“Can you handle it, Libbs? Can you be around this guy twenty-four seven?” Charlotte asked.
Libby shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. I’ve been fired from every studio, and Raz’s sports agent arranged to pay for Anders and Alec’s schooling in exchange for my services as a spiritual advisor. The guy made it up on the fly, and now between that and the threat of being charged as a sexual deviant, I’m stuck seeing it through.”
“You can rest assured that you’ll be a terrific nanny. You practically raised your brothers. I’m sure Sebastian will adore you,” Penny offered.
Sebastian.
Just like the first time she’d heard Raz’s son’s name, a warmth filled her chest.
“And what about the whole boxing thing?” Char questioned. “That can’t be easy for you.”
Libby’s pulse kicked up. With the excitement, she’d almost forgotten she’d be spending night and day with a world heavyweight champion boxer. An icy chill ushered out the warmth, and she released a shaky breath. If there were ever a time a gal could use a dose of balanced energy, it was now. Too bad her chi was more out of whack than ever.
“It must make you think of your dad,” H added.
Libby swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He texted a few months ago.”
“You didn’t mention that to us,” Harper remarked.
Libby stared at one of the ornate empty vases placed in the corner of the great space. “There wasn’t much to mention. It’s always the same thing. There’s some business venture or some sure-thing he has the inside track on, and if he could borrow two or three grand, he could get in on the deal or make the bet that would pay out ten times what he put in,” she finished, the words tasting of searing disappointment.
“Connolly Lamb is one piece of work,” Harper lamented.
That was an understatement.
But talk of her deadbeat dad ended when Phoebe rounded the corner and called out to them. “Libby, Harper, Penny, Charlotte, the game room is awesome! It was so big Oscar and I played hide-and-seek in there. This whole house is like twenty houses in one,” she exclaimed before belting out one behemoth of a yawn.
“It sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure,” Penny replied, smoothing a lock of Phoebe’s hair.
The guys returned with Mitch carrying a sleeping Oscar.
“Where’d you find Oscar?” Phoebe asked with another yawn.
“Under the pool table, asleep,” Mitch answered, shifting the boy in his arms as Charlotte removed the Polaroid camera from the child’s grip.
“That explains why he didn’t come out when I called to him. He can’t party like we can, right girls?” Phoebe mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
Libby chuckled. A little dose of this hilarious girl helped ease the pain that came along with the thoughts of her father. She and her friends bit back grins as Rowen scooped the pint-sized party animal into his arms. Phoebe let out a dreamy sigh, then relaxed into her uncle’s embrace.
“Thanks for checking on us. I’m not sure you needed to break into the bloody house. But I,” Raz turned to her, “I mean, Libby and I, we appreciate your concern.”
Libby nodded as that rush of tingles returned.
We.
“Yes, thanks,” she stammered.
She had to get herself under control, especially when it came to Erasmus Cress.
“Would you like to leave out the front? The press is probably gone,” Raz added.
Rowen gestured with his chin toward the back of the house. “We’ll go the way we came. We’re parked on the street behind your place.”
“And we’ll go ahead and sign Sebastian up for the camps and activities Phoebe and Oscar are doing in Aspen,” Charlotte added.
“Yeah, thanks,” Raz answered with that hint of trepidation in his tone that seemed to accompany any talk of his son.
Libby twisted her jade bracelet as the sound of her friends’ footsteps faded, and then it was just the two of them.
The two of them and a bag of vibrators.
She glanced around the ornate foyer. Decorated with opulent, Victorian-style carved cabinets, antiques, painted vases, and two high-back chairs angled toward each other that screamed, do not sit on me! I’m for looks only.
“You have a beautiful home. This entryway is…lovely—so spacious.”
Buddha, help her! After everything they’d been through over the last handful of hours, that’s what she had to say to the man?
Raz scanned the vast entryway. “The house came like this. It’s a rental.”
“Well, it’s a nice rental. Lots of…character,” she replied, sounding like a deranged real estate agent. Still, how was she supposed to navigate this strange new life? One minute, she’s ready to kiss the guy into oblivion, and the next, they’re staring at each other like two awkward preteens at a middle school mixer.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, then gestured toward another hallway. “The kitchen’s that way.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Would you like to see the laundry room?” he continued.
She stared at the man. “The laundry room?”
“For your jumper.” He gestured toward her shoulder—her shit-covered shoulder.
“You mean my yoga wrap?” she corrected.
“Whatever you’re wearing that’s covered in bird shit. Would you like to wash it, or do you prefer your clothing covered in animal crap?”
“I prefer un-crapped clothing,” she answered as the awkward meter skyrocketed.
“The laundry is upstairs on the same floor as the bedrooms.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I said that. There are also closets and bathrooms on the second floor. And doors, plenty of those,” he finished, looking more discombobulated by the second.
“Yeah, that happens in many houses on the second floor, here, in America. We have doors and closets and bathrooms,” she answered, then shook her head as her cheeks burned and another dose of mortification hit her bloodstream.
She had to pull herself together.
She lifted her chin to project an air of purpose and a determination to rid herself of shit-covered clothing. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we should go upstairs and do it.”
Dear universe, please render Libby Lamb mute ASAP.
“You want to do it?” he bit out, his jaw nearly hitting the floor.
Libby pasted a plastic grin to her face, hoping to disguise the feeling of complete and utter embarrassment that tore through her like a runaway freight train.
Could a person combust from mortification?
She was about to find out.
“The laundry. Do the laundry, not each other,” she clarified, not doing a hell of a lot to dig herself out of the humiliation hole that kept getting deeper and deeper.
“Let’s just…” Raz said, then pointed to the grand staircase.
She nodded, then, without a word, fell into step with the man.
Opting for nonverbal communication was a good call.
Raz was right about the doors. This place was enormous. They passed a ton of them before he opened the one at the end of the hall. He flicked on the lights to reveal a room larger than her last apartment. With shiny appliances, cabinetry lining the walls, and a quaint seating area, this was the type of laundry room celebrities must have in their homes—or at least, that’s what she figured. It almost made ironing and sorting socks sound enticing.