Page 109 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

My bucket list.

“Just is insane, all of it,” Morgan goes off as he aggressively ties his laces. “It’s like they don’t even know who I am,”

But I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. Because I am in too much shock. Thoughts are flooding into my head as I hold it in my hand, mouth gaping and the idea of it.

It must’ve come out of my bag at the Sapphire. And he took it. Or found it. Either way, he kept it. And he didn’t tell me.

He’s had it all along.

But more than that…

He’s known who I am all along and didn’t say anything.

“Alright, now that all this nonsense is over we can run to our gate,” he says, approaching me. But I just hold the book up and his eyes widen as I shake my head.

Chapter 40

Morgan

“Okay. I can explain,” I say with a sigh, reaching for my bag. “Why don’t we just get out of everyone’s way?”

“You stole my notebook,” she says incredulously.

“I didn’t steal it,” I try to explain, and for some reason I’m holding my hands up. But as I slowly make my way towards her, she backs up more. So, airport congestion aside, I stop. “You left it behind.”

The answer I give her is meant to be in my defense. But as her head rises and falls in a slow nod, I realize I just buried myself.

“You left it behind,” she parrots. “Left it behind where?” she asks.

“At the hotel,” I answer flatly, lowering my hands and running one through my hair.

“Which hotel–”

“The Sapphire,” I blurt out. “You left it behind in the suite at the Sapphire…”

“Excuse me,” one of the security guards who earlier smiled at me before scowling at him approaches us. “If you two have all your things, I’m going to ask that you clear the area.”

“Oh, I have my things,” Scarlett says, turning on her heel and standing off to the side. “Now, anyways.”

“Like I said,” I go on. “I can explain.”

“Which part? That you had my book. That you read it?! Or that you knew who I was the entire time and pretended not to!?”

“You did the same thing!” I let out.

“But you interviewed me and hired me knowing who I was,” she says. “Why?”

“Why what? Why did I hire you?” I ask.

“Was it because of the Sapphire? Because you knew that I would perform well?” she sneers.

“No!” I snap back. “I hired you because you were perfect for the job, pre-interview aside.”

With that, Scarlett’s mouth pops open with a scoff. “You’re a pig.”

“You pretended too,” I reiterate. “Not only that, but you wrote the article,”

“Which article?” she asks, and this time, I’m the one scoffing.