Page 42 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man
He set his glass of orange juice down and hooked one arm over Seb’s shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly as if he sensed exactly what his man needed.
Damn it, I was going to choke on happy family vibes before I finished my first pancake.
“Janet checked this morning. They’re keeping him for observation,” Seb replied, shifting to face me. “You know, that picture of you and the firefighters put a new spin on what was supposed to be a one-time-only photo op.”
I stood and helped myself to a second cup of coffee. “What was I supposed to do? Sprint out of the house?”
“Of course not. But you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. You went off script,” he pronounced. “Again. This shouldn’t be a hard one to spin, but I’m a little lost. Who is the cutie standing off to the side? Does he work for us?”
“Let me see.” Trent motioned for Seb to show him his iPad, then hummed in appreciation. “Damn, he’s cute. What’s his name?”
“Lorenzo.” I sipped my coffee and frowned, noting the immediate two-way stare. “What?”
“Nothing, but…” Trent leaned across Seb and squinted, sending his sleep-mussed dark hair into his eyes. “Yep. You’re blushing.”
“Fuck off.” I snorted.
“Language, right, Ol?” Seb tattled, bumping my knee. “What’s the story?”
“Lorenzo is a friend of Jasper Gowan’s. That’s it.”
Oliver set a plate of pancakes on the island along with syrup and a stack of napkins. “Yep, he’s totally blushing. I have to brush my teeth. Who’s taking me to school?”
“Me.” Trent drizzled syrup over a pancake. “I’m ready when you are.”
“These look great. Did you eat?” Seb asked.
“I ate two while I was cooking.” Oliver patted his dad’s shoulder and lifted his chin my way, holding his knuckles up for our customary fist bump. “Later, Pierce.”
“Later, man. Thanks for breakfast.”
Trent, Seb, and I ate in relative quiet till Trent scraped his barstool from the island and declared it was time to go just as Oliver barreled downstairs again. Once we were alone, Seb returned to the reason I’d been unofficially invited over in the first place. Operation Cleanup. Part two.
“Let’s recap: The firefighters posted the selfies they took with you all over social media. Some forensic weirdo paparazzi did some digging, found out where you’d been, and constructed a whole new story based on our long-lost-cousins puff piece. There’s speculation that the meeting didn’t go well, the old man keeled over, and you left him to his caretaker…not bothering to go to the hospital, even though they now think you’re the next of kin. And yes, they’re camped outside the hospital.”
“That sucks,” I huffed. “And we’re not related.”
“You told me. That’s not something we’re going to disclose now. We’ll look like idiots.Thisis why all PR is left to professionals,” he scolded.
“That second visit wasn’t PR, it was personal.”
Seb pursed his lips. “You should have told me what you were up to.”
He was right, but if I’d played by the books, last night might never have happened, so…no regrets here.
“You would have sent a team with me, and that wasn’t what I wanted.”
Seb studied me for a moment over the rim of his mug and set it down without taking a sip. “Is this about your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
His paternal tone caught me off guard. This was the confusing part about us that we hadn’t really worked out. Seb and I were never going to be lovers again, but we weren’t really friends either. He was my boss, my mentor, and sometimes, my conscience. And Seb was the first to admit he’d made more than his share of mistakes over the years, which made him the world’s wonkiest moral compass.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I literally didn’t have anyone else.
No one I trusted anyway. In my experience, the people who wanted to get to know me also wanted something from me. I was leery of casual invitations from “friends” to meet at exclusive bars and parties. Exclusive didn’t mean shit in this town. Being seen with the so-called “right people” could help skyrocket businesses and social media platforms.