Booker Baxter Novels & Stories

"Sir, you can't let him go." "Who? Sutcliffe? What's your problem with him?" "He knows too much." "Sutcliffe's been nothing but loyal. He's performed perfectly." "Sir, he's been privy to everything that's gone between us. He knows names, times, places. If he's caught..." "He's leaving the country." Baxter's voice turns to a hiss. "Have you seen his passport? It's a fake and a bad one. Sir, he's an amateur. You cannot let him go."

(Viscount Baxter Anderton) Many were agreed with Viscount Baxter resolute actions, and even praised him for his brave actions against the tyranny church of light. “That is my interviews with the Twin Star City Lord, Viscount Baxter Anderton..who I can say was an upstanding man and a responsible noble..”. (Robert Kennedy) “Mr. Robert, that was yesterday interviews right?..today is there any official statements from the Visma Royals?..”. (Quara Raedrim)

He was wearing only wearing some boxers leaving the rest of his delectable skin uncovered. His body was toned to perfection, with large biceps lead into a chiselled chest, sitting underneath his firm pectorials sat a very solid set of abs before sliding into his waist, his prominent byline on show. Unfortunately his bixers covered what was under his byline, but below that. His thick toned thighs lead into toned claves.

She paused for a while her hands at her back as she fidgeted clearly anxious, she looked at their curious gazes and began speaking again. "Someone special told me it is better to try than regret later for not trying, I would be disappointed if I don't get the part but I would be happy that I tried my best, I would just try again another time". She answered sincerely as they all stared at her emotionless, there was a drift in Miranda's eyes, something She couldn't understand . "Who is That Someone Special?". A deep rich unfamiliar voice spoke to her, The voice was deep and rich and was soothing to hear, it had a hint of British accent in it surprising Grace, the voice belonged to Mr Black who

I don't have time for something as unimportant as tertiary education… “Oh my God, he is here!" "Who? Arthur Blackwood?!" "Look at the jaw line!" "By God, I'm going to pass out if he even looks at me!" “Oh no, you won't, because he is never going to look at you!" “Why do you have to kill the vibe? Let me admire my dream man.” “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. It's not like he will ever notice you.” I roll my eyes, pretending that I did not hear a word of that lust-driven conversation.

I said. He looked at me. “We were not at the same institution,” he said. “Blackwood and Pembroke are unrelated, I was not her student when we came to Cambridge. There is no institutional relationship between us that Pembroke has any standing to question.” “Then they have nothing,” I said. “Formally nothing,” he said. “But formally nothing and practically nothing are different things. Harrison does not need a rule to make things difficult, he needs a reason to keep looking.”

Russell I'd be kidding if I said I wasn't nervous. Meeting Sam's dad was affable indeed. He's so much like her, easy to talk to and so passionate about his work. I see why Sam is so enamored with her studies and why she is eager to get her master's in business. She gets that attitude from that man. I just met him and I already have great admiration for him. Mr. Adam's sent a black luxury SUV to pick us up. I wasn't used to all this fancy shit, but I remained genteel.

He's paying attention, and the steadiness of his gaze is beginning to make it difficult for me to look in his direction at all. Roger and Crystal excuse themselves not long after, drifting back into the crowd. A hush comes on the hall later as a short, older man steps to the front with a microphone in his hand. "That's Winston Baxter," Hester says. "Owner of Baxton, the English car manufacturing company." "I've heard of them," I say. "My dad used to mention them." Alex looks at me. "Your dad?" "Yeah." He stares at me, waiting for me to say more about my dad, I guess. I smile and let my eyes drift back to Hester.

“That’s Cal Booker!” I sat up alongside her as we watched. His father, Edward Booker, was delivering a speech about the hunger crisis in America. Cal made a face at something his father said, as if he didn’t believe him. I wondered what it meant. “He looks taller there,” Sydney said, fully invested. “I suppose so,” I answered robotically, as I continued to study Cal. Sydney looked over at me. “You okay?” she asked with kind eyes. “As fine as I can be,” I replied, snapping out of my trance. “None of this feels real yet.”