Page 86 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Housekeeping is handing them out down the hall,” I tell him. “Tell him you have two babies and you need towels as well.”

The man nods and heads in that direction. I proceed to sit with the mother.

“Here, baby,” she says to the toddler. “You have one more fruit pouch and then we don’t have anymore.”

“I think the kitchen has applesauce,” I tell her. “I’ll grab some for you.”

“That would be amazing,” the mom says, trying to smile though I can tell she’s on the verge of tears. “So much for our tropical family vacation.”

“The storm will pass,” I tell her. “You’ll be on the beach before you know it.”

“Pool?” The toddler asks. “Swim?”

“When it stops raining,” the mom tells her.

I head into the kitchen and find a couple packages of applesauce, some crackers, and charcuterie meat that the cooks are portioning out.

“Hey,” one of the guys says, pointing at me from the gas stove as he grills up several types of meat and fish. “Aren’t you that girl?”

“Easy, Donnie, she’s with the boss. The big boss,” another guy says.

“No, I mean from the travel blog,” he says, waving tongs in the air. “You post some amazing food.”

“I do,” I tell him. “I’m lucky.”

“Not so much right now,” he says. “I think the Bahamas is the last place anyone wants to be.”

I smile at that and grab a few more things for the family. “I can help distribute this after I help this family,” I say. “People need to eat.”

“They do,” the second guy agrees before handing me a sandwich.

“Oh no, guests first,” I tell him, but he just holds it out again.

“You are a guest, Miss Scarlettt. And people gotta eat.”

I smile again and take it from him. “Thank you.”

I take a bite and shove the rest in my messenger bag before meeting up with the woman and her babies again.

“You are a godsend,” she tells me.

“I’m happy to help,” I say. “Anything else you need?”

“I need to make a bottle,” she says, juggling the now wailing infant. “Can you…?” She holds the baby out to me, and I take her, rocking her and shushing her in my arms as her mom mixes formula and bottled water into a bottle. “Sorry she’s screaming at you. She’s going to be even more pissed when she realizes this isn’t warm.”

“Crackers?” the toddler asks, and I hand her a couple from the package.

“You’re really good with her,” the woman says, and it takes me a moment to realize what she’s talking about. But then I see her eyes pointing at the still crying baby in my arms.

“Am I?” I chuckle nervously. “She doesn’t seem very happy.”

“She’s hungry. And a little spicy, to be honest. It’s the red hair. But you’re good at handling her. You hold her very naturally. Do you have kids?”

My heart slams against my chest at the question. “I, no, I don’t. Not yet…” I say, and she just smiles as she shakes up the bottle. Her eyes study me softly, but she’s studying me, nonetheless.

“When are you due?” she asks.

“I’m sorry?” I blurt out.