Page 30 of Quarantined with the Billionaire

But holy crap. It was nice. Again, that room was almost as big as my apartment, but I wasn’t going to mention it.

“The next room is one of my favorites.” Opening the next door, he grinned, and he didn’t need to tell me it was a wine cellar. There were racks full of beautiful bottles and a small table in the middle of the room. Walking inside, he stood in front of one of the racks, and, at first, I thought he was going to take a bottle. Instead, he pushed on the wall between two shelves of the rack, causing it to push out like a door.

Because, apparently, it was.

“Panic room.”

Oh, I’d heard of those before. We might both call a huge comfy room with sofas and chairs a living room, but a panic room emphasized the divide between us. “Do you really think you need something like that?”

He shook his head. “I suppose you never know, but that was a room that came with the house. I’ve only been in there once but I guess it’s not a bad idea, a man in my position. Do you want to see inside?”

I shook my head, trying to hide the grimace on my face. “Maybe if I’m bored by Sunday.”

“Deal.” He pushed on the wall between two shelves once more, moving it all back into place, perfectly disguised.

I tried to figure out exactly where we were in relation to the game room, and I imagined the panic room was either by the restroom or the mini theater. I considered asking if he’d ever considered hiring a security guard, but I thought that might be overstepping. As it was, he had what appeared to be a state-of-the-art security system.

“But there’s more.” He indicated I should go first, but he shut off the light and then walked next to me again as we moved down the other half of the corridor going the other way. “Suffice it to say, feel free to roam around and use whatever you like.”

“Oh—including a…” I grasped around my head, trying to find something adequate, and didn’t know if I’d failed. “Pinot noir?”

“Ah. If you do, you need to share. No drinking alone in this house. It’s unhealthy. And, speaking of health,” he said, opening a door, “here’s the gym.”

It was like a mini-version of something you’d see in a hotel. There was a stationary bike, a treadmill, an elliptical, and a Bowflex. But there was also a rack of weights tucked against one wall, and another wall was nothing but a solid mirror. There were a couple of yoga mats and a shelf with miscellaneous equipment, like bands, kettlebells, and towels.

Maddox pointed to a door on the wall next to the mirrors. “And that’s a sauna in there.”

Holy crap. Holy crap.

“I’m starting to wonder why you ever leave your house.”

A slight chuckle issued from his lips, but he didn’t sound amused. “You can’t appreciate what you have if you don’t experience other things.” He waved me through the door back into the hallway. “Do you like taking baths?”

I could take them or leave them, but I bit. “What girl doesn’t?”

“Right. But would you like them if that was all you did with your life? If all you did was bathe all the time—”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“Yes, agreed. But I’m a firm believer that you appreciate the things you love more if you don’t overindulge.” He led me to the end of the hall and opened the door of the largest man cave I’d ever seen. Another room that didn’t match any of the other décor in the house.

There was a lot of Harley-Davidson memorabilia throughout the room. The color scheme was mostly hunter green and deep, rich browns—not the shade used in the remainder of Maddox’s home, but something I supposed evoked a more masculine feel. There was a mini-fridge tucked in a corner and several overstuffed chairs. The lighting was soft, but I couldn’t miss the dartboard on one wall that I doubted had ever actually been used. Another wall had a bookshelf, and, as I got closer, I saw modern stories by John Grisham and James Patterson, along with older authors, like Agatha Christie, A.A. Fair, Rex Stout, and Arthur Conan Doyle. “You like mysteries?”

“Sometimes. That kind of reading can sharpen your mind. Can you figure out what’s going on before the detective? And, then, can you apply those reasoning skills to everyday life?”

Walking closer to the bookshelf, I felt like I was seeing inside Maddox’s soul. “Which book is your favorite?”

I felt the heat from his body as he got close behind me. “I’m not sure. I don’t know that I have a favorite. I’ve enjoyed them all.”

My eyes scanned seven or eight shelves on this rack, and, while the books were artfully displayed, I couldn’t count how many were there. “You’ve read all of these books?”

“Yes. Is that so strange?”

“No, but—”

“I read at least two books a week. I try to read one fiction and one nonfiction, but it doesn’t always work out that way.”

“Two books a week. Every week?”

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