Page 10 of Quarantined with the Billionaire

Chapter Four

“Mr. Steel,” I said as we walked through the large room I’d first entered earlier, “you can call me Bailey. After all, you’ve called me by my first name before.”

Glancing my way, he smiled, flashing some of the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. “Yes, I have. And that street goes both ways. If we’re going to be friendly like that, then you need to also call me by my first name.” He paused before we made it across the room to move into what was new territory for me, and he stuck out his hand to shake mine. People were beginning to say that handshakes should be off limit, but how could I resist touching this man in any way I could?

I couldn’t.

“Bailey, please call me Maddox.”

A silly grin appeared on my face, giving away how I felt inside. “Nice to meet you, Maddox.” His big, strong hand wrapped around mine, warming it, giving me a sense of security I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe ever.

“The feeling’s mutual, Bailey.” While I didn’t want to let go of his hand, he released mine and extended his arm, inviting me to step in the doorway.

We walked into a small sitting room with a cream-colored loveseat and chair and two small end tables. I marveled at the fireplace, because I hadn’t noticed before it was shared with the other room, and I could see the larger room through the hole where a fire could have been blazing. A doorway led outside onto a lovely deck. We moved through that space into another room situated at a corner of the house where two walls were almost nothing but windows. There was a small table surrounded by four chairs, and lovely plants nestled up against the windows inside. On the outside was the deck to the south, the back area of the property; to the east were evergreen shrubbery and manicured grass that was all but lush, even though it should have only been waking up from winter’s slumber.

I was beginning to think I could die here. There was no envy in my heart, but I knew I’d never be able to afford a place even close to this on my customer service salary.

Which strengthened my resolve to either move up in Mr. Steel’s company—or move on. If I ever had a chance to advance, now would be it.

What struck me the most about this handsome home was how the entire place fit together, how the design scheme carried from room to room. The kitchen, though, the next room we entered, was a little different. First, it was gargantuan. Just taking in the space, I figured my entire studio apartment would fit inside it with room to spare.

This part of the house, however, broke the pattern of matching the spaces I’d seen thus far. In fact, it seemed almost out of place—but it was beautiful. The cabinets and walls of the island were black, the countertops covered in brown marble. Ah, that was where this room tied in with the rest of the home’s décor. A small glass-top table with two chairs stood next to the island for dining. Two ovens fit in the wall next to the sink, and all the appliances matched their pewter coloring. The only windows here were over the sink and along that wall, but plenty of additional outdoor light spilled in from the room we’d left. A fireplace nestled in the interior wall next to a swinging door. There was another closed door next to it and, on the wall, a long abstract painting that looked like clouds in various colors reflecting the color scheme of the house. Below it was a low hutch full of decorative china and cookware; atop it was a vase with a spray of flowers. I wasn’t able to discern if the blooms were living or fake, so I determined they had to be real. Next to the hutch was a group of old cookbooks, displayed beautifully.

This whole damn house was a work of art, and I felt like a woeful sore thumb.

“Do you like eggs?”

“They’re all right.”

“Just all right? Well, you haven’t had an omelet Steel-style then. That might change your mind. Are you game, Bailey?”

“Sure.”

When he grabbed a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, I took a peek inside. It was larger than the standard size fridge I was used to—but I was growing accustomed to that in Mr. Steel’s home. It looked clean and spacious inside as he set the carton on the counter beside the stovetop, opening a crisper drawer to take out a tomato and green pepper. Then he opened a lower cabinet to take out a bamboo cutting board before removing a chef’s knife and kitchen shears from a drawer. Walking over to the sink, he rinsed off the vegetables. “Have a seat, Bailey.”

“Is there anything you want me to do?” The last thing I wanted to do was awkwardly watch the CEO make breakfast without me lifting a finger.

“Good question. Do you like orange juice?”

“Sometimes.”

Nodding, he opened the fridge again, removing a bag of oranges and placing them on the counter. “Be right back.” He walked back into the sunny room we’d just left, shears in hand. Until I saw him snipping away, I hadn’t realized the shelf of small pots of plants were herbs, and he came back with a handful of green blades. “There’s nothing like fresh chives with eggs.”

Placing them on the island, he opened another cabinet door, taking out a chrome-colored machine. “This is how we’ll make the juice. Just plug it in here,” he said, sticking the cord in an outlet above the counter. “Then peel the oranges and stick them in here, using this plunger to push them through. Voila. Fresh orange juice. I guarantee you’ll never be on the fence about OJ again.”

“Awesome.” I didn’t know that I’d ever had fresh orange juice. As close as I got was making it out of a can of frozen concentrate. I began peeling an orange, watching Mr. Steel work the knife. He quickly chopped up half of the green pepper before taking another knife out of the drawer that worked more delicately on the tomato. Meanwhile, I had barely started taking the skin off a second orange. “How many of these should I peel?”

“Go ahead and do the whole bag.”

My eyes widened at the prospect. That was a lot of oranges, but I had no idea how many would make a full glass. Mr. Steel, on the other hand, did.

I had to quit calling him Mr. Steel in my head. Maddox. Maddox. Maddox!

Continuing to peel the fruit, I kept an eye on him, watching him work. Simon entered from the swinging door I hadn’t yet been through yet, but I got a glimpse that told me it was likely a formal dining room.

“Mr. Steel, would you like me to take over?”

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