Page 94 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“No, I can’t go to your house.”

“Then come to the studio. There’s a private park near the front gate. I’ll tell security to let you in. You know where to go, right?”

“I th-think so.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Lo?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna be okay.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see, my bottom lip trembling uncontrollably. I wanted to believe him, but I had a bad feeling nothing was going to be okay.

* * *

The imposingiron gates at Rourke Studios creaked open the moment I gave my name to the security guard manning the ivy-covered kiosk. I parked in some executive’s space and speed-walked toward the high hedges where Pierce paced with his phone glued to his ear. He ended his call and held his hand out, hugging me close before pulling me into the park.

We sat on a red bench near a rose garden and stared at each other. No doubt, I looked like the panicky mess I was while Pierce seemed more…resolved.

“Looks like we’ve been outed.”

I licked my lips nervously. “Yeah. What’s next?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must know,” I insisted. “This is normal for you.”

“Not really. Not like this,” he said in a low voice.

“You’re used to being in the news, I’m not. What’s interesting about me? Hashtag, breaking news…Lorenzo Ramos forgot to stir a new jar of organic peanut butter and refrigerate it and was left with drippy PB on his burnt toast this morning. A hundred likes on Insta if all of my friends weigh in…sure. But trending? No. Not me.” My voice cracked as I escalated. I released a jagged breath and attempted to calm the fuck down. “The only thing interesting about me is you. And now that I said that out loud, I hear how pathetic that sounds, but you know what I mean. I’m regular people, you’re not, so…tell me what to do.”

Pierce didn’t speak at first. He studied the roses for a moment.

“I don’t know what to do. I know what I want, but…”

“What do you want?” I prodded.

“You. Us. It’s just…very fucking selfish.”

I frowned. “No, it’s not. I want the same thing.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees the way he always did when he was deep in thought. His beautifully tailored suit gave him an air of importance I associated with high-flying stockbrokers, billionaires, or…Baxter.

Fuck. He was Baxter and I was…who?

“You could move into my house while I’m gone. Raul could drive you wherever you need to go and make sure you were safe. He could probably hang out in the store too…if that’s cool with you.”

Warning bells chimed in my ears. “So he’d be my bodyguard?”

“Yeah. He’s a great guy and he likes you, so—”

“I don’t want a bodyguard.”

“I want you to be safe. People are fucking nuts, and I’m leaving for Toronto in a couple of days. I have a great PR team, and these stories die down eventually, but…”

“Not overnight,” I finished.

“No.”