Page 65 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

I bit the meaty part of his palm, kissed it, and made a zipped-lips motion. When the SUV came to a stop at the top of the ridge, I opened the door and gestured for him to follow me.

We sat on a blanket under a tree on the grassy knoll overlooking the city. This was a popular tourist destination, but the February chill wasn’t conducive to lingering on a hilltop. The stragglers who wandered to take photos of the cityscape didn’t look our way. It felt so nice to be part of the crowd and feel completely anonymous with someone who didn’t want to discuss my last movie or the next one.

We ate hot dogs—well, I devoured mine, Lo nibbled his—and just…hung out. We talked about chili fries, gourmet aioli sauces, our favorite foods to grill, songs that reminded us of LA.…In other words, a whole lot of nothing that somehow felt crucial.

He laughed his ass off when I sang a pitchy version of Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” and draped the second blanket over our shoulders to ward against the evening chill. His nearness, his voice, his dazzling smile, and easy company.

Fuck, I liked this far too much.

Correction—I liked him far too much.

* * *

Janet leanedon the trailer wall, tapping her iPad as she went over my recently updated schedule and things she thought I needed to know. I hummed and grunted on cue as I flipped through the fight scene on the new Baxter script.

Damn, this one seemed intense. A cliffside jump and a roll down the mountainside, followed by a knife scene. Gory. I was going to have to brush up on my karate and—

“…your brother wants his email address. Obviously, I have no intention of—”

“Whoa. What?” I glanced up and furrowed my brow. “My brother?”

“Phil Allen from Bexley, Ohio, age forty. He’s a computer programmer, married, no children. Date of birth—”

“I know who he is,” I intercepted. “He contacted you?”

“Yes, he left a message. Indicating that he’s interested in meeting his cousin too.”

That fucker.“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I was told not to engage.”

“Good.”

“Okay. Look, I hate to prod on personal matters, but you know Seb is going to want to make sure your brother isn’t an issue, so if there’s anything I should know or—”

“Other than he’s a leech and a user? Nope, I don’t think so.”

“All right.” She hesitated, inclining her head. “Next topic. Reminder, you’re a presenter at the Academy Awards.”

I sank into the sofa cushion and sighed. “When is that?”

“Mid-March. They have you doing Best Screenplay.”

“Really? That’s a big award.”

“You’re a big star,” she countered matter-of-factly. “And don’t forget the SAG Awards. The plan is for Daphne to meet you at the studio for photos. And before you ask, she’s the blond from the Golden Globes. Seb said—”

I held up my hand like a white flag. “Got it. I remember. Is that everything?”

“One more thing. The charity and philanthropy promo has been going great. I think we’ve managed the timing well, but if it’s too much, we can pull back.”

“No, I like it. It’s been good for me.”

She pushed a pencil behind her ear and smiled. “Awesome, I’m glad. You seem happy.”

“I am. Anything else?”

“Yeah, don’t get mad, but it’s my job to ask if you and Lorenzo are…serious, and if so, is this going to affect the promo we have in place?”