Page 3 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Ew.”

“What?” Claire asks.

“Nothing.” I put the glass back down. “Just reviewing.”

Because that I’ll remember.

“Why are you on the interstate?” I ask as I explore the bedroom. A bedroom that is bigger and fancier than the one in my apartment. Granted, my apartment is very low-end and kind of lame but that’s not the point. “You hate the interstate.”

“Yeah, well, my normal route is being paved so here we are. And right now, I have an asshole honking at me for going 65 in a 65 and now we are both going 40. Welcome to perimenopause, Kevin…” she says.

Claire calls every guy she is annoyed with Kevin. It’s the Karen of dude names apparently.

“You’re not in perimenopause,” I tell her as I step out on the balcony and breathe in the salty breeze.

I live in Miami. Even the inside of the shopping mall smells like the ocean. But it’s different when you’re inhaling it from a resort balcony. Vacation-y per se.

“Tell that to my sweat glands,” Claire grumbles.

I laugh and wander back inside, passing the enormous bed and dressing area before pushing open the bathroom door. “This bathroom. Claire! The bathroom is⁠—”

“So who are you doing this job for again?” she asks, and I deflate.

There it is.

“I’m not sure. CB Associates or something.”

“CB Associates or something…” she echoes back. “Did you even do any research?”

And there’s the rest of it.

“They paid me upfront to write a review on the Sapphire Keys resort. It’s anonymous. I’ll figure out the logistics later. And speaking of that, I am going to take advantage of this shower. Not later. Now. Because it’s got like five shower heads, Claire. Five.”

“Sounds to me like the Bale Brothers themselves are buttering you up to write a gleaming review so they can make even more money,” she mutters.

“Fine by me,” I say. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“But—”

“Love you, bye!”

I hang up on my sister before she can get to whatever it is she actually called me to talk about.

Because I know my older sister. Claire doesn’t call to ask how I’m doing or tell me about her daughter Emily’s latest milestone or invite me to lunch. She calls because she spends most of her time stewing over her disapproval of my life.

And the little CB Associates or something interrogation was an obvious warm-up.

Considering my current circumstances, I’m not in the mood. I’m back in Miami between trips, trying to figure out my living situation and how to turn the career I love into one that actually pays all my bills.

Today, at least, I’m in far too good of a mood to deal with any of Claire’s negative Nancy crap.

Besides, I’m here to review a hotel, not solve the mystery of who paid me to do it. And right now there is a five-headed shower practically begging for an investigation.

For research purposes, obviously.

I set my phone on the bathroom counter and head back into the dressing area, where my suitcase is sitting open on the floor beneath a row of empty hangers.

Usually right now I would be snapping photos of the room, the view, me in the room with the view behind me, posting it all to my social media platform.