Page 23 of Quarantined with the Billionaire

“Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t think sitting at your desk or even in your home office is helping. You’re in an environment that just reinforces all those strange emotions.” His eyes narrowed, but I could tell he was ingesting my words, mulling them over. “So why couldn’t we film somewhere else—like on the deck?”

“Maybe if it wasn’t snowing. Maybe we could do it next week.”

“We could wait.”

“I appreciate the thought, Bailey, but time is of the essence. If I could go back in time and have these done on Tuesday, I would.”

“Okay, so what about a different room in the house? Like, maybe, the sitting room? Or even the study—or the kitchen?”

“I hear you. Hmm.”

“I have an idea. It’s probably cold all over Colorado right now. Why not in front of the fireplace—and have a fire going? Make it feel warm and cozy.”

His lips turned up at one corner in half a grin. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“And, if you wanted, we could film one a day in different places. People aren’t necessary going to want to watch them all at once anyway.”

“Good idea, Bailey.” He stood, inhaling deeply through his nostrils. “Why don’t we go try to film the first one in the sitting room like you suggested?”

Maddox carried the camera and tripod while I brought all the cue cards I’d painstakingly written out the day before. We’d done a rehearsal of sorts on Thursday and, while Maddox knew exactly what he wanted to say, he insisted he’d “go off track” or elaborate too much if he didn’t nail himself down with a script, especially since I’d tried to help him remove a lot of the jargon he used, replacing those words and phrases with simpler language. So I’d taken our eloquent, calming words and written them all painstakingly on multiple pieces of poster board. We’d practiced once today so I could try my hand at the task, and we worked pretty well as a team.

Oh, and I’d (mostly) forgiven him for chewing my ass on Monday. Things had changed significantly between us since.

When we were setting up in the sitting room, Simon entered. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Just make sure you steer clear for now, Simon. We’re going to be filming in here.”

“Very good, sir. When would you like lunch?”

Maddox looked at me. “One o’clock okay with you?”

“That’s fine.”

“Oh, and you’re eating with us today.”

Us? “Okay.”

Simon nodded. “It’s my specialty.”

Smiling, I raised an eyebrow, and I was grateful to be eating with them. I’d been running out of food and hadn’t wanted to go to the store, not since all this happened—but pickings were getting pretty slim at home, and I wasn’t looking forward to eating my lunch that consisted of the last two carrots in my fridge along with leftovers from the old package of Rice-A-Roni I’d made the night before.

Simon’s meal would be the closest thing we’d have to dining out, considering my first Monday on the job was the day the governor ordered restaurants and bars to close across the state. Sure, you could get takeout, but it wasn’t always the same.

“So what is it, Simon? Or is that a secret?”

His eyes twinkled as he answered my question. “Chicken parmigiana. And I’ll serve it with either a soup or salad. Madam’s choice.”

“Oh. I get to choose?” When he nodded, I asked, “What kind of soup?”

“Minestrone, of course.”

“What would you recommend?”

“I make the soup from scratch.”

Maddox added, “It’s really good. A meal in itself.”

---