The Real Baxter (The Baxter Chronicles 1)

This could not be real.

“What time is it?” I asked, thanking Seb for the coffee as I settled in the chair across from him.

“Nine o’clock. I tried to wake you up last night, but you wouldn’t budge.”

“Hmph. I must have needed sleep.”

“Probably. I figured you’d be pretty hungry, so I took the liberty of ordering you breakfast. Eggs, toast, bacon.”

“This is great. Thank you.” I bit into a slice of thick bacon. “Did you sleep here?”

“No, I had work to do and I didn’t want to disturb you. Plus…you’re allegedly angry with me.”

“That’s right.” I tucked into my breakfast, eyeing him as I chewed and swallowed.

Seb didn’t seem overly concerned with my wrath. He sipped coffee as he outlined his schedule. It sounded like a typical day in the life of a tourist, involving a lot of walking. Seb assured me that wasn’t the case. He was scouting, not touring.

“Don’t you hire professional scouts for projects as big as Baxter?”

“I am a professional scout.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That was my job after I finally got out of personal assistant hell. I embellished my credentials and squeaked into a scouting gig in Ireland. My assignment was to find the best points along the River Liffey to dock a very particular boat in the winter. The script called for an action sequence by a warehouse, but the tide was so low that there was no getaway. The crooks would have been sunk in scene one. That was where I came in. I researched tides, currents, weather patterns…which basically was all rain all the time—and I studied Ireland. I returned to the set with a counterplan and I’m pleased to report, it was a huge success.”

“Which movie?” I asked, chomping into my toast.

“The Life and Times of Wally Wills.”

“No shit. That was a great film.”

Seb nodded. “I think so too. Obviously, I didn’t have anything to do with the script, actors, directors, or the editing, but my contribution was important. I can’t scout every location, but I try to do an initial sweep after I get the manuscript to make sure the vision is on track and that the action is believable in a given setting.”

“And you do this on your own?”

“No. I have a team. No one works alone on a movie. But…this Baxter film isn’t in production yet. It’s in the preliminary stages of development, which makes it a good time for me to do a solo sweep and reacquaint myself with the city.”

“I see. And…why am I here?” I narrowed my gaze. “Don’t tell me you asked Charlie to borrow his least qualified bodyguard.”

He snorted. “I don’t travel with a bodyguard unless it’s completely necessary. I’m not a movie star.”

“Got it. So this really is an elaborate booty call? I don’t know how this stuff works with rich people. I’ve never been an escort, but I think Macy was right. I’m a dick for hire.”

Seb cocked his head and fixed me with a laser-sharp look that should have penetrated my skull. He was a wolf under his oxford shirt and khakis business-casual façade…wily and dangerous. I was sure he was going to tell me to fuck off, but he didn’t.

“You’ve got the ‘dick’ part right,” he retorted. “Believe it not, I didn’t send for you. And I’m not paying you for sex.”

I glanced out the window at the view of Parliament and the London Eye in the distance. “I know, but something is fishy here. So now what? I take a photo and go home? Or take the pic, screw like rabbits for a couple of days, and then go home?”

“I wouldn’t want you to do anything you were uncomfortable doing.”

“I bet,” I huffed.

The corner of his lips lifted in a roguish half smile. He observed me over the rim of his coffee cup as I shoveled eggs in my mouth; then he set the cup down and picked up his cell to read a text. He stood a moment later, stepping away from the table.

“Charlie has a photographer waiting outside the hotel to take a photo. Get dressed and meet me in the lobby in twenty minutes. Your obligation to Charlie will be complete, and you can go on with your day. You can sightsee and go home, or order up some porn and jerk yourself off in the privacy of your suite for a few days. The choices are endless, and they’re all yours.”

I scoffed. “When did you become an altruistic gentleman?”

“Altruistic? Never. But I’m always a gentleman.”

He was out the door before I could call bullshit.

I didn’t want Seb to be a gentleman. I wanted to tear his clothes off and bury my cock inside him with the city lights twinkling outside our hotel room. I wanted him to admit he wanted me so much that he’d gone to ridiculous lengths to bring me halfway around the world, ’cause that sounded kind of romantic. And I had a feeling it was better than the truth.