Page 5 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man
Intense was a great way to describe Sebastian Rourke.
He was a fifty-year-old silver fox—six foot three like me, with the lean physique of a runner. We shared the same hair and eye color, though his short dark hair and neatly trimmed beard were streaked with gray, and his blue eyes were a shade paler than mine. If you hadn’t caught on, I was hired to play Baxter, international crime-fighting hero because I resembled a younger Seb Rourke.
It took a Hollywood-esque supersized ego to reinvent a modern-day James Bond character and model him after yourself. It also took big balls. Seb had both. Trust me, I’d seen them up close and personal. More about that later.
The point was…Baxter was Seb’s baby, the vehicle that had launched his studio and made him a fucking fortune. Rourke Studios was now home to a slew of cable network series, ranging from teen coming-of-age sitcoms and children’s morning programs to a new home-and-garden show. And there were always a few movies in the works anchored with the brightest stars and most sought-after directors. Rourke let others manage those enterprises like any savvy COO and CEO would.
But not Baxter.
Baxter was by far the biggest moneymaker for Rourke Studios. It was a multi-billion dollar international industry in practically every form of entertainment imaginable—video games, authorized novels, audiobooks, a podcast, and of course, merchandise. There was even an animated series set for release this coming fall, voiced by yours truly.
It was mind-blowing to be the face behind a universally loved and respected franchise. Yeah, Baxter was Seb’s creation, but those fans were screaming for me. They didn’t think about the writing and vision that breathed life into harrowing car chases and heart-stopping feats of daring in impossibly breathtaking settings around the world. The beauty of cinema was its power to transport us away from reality, if only for a little while.
Reality sucked.
And let’s be real, my fans would be seriously disenchanted if they knew how fucking boring my real life was. I woke up, went to the studio, sat in the makeup trailer for hours at a stretch, read my lines on set, worked out, went home, ordered takeout, and fell asleep on the sofa with chow mein dripping down my chin. And pressed repeat the next day.
Sometimes I felt like I lived in a goddamn cage. Or that goldfish bowl. My every move had to be sanctioned by the studio. Who I dated, where I went, what I wore. No kidding. Those exact words never came up, but it was understood that I was contractually obligated to represent Baxter in the best light possible.
And last night…I’d failed.
“I need to give the PR team a statement before two o’clock.” Seb slapped his hands on his desk and sat up straight. “So, let’s spin this shit show, shall we? We’ve got a few months till we start shooting. That gives us time to divert public attention to something…less salacious. Dating two people at once isn’t gonna fly, so choose—are you dating Daphne or the waiter?”
“Who’s Daphne?” I asked, cocking my head curiously.
Seb glared at me, then turned to Janet. “I’m going to kill him. Help me here.”
Janet was a petite brunet in her midthirties with a pixie haircut who rocked the rolled-up jeans and well-pressed oxford shirts she paired with funky oversized jewelry. Like the chandelier earrings currently scraping her shoulders. Poor thing had been assigned to me two years ago, and I had a feeling she plotted her exit every other day.
Nah, just kidding. Janet loved me. Even when she wanted to hate me.
“Daphne was your date last night.” She swept a no-nonsense gaze in my direction and sighed before addressing Seb. “But dating is messy and requires a lot of social media management. Plus, both of his potential love interests from last night are wannabe actors. I think we should veer focus to something wholesome, like charity work.”
“Hmm. I like that, but…it’s not personal enough. No one’s going to care if he shows up at a children’s hospital if there’s a hint of a story to be had about him being lawless,” Seb griped.
I raised my hand. “I’m right here, guys. In the room.”
They spared me a brief glance and continued brainstorming. Whatever. I closed my eyes and slouched into the upholstery with my arms crossed, content to let my boss and manager work out the details. This was so much easier when Seb had still been single and the easiest, safest solution to any PR fallout would be for us to hook up and feed the rumor mill a little fodder.
Ah, the good ol’ days, I mused, drifting into a sleepy state where voices infiltrated, but nothing really made sense.
A new girlfriend, quiet romance in another country…Italy, Argentina?
“No romance at all.”
“I wish we could do something family oriented,” Janet said.
“No way. His brother is a nightmare.”
I fluttered my eyes open when I sensed their stares. “Total prick.”
“Oh, my gosh! I can’t believe I forgot about the cousin…the old man,” Janet chirped eagerly.
“What cousin? What old man?”
Janet wiggled excitedly in her seat, popped open a tab on her iPad, and flipped through her emails at lightning speed before settling on one. “Gowan is the last name, and according to this email, he was either a friend of your family’s or possibly a relative.”
Then he was probably a creep like the rest of them.