Page 43 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

Seb might have his faults, but I felt comfortable here, hanging out in his kitchen enjoying coffee his husband made and chowing on Oliver’s tasty blueberry pancakes.

“Your son could be a chef. These are fantastic,” I enthused around a bite.

He cocked his head, his long fingers wrapped around his mug. “Mmhm. So…?”

“I don’t know what I was looking for, to be honest. But he met her two years ago. I saw a picture of them together.”

Seb lifted his thick brows. “Ohh. A mystery.”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask about it, though.”

“And you want to,” he supplied.

“I do. Just…one more conversation to try and jog his memory.”

“Hmm. Let me know when so we can be ready for damage control if needed. And after that, let’s be done, eh? The cousin could accidentally turn into a PR predicament instead of the ‘feel good’ sound bite we were counting on, and you’re about to get busy. We have a few production meetings coming up, and check this out—we’re looking into some cool stunts and special effects with Baxter leaping from a bridge onto a moving truck.”

“That’s been done,” I deadpanned.

“Not like this!”

I rounded the island to pour myself a third cup of coffee and refill Seb’s, grunting occasionally to let him know I was listening.

“That’s cool,” I said when Seb finally slowed down long enough to take a breath.

“Yep. We’ll start filming in Toronto in May, and hopefully be in Romania by June or July. I might be able to move Europe up a week or so. It depends on when Oliver gets out of school. He’s taking Driver’s Ed this summer. Can you believe it?”

“No. I can’t believe he’s sixteen. I feel old.”

Seb stood abruptly. “And get this. Charlie and Ky are talking to a surrogate. I may be a fucking grandfather next year. Shoot me now.”

I laughed. “You don’t mind at all.”

The twinkle in his eyes gave Seb away. A few years ago, milestones like his youngest kid learning to drive and impending grandparenthood would have either depressed him or sent him into a mental tailspin. Now, he welcomed them with humor and grace. I was truly happy for him, but in my current state, it emphasized the fact that I was very much alone.

Seb might be my boss and mentor, but he wasn’t family.

I didn’t have one anymore. Maybe that was why I couldn’t let this Jasper Gowan thing go.

“Nah, it’s all good.” He squeezed my shoulder and tucked his iPad under his arm. “One more thing—you need a date for the SAG awards. Take Daphne. Take her to the Academy Awards too, so we can finally put the gigolo story to bed. Don’t worry about anything. Janet has you covered. She can handle the hospital visit to make sure it’s quiet, and do a little piece hinting about your date. That should divert the paparazzi’s attention from Gowan.”

Ouch. I just got Seb-steamrollered.

“Whoa! I don’t need a date. I can go solo to the award shows. And…I’m going to see Jasper again—alone. No Janet, no photographers, just me.” I pushed my barstool back, cleared my plate, and set it in the sink. “I should get going. Thanks again for breakfast, Seb.”

He grabbed my elbow before I could pass. “Why?”

“Single is a good look on me, and—”

“I’m not talking about the date. That’s nonnegotiable,” he intercepted. “I’m talking about Gowan. Look, do what you need to, but don’t torture yourself, Pierce. She’s gone, and there’s a good chance you’re getting nothing but a headache out of the deal. Be smart. At the very least, be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” I bluffed, pulling my keys from my pocket.

Seb closed his eyes in a “Lord, give me strength” gesture I was pretty familiar with. “One more question…is there something between you and the hottie in the firemen photo?”

“I…no,” I stammered.

“Let me rephrase that. We don’t want to explain two lovers again, so if you’re seeing him and—”