Page 71 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

Camp instead of getting a hotel room

Skinny dip in the mountains (hot springs anyone?)

Eat from the land. Farmer’s markets only.

Vineyards. Sonoma, Colorado, Washington

European vineyards.

Lobster rolls in Maine

Become a full-time, financially stable travel journalist/blogger

Visit ALL the beaches. Beaches are officially my love language.

Forget tourist trap 5-star dining. Cook with the locals. Eat what they eat. Make friends!

Go swimming in the wild! No crowded beaches or fancy pools.

Help baby sea turtles into the ocean.

Wear a bikini. Not hate it.

Have sex under the stars.

Go to the House of Blues

Fall in love in New York City.

Become a mom.

Show my family the world.

I re-read it again, this time with more background information. Because I know her better now. And things make more sense now, making the whole bucket list concept less of a sore spot and more intriguing.

My eyes wander back to number 14.

Forget tourist trap 5-star dining. Cook with the locals. Eat what they eat. Make friends!

Hmm.

I glance over at a pen sitting on the desk and punch the button on it. Then, after a moment of consideration, I cross it off. It feels invasive, and yet…there are a lot of good ideas in here. I hate the idea of her not getting to experience these things just because she lost her book. But also, I can’t exactly give it back to her. Not yet, anyways. Obviously, I will eventually give it back and admit that I knew who she was when I hired her. When the time is right.

Suddenly the water shuts off and I nearly drop the book. I snap it shut and shove it back into my mag, my mind racing with ideas.

Chapter 26

Scarlett

“Come on,” I tell Morgan as he stares out over the horizon. “Once you do it, you’ll be happy you did.”

“I’m not sure that’s how this works,” he says with a clenched jaw. Despite his recent improvements to his disposition, he’s still stubborn as hell.

“It’s exactly how this works,” I tell him. “And besides, the fans want to see it.”

“Fans?” he asks as I slip out of my shoes.

“Yep. That’s what they call themselves now. Not followers, fans,” I say.