfortunately, it’s going to be a moment before I get to my office.
Because first I have to cross the lobby, which means I have to talk to people.
People who haven’t seen me in weeks other than on social media (I literally can’t believe I am saying those words, inwardly or otherwise) and are probably accepting that version of me.
A version of me I left in the security line at the Myrtle Beach Airport.
Then I have to get coffee, which I should’ve grabbed on the way here but skipped because I was already running late.
Actually, I’m on time, but I prefer to be early.
That wasn’t going to happen today because I may or may not have gone searching for where things went wrong in the bottom of the bottle, and getting up this morning felt like stumbling around in hell.
The point is, I can’t skip the coffee. Though I can skip talking to people.
And luckily, nobody seems to want to talk to me anyways.
In fact, most people seem to be avoiding me.
Which leads me to believe that they heard about what happened.
You better believe I’ve turned off notifications and haven’t checked social media since the blowup.
I can’t imagine it's anything less than a shitshow right now.
“You look like hell,” Donovan says, falling into step with me.
“You’re talking too loud,” I grunt.
“Ah. You feel like hell too, then,” he says in an empathetically quieter voice. “You know, nobody would have judged you for not coming in today. We weren’t even supposed to be back for three more days anyway.”
“Well, I’m here so I might as well be here,” I tell him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need coffee. And I’d like to get it and head to my office before I run into–”
“Good morning, brother…”
Conrad’s voice is like sandpaper on an open flesh wound, and I gristle before turning to face him.
“Let’s not do this right now,” I tell him. “Or at all. I’m pretty sure there’s a communication cut-off point considering we are going up against each other in court.”
“So I take it this means you never made it to New York,” he says.
“No, brother. I did not. Because somebody thought it would be funny if my jet was grounded. The same person who thought it would be funny to spread rumors all over the goddamn internet about me and my fiancée.”
“If I remember correctly, I didn’t spread any rumors. I showed the truth. How it was perceived and how it made you look doesn’t change anything. Not for my case, anyways,” Conrad says.
I’m not a violent man. I am not a man who bangs his chest in conflict. And I am definitely not a man who airs out his laundry in front of other people. But there are a lot of things about me that have changed in the past twenty-four hours, and right now, I don’t care.
Because I am done.
I spin around and step up to Conrad, standing close enough that if we puffed our chests, they’d be touching.
Close enough that I’m pretty sure he can feel the heat of my breath on his smug face.
People are watching, frozen in fear, probably because the two Bale brothers are about to duke it out. But again. I. Don’t. Care.
“Where the fuck do you get off?” I growl at him.
“You’ve muddied our image, destroyed our name, slandered our dignity and, on top of it all, because of you, someone I care about, someone who did nothing but support and build us back up from the gutter, is hurt.
Because of you. Because of your pettiness and your jealousy, and immaturity. ”
“Really?” Conrad asks. “Our castle is falling, and the thing you are most riled up about is your girlfriend’s feelings?”
“First of all,” I cut back in. “Scarlett is my fiancée. Not my girlfriend–”
“Oh give it up already,” he sneers. “She’s not your fiancée.
It’s not real. Any of it. You found her after she wrote the article that ripped us apart, which basically means you took my sloppy seconds if you think about it, and then you hooked up with her over and over again and realized that it was the perfect stage to convince people not only that you were the golden child of Bale but also that you should gain automatic inheritance by faking a relationship that would lead to matrimony.
None of it was real. You’re more of a snake than I am, and you know it. ”
“See, that’s where you are wrong,” I say. “Because in order to be more of a snake than you, I’d have to do everything I’ve done for my own benefit.”
“And you don’t think you have?” he snorts.
“No. I don’t. You might be the one traveling to the resorts ever since mom and dad died, but you didn’t do their job.
Management went to shit because you weren’t a leader.
You were fucking around, cutting corners, living off the luxury while you ignored the real work.
The work they left to you. Meanwhile, I was behind the scenes putting things back together.
Everything that fell apart when they died and everything you broke along the way.
And maybe you’re right. I didn’t mean to fall in love with Scarlettt.
But when it happened, it was real. Everything I am doing is real.
Because I am like them. And you…are not.
You’re an embarrassment to the Bale name and to them. ”
I don’t even see Conrad’s fist until it is already crashing into my jaw.
It’s almost enough to take me to the floor, but I recover quickly.
And as the taste of copper floods my mouth, I grit my teeth and swing back.
Conrad isn’t expecting it (because we haven’t fought like this since we were kids) and my knuckles bash into his eye.
Conrad does hit the ground, and while I wipe my mouth, he jumps back up with more gusto than he had before and charges me, knocking me onto my back.
And the next thing I know, Conrad and I are literally rolling around on the floor of our own lobby, yelling and punching and cursing each other until both of us are bleeding and heaving.
“You think you’re so much better than me,” he grits out. “But you’ve never done anything for them except paint a picture.”
“At least I kept things afloat,” I fight back.
“You call this afloat? We’re a fucking disgrace. Check the media.”
“Because of you and your backstabbing!” I snap.
“I wouldn’t have to stab you in the back if you hadn’t betrayed me first.”
“And how the fuck did I betray you?” I ask.
“By shutting me out when they died!” he shouts, and we both stop rolling around, and I push myself off him. “They were on their way to see you when their plane crashed. It was always all about you. And then when they died, because of you, you shut everything out. Including your younger brother.”
My vision goes dark as I watch him stand up, his glare still hard on me. “Go to hell,” I tell him.
“Pretty sure I’m already there,” he says, wiping the blood off his lip with his wrist. Then he walks away.
A moment later I sit up, and Donovan walks over to help me up.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, shoving his hand away. Then I get up and go into my office and lock the door.