“I already stocked the fridge,” she says after I open it and try to make room.
“Yeah, I see that.” I move her stuff around and shove mine in. “Except this shit will go bad in just a few days. Unless you plan on growing a garden in the middle of winter, you’ll be out of food in a week.”
“I have plenty of frozen meals. And I can make a grocery order and have it delivered,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Out here? Not likely.” I grab the boxed food and put it in the pantry. “Not to mention, they’re all booked out two weeks or more with the increased demand.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Guess I didn’t think about that.”
“Do you even know how to cook?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Cameron St. James can’t boil water. She may be brilliant in school, but she’s not common sense smart. I can’t even place the blame on her for it, though, because it’s not entirely her fault. Unless Cameron was interested or invested in something, she didn’t care to learn more, and her parents never forced her to do anything for herself. It’s common knowledge that she’ll take over their family business, and she’ll have staff who’ll do her dirty work while she keeps it afloat.
Cami blinks and nervously shuffles her feet. “Well…not really. But it’s not like I was going to bring a chef to isolate with me. We’ll figure it out.”
“I take it Zaney boy can’t cook either?” I chuckle as I finish putting everything up.
“We never have to.” She shrugs unapologetically about her privileged life. “It can’t be that hard.”
I’m unable to hold back my laughter this time, and she scowls. I’m well aware of what Cami’s lifestyle includes—gourmet chefs, housekeepers, drivers, family jets, personal shoppers, extravagant everything. She’ll never know the sick feeling of not being able to pay bills while barely scraping by.
“You’re going to either burn the house down, burn yourself, or starve. The virus isn’t even your biggest threat. It’s your inability to feed yourself.”
“Do you always have to be such a dick?” she scolds with her hands on her hips. “Are you capable of being anything other than a condescending ass bag?”
“Well, I don’t know. Are you able to determine the difference between sarcasm and country club asshole traits? I’ll give you a guess which one your boyfriend is,” I say smugly. “And I’m ninety-nine point nine percent positive you’re not with him for his great personality.” Zane Vandenberg is the equivalent of a thirteen-year-old Justin Bieber who was just handed millions of dollars. His maturity level is the same, too.
“Ugh!” She throws up her arms, then stomps away.
“You need to get a sense of humor, Cami!” I shout through my laughter. “You’d think with all your billions, you could at least buy one! Maybe I can order you one and pay for overnight shipping?”
“Go to hell, Elijah!” she screams from the staircase.
“Don’t worry, I’m already there!” I yell back. Moments later, her bedroom door slams with a loud bang.
“Well, this is gonna be fun,” I mutter to myself.
I have no idea how long this crisis will last, but Cameron St. James may kill me before it’s over.
Chapter Three
CAMERON
DAY 2
I wake up to the sun streaming through the window and quickly remember I’m at the cabin with Eli.
There’s no way I’m spending weeks, possibly months, with him. Since we were teenagers, he’s lived to torment me. Only God knows why my brother is friends with him, but if I had to guess, it’s to piss me off.
I considered Elijah Ross a friend once. When his hormones turned him into the asshole of the century, he became my number-one enemy instead.
The only thing that lifts my spirits is knowing Zane arrives today. I’m not worried about being around him every minute of our isolation because of how we feel about each other. After graduation, he’ll propose, and our engagement and wedding will be the event of the decade. The St. James and Vandenberg marriage will make the front page of every paper and magazine.
We’re already the perfect power couple, and the media loves sharing photographs of us together.
Zane and I ended up in all the same business classes together and inevitably formed a relationship. When we started dating my second year of college, our parents were over the moon and have hinted about us getting married for years.
Deciding to get out of bed, I head to the bathroom and clean myself up before making my way downstairs. Before going down the second staircase, I stop and listen closely. When I don’t hear anything, I tiptoe into the kitchen. Hopefully, that means Eli’s still sleeping or is staying in his room away from me.
“C’mon, Chanel. Breakfast time,” I say quietly with her following me. She rubs against my leg as she prances along the hardwood floor.