Page 30 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

I blink, realizing I haven’t done that since I walked into the room. And he stares back at me. Then, he blinks too.

“Please, Miss Moore, take a seat,” he gestures. And for a moment I still only stare. Then his eyes flash back over to mine. “I’m a busy man, Miss Moore,” he says, and I reboot my brain enough to answer.

“Of course,” I say, walking over to the chair seated opposite of him at his desk.

He doesn’t remember.

He hasn’t so much as flinched. Not a stutter. No dilation in his gunmetal eyes. Nothing.

He has no idea who I am.

After a night like that…

And while that feels a little like a knife turn, I am not here to remind him. I am here to land this job.

“You’re a travel blogger,” he says.

“I am,” I answer, my throat suddenly dry.

“What does that look like exactly?” he asks.

“I have social media,” I tell him. “MooreToExplore?”

Nothing.

“It’s on Instagram. Facebook. Tikt–”

“I know what social media is,” he cuts me off, clicking the mouse to his computer.

And yet you haven’t looked me up…

Donovan was right. Morgan really does trust him. And while I know Donovan told me to speak only when spoken to, he’s not speaking enough to me for my taste.

“Do you know who I am at all?” I ask. And I’m not even talking about the other night. That doesn’t matter right now. I’m talking about me as a writer. A journalist. A traveler.

His eyes slice over to me momentarily, locking onto mine. I don’t look away. As I said before, I am not easily intimidated.

“That’s a sassy attitude for someone sitting on that side of the interview,” he states with an arrogance that definitely wasn’t there when we were both naked.

He’s different now. Colder. All business. I study his face, trying to decide if he really doesn’t remember me or if he’s just pretending.

Fine. If he wants to pretend we’ve never met, I can play that game too.

“I’ve lived through too many challenges to be scared off by a stuffy, rich man who makes his personal assistant do his homework for him,” I state, and his brows actually flash up to his hairline momentarily.

“I see.” He nods.

“I’ve traveled the world, Mr. Bale,” I state. “As you can see. And I’ve written about every step of my journeys. My articles have allured many, many followers. Ratings of the places I’ve reviewed skyrocket after I walk away. Donovan knew what he was doing when he DM’d me. And you would be wise to hire me if you want Bale to survive the recent hit to its ego.”

I am aware that was a lot of words. But if I’m only going to be allowed to talk in spurts, I want those spurts to pack a punch. I don’t just need this job. I am perfect for this job. Period.

With that, he sits back and studies me. His impeccable jawline is hard as stone, and yet, I swear I can see a hint of a smirk. Of course, it dissipates.

“I am going to tell you what I am looking for, Miss Moore,” he starts in. His voice is as gravelly as I remember it. I can practically feel it scraping across my skin in a way that makes my nerves warm. “Because I will accept nothing less than exactly what I am looking for. Considering you have done your homework, as you put it, it is detrimental that the writer I hire for this job follows the job description to the letter.”

He waits for a response. I simply meet his gaze, which seems to prompt him along.

“If we hire you, you would be representing Bale Resorts. Your face would become our face. Every photo, every post, would be a billboard of sorts for the world to see. Not just brochures and videos like people are used to seeing from companies the size of ours. But the inside. The guests’ point of view. Which is clearly the most important.