Page 6 of Quarantined with the Billionaire

“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?”

---