Page 26 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“Come on…spill the tea, dish the deets.” He motioned for me to talk.

A quick word about Brandon Good. He was a little older and a little taller than me, lean with light-brown skin, short black hair, and pretty hazel eyes. Yes, he was my boss, but we’d become close friends over the past ten years. I was here for him when his high school boyfriend showed up with an old dog and turned his world inside out. I was here when he fell in love with that same ex, and when their beloved Mack died, I’d cried with him every day for a week.

In turn, he helped me move out of the house I’d shared with Tony and spent the night with me in my new apartment. He stayed up with me, passing me tissues while I sobbed, brokenhearted over a loss I never saw coming. And when my grandmother passed away, he did it all over again.

In other words, Bran wasn’t just my employer. He was one of my dearest friends. I trusted him with my life. I’d drop anything for him. I’d dog-sit, babysit, house-sit…anything he needed, I’d be there for him.

“About what? I was at home last night like a good boy,” I replied, smiling when another customer wandered in. “How about you?”

Bran snorted. “I was cleaning dog poop, doing laundry, and grilling salmon with a baby attached to my hip. I lead a glamorous life, honey.”

“I know you do. Well, don’t worry about us here. We’ve got it under control, right, Benny boy? Anything new come in today?” I asked, glancing at the boxes stacked near the storage area.

“The new shipment arrived last night. Connor and Lizzy helped sort through the boxes and found a few new decoupage plates from that Parisian shop Mr. Gowan loves. Since you were going to be in today, I took the liberty of calling Mr. G. He bought three plates…your commission, you’re welcome. All you have to do is deliver them at your convenience.”

“He’s in the hospital.”

“I know.” Bran frowned. “He answered his cell from his hospital room.”

“How did he sound?”

“Not great. His voice was hoarse and he coughed a lot.”

“Oh.”

“I know decoupage, flowers, and candles won’t solve what ails him, but I thought he might like something pretty. If you don’t want to go to the hospital, no worries. I’ll send flowers and deliver the rest of the goodies when he’s home and—”

“No, no. I can stop by when he’s up for visitors,” I replied.

“That’s nice. Thank you.” Bran patted my arm sweetly, then narrowed his gaze and pinched me.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“Withholding movie-star sightings! Mr. Gowan told me his misadventure began after a light yet lovely lunch with our dear Lorenzo and Pierce fucking Allen!” He stomped his foot in mock outrage. “Say what?”

“Well, I—”

“I was sure he was delusional, but Lizzy and Connor showed me the firefighter post on Instagram. Five hunky firemen and a dreamboat. I’m married to a sexy firefighter and I still swooned.”

“Instagram?” I repeated.

“Let me find the photo.” Bran pulled out his cell, pausing to show a couple of new baby photos. He scrolled to a saved post on a Pierce Allen fan page and tapped his screen meaningfully. “Nice pic…and look, there you are. They didn’t tag you, but they did refer to you as Mr. Pierce’s assistant.”

“What? Let me see that.” I was usually way more tuned in to social media—a sure sign I was out of sorts after yesterday’s misadventure.

Sure enough, half of me was pictured in a photo alongside a gaggle of beaming firefighters surrounding Pierce Allen.

“Thatisyou. I’d know those loafers anywhere.” Bran pointed at the screen. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me. That man is so…”Irritating, self-absorbed, high and mighty.“Dreamy!”

I curbed an eye roll. “Yeah, well…don’t be offended. It was a highly stressful luncheon.”

“Sounds like it. Tell me everything.”

I filled him in on the studio’s recent photo op between long-lost relatives, leaving out the part about Pierce disputing that it was true. I felt like I needed to know why Mr. Gowan hadn’t been truthful from the start before I shared that story. Maybe it was confidential and I wasn’t meant to know. It seemed kinder to portray the second meeting as a friendly luncheon gone sideways via medical emergency. Which it was.

“Anyway, the fire brigade showed up with the ambulance, spotted the movie star, and the second round of chaos ensued,” I reported. “It was extra, Bran. Very extra.”

“Poor Mr. G.” Bran opened his mouth as if to grill me just as his phone buzzed in his hand. He kissed my cheek and bent to scritch Benson’s ears. “I gotta run. Charge the flowers to our account whenever you’re able to go, and give him my best.”