Page 106 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Or something.”

“Or maybe…” I say with narrowed eyes. I swear for a moment he actually looks nervous. “Nevermind.”

“Nevermind what?” he asks, peeling the wrapper on his own straw.

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

“Tell me,” he says. “What were you going to say?”

I stare at him for a moment, and Morgan doesn’t so much as blink. “Maybe…you know me better than you think you do. Because you’ve been reading…” I trail off momentarily, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was holding his breath. “My Blogspot,” I say, and after a full three seconds, he finally blinks.

“You…caught me,” he says.

“I knew it.” I nod. “I knew you would know what that was. You know, a lot of people don’t use it anymore. But I created one back in the day before I became more tech savvy. And then when I realized only old people use it, no offense, I switched to social media for my writing platform. But I never could bring myself to delete it. And you found it.”

“I…did,” he says with an awkward laugh.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed that I even posted my hopes and dreams on there. Well. Not all of them. My actual bucket list went missing a while back. Which makes it even wilder.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can take credit for fully knowing you,” Morgan says, reaching across the table to take my hand. “But I do feel like I am learning. And I’m enjoying every minute of it.”

After dinner we make our way into the venue. And you better believe I document the entire thing. How can I not? The place is amazing. It has the feel of an old building in the French Quarter in New Orleans; old, wood, bluesy. There’s already a line of people waiting for the doors to open, most of them dressed in band t-shirts and boots.

“This is really going to be a country experience, isn’t it?” Morgan asks as he leads me through a private door that only a couple of other people are going in.

“It’s not like hillbilly country,” I tell him. “It just feels good.”

“Well, that sounds good to me.” He smiles. He plants a kiss on my head as we head inside. Apparently he bought VIP tickets, and while that doesn’t mean getting to meet the artist, it does mean free food and cocktails before the show. And the show is amazing.

The crowd is fun, singing along with every song. The music is energetic, soulful, and deep. The band really knows how to work the room.

I think my favorite part of all of it is just being there. I make a point when the lighting is right to take a photo of myself and another of us kissing that I post immediately on my page.

MooreToExplore- Dreams do come true, my loves. I have been many places and crossed many items off my bucket list. But going to @hobmyrtlebeach has always been at the top of that list, and I am finally here! Thank you @morganwademusic for an amazing show and of course @morganbale for an amazing adventure.

When we get back to the hotel, my head is still buzzing from it all, and I’m humming one of her songs.

“She was pretty good,” Morgan says as we undress.

“She was amazing,” I say. “And thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he tells me as we crawl into bed.

“But you’ve done so much for me.”

“It’s part of the job,” he says, and my heart sinks in my chest a little.

“Just for the job?” I ask, and he pulls me closer to him. We are laying on our sides facing each other and he’s holding my hands, his face only inches from mine.

“No. Not just for the job. I like seeing you happy. I love seeing you smile. I think it’s obvious that this isn’t just about the contract or the job or even the conflict with my brother anymore. This is about us. The things I do for you, the places we go, the time we share both in public and private, is all about us.”

“So…” I say, biting my bottom lip. “You want there to be an us?”

“Scarlett.” He smiles warmly as he presses a kiss to my forehead. “If I am being honest, there has been an us since the day I met you.”

“What about the unknowns?” I ask.

“We will face them when we get there,” he says. “All of them. I promise.”