Page 66 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

There was no point in asking how she knew. It was pointless hiding a faux assistant from your real assistant. I hadn’t hidden his presence from Raul or my housekeepers or my security detail, and Janet was paid a small fortune to keep tabs on me and preemptively stay on top of the rumor mill regarding my personal affairs.

Funny enough, this was the first time it felt like an invasion of my privacy.

I liked to think I was a good actor. Fuck knew, I’d had a lot of practice perfecting a badass poker face on-screen. But maybe I was fooling myself, ’cause my cool evaporated like ice on a hot summer afternoon.

“Lorenzo isn’t anyone’s business.”

“Your fans won’t see it that way,” she said gently. “They’ll wonder if something is wrong with you and Daphne. Hey, I know it’s all for show, but we look like idiots if we change the story too often.”

“My personal life is personal, Janet. I agreed to go to the award ceremonies with Daphne, and that’s business.” I held my hands apart and flipped my palms open. “Two separate things.”

“Got it.”

I adjusted my ball cap as I stood and moved to the trailer door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, some wise-ass signed me up for a beach cleanup.”

“That would be me.”

“I know. Are you coming too?”

She grinned. “Yep. Let’s go get ’em, Baxter.”

* * *

We rolledup to the Santa Monica pier twenty minutes later and were instantly bombarded by photographers, reporters, and hundreds of fans who’d come to see me pick up trash at the beach. Seriously.

I signed T-shirts and body parts, posed for dozens of selfies, and shook hands till it felt like my wrist was about to fall off. Then I gave a small speech about the importance of taking care of the planet, using a few of Lo’s notes before declaring it was time to clean up.

The crowd roared as I led the way to the sand with a biodegradable trash bag, security team in tow. I mean, c’mon…the whole shebang was so Hollywood it wasn’t even funny. Choose one of the most popular beaches, show up with bodyguards, and rev up the masses like a fucking rock god while oh, so subtly reminding them I was a notch above that. I was fucking Pierce Allen, I was Baxter, and I was about to film a new movie.

Totally obnoxious, right? I did my best to downplay the cheesy aspect and concentrate on the people who’d taken the day off to see me, and in a couple of cases, who’d flown from across the country. This was my job, but it meant something more to my fans. It felt so one-sided sometimes, though. There were so many of them and only one of me, I mused, wishing Lo was here and not—

Daphne.

What the fuck?

I squinted behind my Ray Bans at her perfect ponytail swaying in the breeze as she signed autographs at the pop-up stand my team had erected for the event. I pulled Janet aside, careful to keep a smile in place and cover my mouth for any potential lip-readers in the crowd.

“What’s Daphne doing here?”

Janet made a yikes face. “I have no idea. Maybe Seb sent her?”

“Fuck,” I growled. I didn’t look up till I was sure my mask was locked and loaded.

This is my job, I chanted in my head.This is my job.

I bit my tongue when Daphne sidled up to me for a photo. I didn’t trust myself to be civil, and there were far too many eyes on us. If she said anything to me, I didn’t hear her. I was too busy seething. This had to be Seb’s idea.

* * *

“No,I did not send Daphne to the beach,” Seb huffed. “I’m running a studio here, Pierce. Not a day camp.”

“Are you sure about that?” I retorted, gritting my teeth in the back seat of the SUV on my way from the event.

“Very sure. It’s not a big deal. You’re not worried about her stealing your thunder, are you?”

“Fuck off,” I grumbled.

“Hey, I’ve got Oliver in the car with me. Watch your fuckin’ language.”