“Ha-ha.” Rory recalled Bayli saying something similar to him when they’d first met. So maybe he did have an unruly side. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Anyway,” Christian said, “the good news is that we have our traveling production crew in place. Of course, we have no idea where we’re traveling to at present, but—”
“Climb off my back, dude. I’m still investigating.”
“Well, maybe you could speed it up a little, so that we don’t lose our crew to some other project.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”
Christian slid onto the stool Bayli had just vacated and sifted through the paperwork laid out. “Doing your taxes while whipping up breakfast? Impressive skill set you possess.”
“It’s Bayli’s stuff.”
Christian eyed one slip of paper, then another. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Rory tore his attention from the stove and joined Christian, snatching a sheet from his hand. Rory’s gaze homed in on a very lofty figure—boldly denoted as a balance—and his jaw clenched. “What the fuck?” he amended.
“She said she had medical expenses—her mother’s.”
“So why hasn’t she paid this off? For God’s sake, we gave her a check to get the ball rolling with research and so that she could leave her other jobs to work full-time on the development of the show.”
Christian scanned a few more sheets and let out a sharp grunt. “Because that’s not the only astronomical bill to pay off. She owes cardiothoracic surgeons, anesthesiologists, hospitals … fuck. She has credit card debt, too. For basic living expenses and medical supplies. Pills … lots of pills.” He sighed.
Rory did quick mental calculations and said, “It doesn’t make sense that she’s still living under this dark cloud. Damn it, Christian. I could just pay all of this off and—”
“And what, Rory?” he challenged with a stern look. “Tell her all of her problems are solved? There’s a reason she’s still making minimum payments on her bills when she’s deposited a sufficient enough amount in her checking account to make a bigger dent in these balances.”
Rory stared at him, perplexed. But not for long. “Ah, shit.” He tossed the papers back on the countertop.
Christian said, “Right. You know the story. It was the same way I felt when I cashed my first big check after Bristol’s took off. It’s one check. It’s a well that can easily dry up. So you hoard the money. Keep making the minimum payments so you feel as though you have a safety net in the bank in the event there’s no second, or third, or fourth check. You can still survive if everything goes to hell for you.”
“But she wouldn’t be stressing over any of that if the bills were all taken care of.”
“True. But she’d never find any personal pride in one or the two of us paying off these expenses. They’re Bayli’s to deal with. And she will deal with them. She’s going to make more than enough money to cover her mother’s surgeries and still have plenty left in the bank. It’s just going to take some time. And you’re going to have to let it all unfold at the pace that keeps Bayli on her even keel. F
rom what I’ve learned, she’s been opening these envelopes for many, many years. She knows what she owes every month. Eventually, she’ll take a look at her bank statement and realize she can pay this all off and comfortably exist.”
Rory tried to rationalize all this. But his surly disposition reared its head and he quietly demanded, “What’s so wrong with letting someone help you? This is like pocket change to us, Christian. Why wouldn’t we do this for her?”
Christian stared at him for several moments, then grinned. “You want to rescue her. I get that. Don’t think for a second that I don’t want to as well. But we’re talking about a woman who, when physically stranded in Upstate New York, still lied to me about where she lived because she didn’t want to be embarrassed about her struggles, nor did she want anyone to feel bad for her or pity her. She’s a strong, independent woman, Rory. She wants to stay that way. We want her to stay that way—it’s one of the things that makes her so attractive to us. If we have the opportunity to help her, then hell, yes, we’ll both jump on it. But Bayli has to come to us. She has to ask us. We can’t just circumvent her in trying to solve all of her problems.”
“Because then she’ll resent us.” Rory tossed aside the towel he’d used to dry his hands.
“Exactly. And she’ll feel inferior, and she’ll likely pull away. Let her breathe, Rory. Let her be who she’s always been.”
“Yeah, but, Christian. Even you took on a partner when you knew it was the only way to get what you wanted.”
“And she signed on with this show to get what she wanted, Rory.” Christian pinned him with a serious look. “I’m thrilled that you want to help her so desperately. That she means that much to you. She means that much to me, too. Therefore, we can’t suffocate her or take over her life. It’d be incredibly easy to do. That’s not the kind of woman we’re involved with, though. We could crush her with our need to help her. She’s done so much for herself … that proves she’ll be okay without us force-feeding her. Let her be Bayli, man. If she needs us, she’ll tell us.”
“Right.”
Rory didn’t like that answer. Nor could he deny it as fact.
So he went back to cooking.
* * *
Several days later, Bayli strolled into the apartment from the terrace and smiled at Christian, who was sitting at the kitchen island, chatting with Rory.