Quarantined with the Billionaire Read online

  Monday morning, I began my new work routine. I set my alarm as usual and even showered and put on makeup. There was the possibility that I’d have to Skype or Zoom with coworkers or my boss, and I wanted to be prepared.

  But I wore a pair of soft, cuddly PJ bottoms, just because I could—and I planned to tell Elise about it, since it had been her idea in the first place.

  By Friday, things felt a lot different. Still new, but foreign. Even though Elise and I had chatted on the phone every night and I’d made a trip to the supermarket and even had lunch with my bestie on Wednesday, I was starting to feel disconnected from the rest of the world. For having once thought I could be a hermit and live happily, I got a taste of what true isolation felt like. What made my mood worse was checking up on my applications on Indeed, finding that I’d been passed up for not one but two jobs.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  So on Friday morning, thanks to a couple of Skype chats, having realized that half my female colleagues hadn’t been putting on makeup throughout the week, I decided to go without as well. It matched my mood.

  On Sunday, I was on the phone with Elise, appreciating our connection. She always managed to make me feel better—even when she was talking about dating apps. “I know it sounds weird, Bailey, but I’ve been able to spend a lot more quality time checking out their profiles.”

  “I suppose there are worse things to do.”

  “I need to get in my dating licks now, ‘cause they’ve been saying we might get a shelter-in-place order.”

  “A what?”

  “You haven’t been watching the news, have you?”

  “It’s too depressing, Elise. My head’s already in a bad place. I can’t do it.”

  “So they’re saying they’re going to make it where we have to stay home. We won’t be able to go anywhere except for, like, the store or the hospital.”

  “That would suck. I have to say I’m having a hard time limiting where I go. I never realized I would hate not going into work every day.”

  “God, I know. I’m even missing the commute.”

  “I’m not quite there yet. I actually enjoyed walking to the office everyday.”

  “Give it time, my friend.” Elise gasped, making my ears perk up. “Oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  “I got a message back from one of the guys I was hoping to get to know better.”

  My phone beeped and I pulled it back from my ear to peek at it. “Oh, crap. My mom’s calling.”

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “No, I’ll call her back later. I don’t feel like—”

  “Bailey, you should talk to her. The way things are going right now…”

  I sighed. “You’re right. Fine.”

  “And try not to frown!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Talk with you later.” I tapped on my phone a couple of times to answer my mother’s call. Mom was…different. I loved her, but I’d never looked back once I’d broken out on my own. I’d graduated high school, escaping to college and adult life, and never regretted leaving so soon. “Hi, mom. What’s up?”

  “How are you, Bailey?”

  “Fine.” I’d just spoken with her three days earlier. Not much had changed with me, other than my mood. “What about you?”

  “Well, I’ll probably be laid off for a few weeks.”

  “Oh, no. Can you apply for unemployment?”

  “I think so. What about you, honey? Are you in danger of having your hours cut or losing your job?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway.” But, up until recently, an unemployment check would have sounded nice. Now, I was almost grateful I still had my job, much as I had grown to hate it.

  “I need to tell you something, sweetheart.” Oh, God. The last time mom had used that tone was when she’d left her second husband for her third. Had she found another man? And here I was, not having dated in six months. Or maybe longer. I’d lost count. “It’s about your dad.”

  Icy shivers shot down my spine. We hadn’t talked about my father in years. When he and mom had divorced, he’d remarried and his new wife had given birth to a son. Kyle, I thought his name was and, about now, he’d have to be in his teens. My mom knew that man was dead to me. Why the hell was she bringing him up? Letting out a long, slow breath to keep my voice steady, I spoke as calmly as possible. “What about him?”

  “I talked to Eleanor yesterday. They think he has the Chinese virus.”

  “It’s called Coronavirus, mom.”

  “Yes, okay. They’re waiting on the results of the test, but he has all the symptoms—fever, lung congestion.”

  “Is he in the hospital or anything?”

  “No. Not right now. But since this has turned out to be pretty dangerous, I thought you should know.”

  Suddenly, I felt like crying. If I thought my dad would even care, I’d consider calling him. But he had his nice new family—not so new anymore, but they’d always be that in my mind. Why would he want to hear from me?

  “Let me know if anything changes.”

  “Okay, honey. You sure you’re doing all right?”

  “It’s weird not going into work every morning, not being around all those people every day—and it wasn’t until Friday that I finally felt settled in doing the work at my kitchen table. But, yeah, I’m all right.”

  “We’ll have to have you over for dinner next week.”

  “Is Tod doing okay?”

  “He’s not sick, if that’s what you mean.”

  As far as stepdads went, Tod was okay. I was glad she hadn’t called to tell me she was kicking him to the curb. He treated my mother all right, lots better than the last guy, and he was nice enough to me. “What about his job?”

  “He’s off work for a bit, too.”

  “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

  “Yes, honey. Don’t worry about us.”

  Oh, but I did. Mom and I had had a really lean period when my dad first left. Actually, it lasted a lot longer than that. The child support wasn’t nearly enough to pay the bills and buy food—when he bothered to pay it. Mom had finally figured it out once I was on my own, but she hadn’t had many marketable skills and had never gone to college—which was what had convinced me to do it, come hell or high water. “I’ll try not to.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “Just try to avoid crowds, mom.”

  “We don’t really have much of a choice anymore, do we?”

  “I guess not. Have a good night.”

  “I love you, Bailey Lynn.”

  “Love you, too, mom.”

  The rest of the evening, I tried really hard not to think about my dad. I should have been worried about him, should have made an effort to call, but the wound went deep. Maybe I’d call him tomorrow—if I could talk myself into it.

  And I might have actually done it…if Monday morning hadn’t changed my entire life.

  * * *

  Sitting at my work-issued laptop wearing a wireless headset, I prepared for calls to our customer service line. I’d expected them to dwindle over the past week, though, as people began worrying about when they’d be able to buy toilet paper, sanitizer, and dry beans again instead of stressing out about fluctuating numbers. That was stupid, though, because people were worrying now more than ever about money. Dominique had been holding Zoom sessions every day for my colleagues and me that likened to pep rallies, but what I appreciated about the meetings was that she’d give us helpful information sometimes. One day, she’d given us tips for how to help calm our callers, keeping them focused on the future rather than panicking. I got really good at delivering lines like Historically, the market always goes up and You still have the same number of shares you did in January—and they’ll grow again. Let’s look at the long term. I suspected people didn’t believe a lot of what we were telling them, though. So many people wanted to pull their money out of stocks and stash it into safer funds, stressed out by the volatility of late.

  Mr. Steel—uh, Maddox�
��had published a couple of videos on YouTube that he had made, and he emailed links to the staff. He talked about investing for the long term and growing comfortable with risk. He spent quite some time explaining concepts and giving really good advice, but I didn’t know if people would get it. One thing was for certain—his calm, smooth, deep voice was reassuring in a way I couldn’t be when on the phone with people freaking out about their money. I just didn’t know that I could get people to view them in their entirety.

  Me, though? I caught myself watching them more than once.

  Damn it, Elise. It was all her fault.

  But I got a call from the office that changed my day’s course. When I picked up, I was surprised to find that the call wasn’t from a client. It was Jeffrey, the director over my department. “Bailey, how are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “No COVID-19 symptoms?”

  “No. Why? Have I been exposed?”

  “Well, we did get notification that someone on the second floor is displaying symptoms, but if you didn’t hang out there, you’re probably all right. So you’re feeling pretty well?”

  “Overall. Why?”

  “Well, I just got off the phone with Dominique. I asked who her smartest, sharpest employee was. And you were it.”

  It was good that I was sitting down. Otherwise, I might have toppled over backward. I had a hard time believing Dominique thought I was her star employee. Sure, my evaluations were fine, but I suspected she was the reason why I couldn’t move up in the company. I was positive she’d been poisoning other managers who didn’t even want to interview me. And, when they did, they rejected me like moldy leftovers.

  Was I being pranked? Was this some new idea they’d devised to keep our spirits up?

  I wasn’t going to argue with Jeffrey about what Dominique may or may not have said. “So what’s going on?” Would this be their excuse for giving me harder calls or making me work more hours?

  “Well…this doesn’t go any further, but Mr. Steel’s administrative assistant is being tested for Coronavirus, because she’s been displaying all the usual symptoms. And Mr. Steel needs someone to take her place.”

  Was he asking me? Sure, I’d wanted to move up the ladder, but this was…strange, to say the least. Maybe I misunderstood his intentions, though. “So why are you calling me?”

  “His assistant has a backup, but he is also ill. Mr. Steel needs someone bright and sharp, someone who learns quickly and can keep up with his needs. Out of the entire customer service arena, you’re it. But, if you don’t feel up to the task, we’ll find someone else.”

  “No, wait.” My brain was scrambling. This could be the opportunity I’d been looking for. “Does it come with a pay raise?”

  His pause was noticeable. “I can check. In the meantime, is the address we have on file for you current?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Mr. Steel’s driver will be there to pick you up in twenty minutes or so.”

  Crap. I was completely unprepared. “Can you make it half an hour?” I didn’t want to tell Jeffrey I needed to shower and put on some makeup. Thirty minutes was pushing it, but more doable. I was already heading toward the bathroom until the signal from my wireless headset began crackling. Pausing in the doorway, I waited for his reply.

  “Thirty minutes. Please be ready so the driver doesn’t have to double park.”

  “Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself.”

  Practically throwing the headset down, I pulled my light brown hair up in a ponytail, knowing I had no time to wash it, and jumped in the shower. From start to finish, I had everything done in twenty-four minutes, a personal record. That sort of speed meant not dawdling at the closet, fretting over what to wear. It was easy choosing one of my best office outfits, an elegant black suit with skirt that ended just above the knees and a royal blue blouse. No time also meant not spending forever on my hair, instead pulling it back and up so its lack of freshness wasn’t apparent. And not wasting time on how I did my makeup, but I was able to complete my full face in less than ten minutes, even with focusing on making my brown eyes pop. It was as fast as humanly possible.

  And I looked all right. Maybe even better than all right.

  Grabbing an apple to eat on my way down the stairs, I slid my purse over my shoulder and made my way to the first floor of the building, prepared to wait for a driver.

  I’d forgotten to ask what he or she would be driving.

  Or where, exactly, they’d wait for me.

  But it wasn’t an issue. By the time I was throwing my apple core in the trashcan near the sidewalk, a silver Lexus pulled in front, and the tinted window on the passenger side lowered. A middle-aged semi-balding man asked, “Bailey Bernard?”

  Nodding, I walked toward the car. As I opened the passenger door, he started to say something but then gave me a gentle smile as I was buckling up. When he rolled the window up, I couldn’t hear a sound outside of the car. We were sheltered from the world.

  But I was shocked at how few vehicles were actually on the road. It was almost…spooky.

  “Ms. Bernard, you could have sat in the back seat if you liked.”

  I wasn’t going to tell him that I sometimes got car sick if I didn’t sit in the front. “Are you going to be picking up anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll stay here if you don’t mind. I don’t bite. And, even if I did, you’d at least see me coming.”

  Shooting a sideways glance at me, he gave me another tiny smile, as if not sure how to take me. We drove out of the downtown area quickly, as there was none of the usual traffic congesting the streets. Soon, we were in what was called the Country Club neighborhood of Denver, filled with huge homes that screamed money.

  Where else would I have expected to find Mr. Steel? Well, I’d half expected him to be renting one of the gorgeous condos near downtown, perhaps a penthouse located sky high where he could view the majesty of the Front Range and all the lights of the city at night unimpeded.

  Holy. Crap. On. A. Cracker.

  Elise would kill me when she found out where I would be spending my day. I was tempted to whip out my phone and start texting her, but I knew that wouldn’t exactly be classy—and I could imagine this guy turning the car around if I did anything fishy.

  But this neighborhood. I’d driven down Speer Boulevard hundreds of times before, getting a glimpse into these neighborhoods and, once in a while if I was in a hurry, I’d use Google Maps to get me around congestion—and that would send me deep into territory where I knew I didn’t belong.

  Of course, that was where Mr. Steel lived.

  The homes were massive. Beautiful. Elegant.

  Almost daunting.

  The driver slowed as we turned down a beautiful street with a median between the two lanes, dividing both sides of the street with luscious trees and plants, not quite awake from their winter sleep. Awestruck, I marveled at how the homes here were bigger than some of the apartment buildings downtown. I didn’t know that I’d call these homes mansions, but I suspected that they cost more than I’d ever make in an entire lifetime.

  Should I be disgusted or awestruck?

  Perhaps, I was a little of both.

  It didn’t help that, when the driver turned the car into a long driveway after a wrought-iron gate opened, the warm brown brick house was by far the largest, most beautiful home on the block. And I was getting ready to work personally for the man inside. What, exactly, did this ostentatious, possibly pretentious home say about that man?

  And why the hell was I so eager to find out?

  Chapter Three

  A large lawn already turning green, showing signs of life with spring just starting, was adorned with massive trees that would look lovely covered with leaves. The massive area in front of the house seemed too big to be called a yard, but that was what it was. Bordered by a wrought-iron fence with large brick posts at the corner, the yard was decorated with various pl
ants starting to come to life. The house itself took my breath away. As the car made its way down the drive, I examined the home made of pale brown brick. At first glance, it appeared to be two-story, but I could see there was a basement and possibly an attic.

  I’d never been in a house this large, so I wondered what the hell anyone would need that much space for. I’d been inside museums that were smaller.

  What did this say about the mysterious Maddox Steel? I was about to find out.

  The driver pulled the car around to the back of the house, parking next to a garage. The drive circled back out around the house but, as we got out of the car, I took in the yard itself. There were trees everywhere and, in the corner opposite the garage, what looked like half a basketball court. Lining the higher fence in the back were shrubs and flowerbeds that I had no doubt would make this homestead an oasis in the summer. As we approached the house itself, I saw a door over on the far end but we walked up a stone path toward another. To the side, up against the larger end of the house was a pool, covered at the moment, next to an array of outdoor furniture and more lawn and plants. Trying to keep a sober look on my face, I wondered how badly I was failing, because I didn’t want my slack jaw and wide eyes to be a turnoff to the driver—or Mr. Steel.

  The entrance to the back wasn’t just a door. It was a huge entrance—small hand-size squares of glass surrounded by wood all came together to create a door, but the little windows that made up one big window matched the windows next to it in the wall, almost creating the illusion of not being a door at all. The knob and number pad gave the door away. From inside, the view of the yard in the summer would be spectacular—and that thought made me wish we weren’t in the earliest days of spring. At the door, the driver punched in a code before opening it, waving me in first.

  If I’d been impressed by the outside of the home, I had an even bigger surprise entering it. Of course, it was just as lush and spectacular but in a different way. The floor appeared to be white marble, lustrous and glossy, but when I stepped on it, I didn’t feel like I was going to slip. The room was gargantuan, with two curved earthy-colored sectionals facing each other, circling a mammoth coffee table. On the wall across was the longest television I’d ever seen in a home and, to one side, a fireplace and an entrance to another room. On the other side was a small bar with two stools and another entryway.