Page 26 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Alright,” I say, licking the frosting off my fingers before trying another route. Branding is usually my go-to. Through my social media platforms, I often get hits from companies that see my follower numbers and blue check mark. People will usually DM me directly asking me to come to their restaurant, visit their hotel, talk about their shop, etc. While bouncing from place to place for cash might seem like a dream, it’s not realistic. It’s not like I can go to Seattle to review a new fair-trade coffee shop one week, then hop over to Colorado to promote the newest microbrewery, and then whirl over to NYC to gush over pizza.

Although New York City is very much on my bucket list. Despite the international travel I have taken, I have yet to go to New York, and I’ve always wanted to go there. So much so that it’s literally in my bucket list book that I’ve carried with me everywhere since college.

Speaking of that.

I set my phone down for a moment, my eyes narrowing as I look around the room.

Where is my bucket list book?

I usually have it on my person at all times. I’ve even fallen asleep with it in my hand or draped over my face as I dream of new places and experiences to add to it. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen it in a hot minute.

Not since–

“The Sapphire,” I say as I rummage through my messenger bag. “Shit.”

I rush back to my phone and search the hotel on Apple Maps. Then I click on the link for the customer service number.

After a sappy sales pitch intro followed by a string of press one for this number and two for this and three for that, I finally press zero and stay on the line. As music that sounds like it should be on the Little Mermaid soundtrack plays, I replay that night, trying to think of where I would have left my book.

I mean, it’s not like I was there long.

I wasn’t even there long enough to actually unpack, which makes no sense.

Unless–

Surely not. Surely the mystery man didn’t take it.

Did he?

“Thank you for calling Sapphire Keys. This is Angel, how can I assist you today?” the woman’s voice comes into the phone.

“Yes. Hi. My name is Scarlett Moore. I stayed there a few weeks ago, and I think I left a book behind,” I say.

“Room number?” she asks.

“Uh…the suite?”

“They’re all suites, ma’am. Bale Resorts don’t have conventional rooms,” she says.

“It was the…the…” I pinch my eyes shut and snap my fingers to trigger my memory. “The executive suite!” I say on the last snap.

“Date?” she asks.

“No, I wasn’t on a date,” I say. “I was there for work.”

“I mean, what was the date of the day you stayed here?” she asks with a hint of annoyance. Add that to the review. Sheesh.

“Oh. The 6th,” I say.

“Alright, one moment please,” she says, and before I can say anything else, Under the Sea starts to play again.

I sigh, clicking my fingers on the counter. Meanwhile, my mind is running wild. It’s not that I don’t know what’s on the list. I could rattle it off right now. But that’s not the point. The point is, I bought that book at the airport before my first travel job. Right after getting off the phone with an enraged Claire. I told her I had to go and that we could talk about my life choices later, but that my flight was boarding. I actually had an hour, but that’s not the point.

It’s sentimental, symbolic, and I need that book back.

“Ma’am?” the voice returns as I pace in front of my couch.

“Yes. I’m here.”