Page 17 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“I wouldn’t be so sure. He’s very pretty, and the old man is loaded. Why else would Gowan let him stay?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t see it.”

Janet scoffed. “I do. He probably told his sugar daddy that he wanted in on a meeting with the famous Pierce Allen.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I bet you five bucks I’m right. Lorenzo drives a Beamer and dresses in Hugo Boss on a shop boy’s salary? Not likely.”

“Shop boy?”

“Enid told me that Lorenzo is a manager at BGoods in West Hollywood. It’s a cute home goods boutique.”

“Oh.”

“Watch out, Pierce. I saw the way he ran after you before we left. You might be next.” She snickered and poked me in the ribs. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get to you.”

“Gee, thanks,” I snarked. And though I knew I should have dropped the thread, I couldn’t help asking, “Did you run a check on Lorenzo too?”

“No, I didn’t know anything about him till today. I suppose I could research him, but that’s a waste of resources. We’re done here. The studio wanted a feel-good story, not a family saga. And Lorenzo isn’t family. If he is Mr. Gowan’s pretty young thing, we don’t want to know.”

I bristled at the idea. He was too young and too vivacious for someone like Gowan. He was old enough to be Lorenzo’s grandfather, for fuck’s sake.

Okay, that made me sound like a judgmental prick. Whatever floated their boats and all that, right?

No, I still didn’t like it.

“Do you know what’s wrong with the old guy? He’s sick and maybe dying, but he didn’t say anything about his health, and I didn’t want to ask.”

Janet shook her head. “Not sure. Maybe he just has a bad ticker. He seems like a nice enough man and I’m sure you wish him well, but you can forget about him now, Pierce. We have enough content for our purposes.”

“Right, but…I don’t think it’s true. I don’t think we’re related.”

“Probably not, but who cares? It’s a photo op…nothing more. And it’s done. End of story. You never have to see him or any of them again.”

True.

I should have breathed a sigh of relief, but I felt oddly fragile in the moment. And hollow.

I was torn. It would have been nice to know someone with a connection to my mother, who could fill in blank spaces. Yeah, maybe that was it. But I sure as fuck wasn’t going to spill my guts to Janet. Nice girl and all, but that sounded pathetic and she hadn’t signed on for my drama.

Actually, that was exactly what she’d signed on for. The fun or mildly annoying kind of drama, though. Not the “lost a parent and is having trouble coping with family BS” kind. That shit was mine to deal with—the grieving, the sadness, the drunken mood swings. All mine.

I raked my fingers through my hair and let out a rush of air as if I’d been holding my breath underwater. I stared out the window, unseeing, for a minute or so, then twisted to face her.

“I want to see Gowan again. On my own.”

Janet arched a brow. “Why?”

“Personal reasons. I don’t want a photographer or an article or any big deal. Give me his number, and I’ll take over from there.”

“Pierce. There’s no reason to set up another meeting. And I’m not sure what Seb would say about—”

“Don’t tell him. And don’t ask me fifty questions,” I snapped. “Either you handle it, or I will.”

Janet whipped her glasses off to give me the full brunt of her incredulous expression. “Pierce, are you crazy? Why wouldn’t you tell Seb?”

“Because it’s fucking personal. I want to know why my mother was at that house. If Gowan really knew my mom…” I didn’t finish my sentence. I couldn’t.