Page 4 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“Hello?” I called out. “Anyone here?”

No answer.

I surveyed the space cautiously with my hands on my hips and willed my brain to clear so I could piece together the shadowy parts of last night. I gave up when my stomach rumbled.

Mysteries could wait. I needed coffee and food. Stat.

I stepped into a clean pair of briefs, gray sweats, and a Foo Fighters tee, grabbed my cell, and padded downstairs barefoot, clutching the steel banister for support. Sun streaked the hardwood floor and bounced off the white walls, flooding the great room with so much light I needed sunglasses. And maybe more Advil.

I massaged my temple as I made my way through my contemporary-style home with its uber-minimalist decor. I’d told my designer that I liked Baxter’s New York City apartment inThe Quiet Cavern, and she’d run with it. So, basically, my Hollywood Hills house resembled a movie set with sleek lines, European leather furniture, giant black-and-white scribbly art on white walls, and the occasional steel or glass sculpture of unknown origin. It was cool, but not exactly homey.

However, I loved my kitchen-great-room setup. The light-wood cabinetry, state-of-the-art appliances, and modern lighting looked impressive as fuck. So what if I couldn’t cook to save my life? My oatmeal tasted extra awesome from my ginormous island where I could stare at the massive flat-screen in the adjoining family room area. And the city view from the wide bank of windows beyond was seriously breathtaking.

Okay, so it was a bit like living in a fishbowl, but a nice one.

Which I supposed made me a goldfish.Yuck.

I pushed a couple of buttons on my industrial coffee machine and checked the time on my cell. 10:20 a.m. I could enjoy my java, make toast, and catch up on social media. It was kind of fun to see the photos from the after parties and hey, maybe one of them would help jog my memory.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, perched on a barstool, and was about to start scrolling when I spotted the yellow Post-it Note stuck to the fridge. I eyed it warily, half-convinced I might be seeing things.

Nope. It was still there.

I pushed my phone aside and took a fortifying sip before hauling my ass up to investigate.

Thanks for last night. It was amazing. I appreciate the tips too. I’ll call the studio tomorrow and tell them I know you. Call me sometime. Rocco

Rocco?

Rocco.

The waiter.

The guy with the perfect ass and the talented mouth. The guy I’d bumped into in the restroom and kissed…and invited to come home with me.

Shit.

I crumpled the note and raced to my cell, my heartbeat reverberating in my ear.

Trending: Pierce Allen, Baxter.

The headline: “Baxter Leaves Fiancée for Waiter.”The new couple was set to marry in June, but apparently love is on the rocks. Pierce Allen was seen leaving a party with the young actor and model.

The photos: me kissing a pretty blond woman, and then…kissing a sexy blond man. And yes, there was plenty of tongue.

And the clincher: a pic of that same sexy man exiting through the wrought iron gate in front of my house on foot to catch his Uber while the paparazzi took ten dozen photos of him from every angle possible.

I had a sinking feeling I knew what Seb’s message meant now.

Fuck. Me.

* * *

Seb Rourke pacedthe length of the Persian rug under his ginormous desk, striding to the windows overlooking Santa Monica Boulevard and back again—one hand on his hip, the other on his phone. He’d been muttering under his breath for a good few minutes. It could almost lull me to sleep if not for the incessantwhomp-whomppulsing in my skull. Sadly, I wasn’t in a position to ask him to hurry this impromptu meeting along.

This was the adult version of getting sent to the principal’s office. I was in trouble. Janet, my manager-slash-keeper, was probably in a little hot water too, but…it was mostly me. I was the problem.

I shifted in the leather seat, glancing over at Seb when he finally stopped moving and flopped into his executive chair. He tossed his cell onto his desk and leaned forward, casting an intense look between us.