“I actually don’t know how it goes,” Libby replied, looking more and more anxious by the second as they gathered in the first-floor entryway.
Sebastian jumped up and down. “Just look outside. There are people everywhere. They left their cars on the road and walked up,” the boy called, hopping into the sitting area adjacent to the entry. The child plunked himself on the picture window bench and pressed his nose to the glass to peer out at the media circus.
“Sweet Buddha’s belly, that’s a lot of people,” Libby whispered, glancing out one of the windows near the front door.
“It’s an exciting time in the world of boxing,” Briggs began, sounding like a game show host. “The odds are in the Lion’s favor, but it’s very much in flux. Everyone’s scrutinizing this fight, looking for who to put their money on.”
“Money?” Libby breathed.
“Yeah, you know, online gambling and betting on the outcome. It’s part of the whole show. It’s a billion-dollar business,” the agent explained as he hammered out a text, oblivious that the color had drained from Libby’s face.
“What is it, plum?” he whispered.
“I absolutely loathe—”
“Sorry to cut you off, Libby,” Briggs said, nearly vibrating as he pocketed his mobile. “It’s go-time. ESPN and Box Nation arrived.” The sports agent fixed his gaze on the nanny. “Welcome to the big leagues, Miss Lamb.”
Bloody hell, what had Briggs done?
Fourteen
Erasmus
“What do you mean ESPN and Box Nation arrived?” Raz hissed.
“What’s Box Nation?” Libby asked.
“They’re a boxing network that broadcasts in the UK,” he said, answering Libby’s question as he pinned Briggs with his gaze. It was one thing for Briggs to promise a meet and greet with him—he was the professional athlete. But throwing Libby into the fire was unacceptable. Major media outlets meant major, global coverage, and that came with brutal scrutiny. Sure, there was the damn viral video, but putting yourself out there to spar with the media was a whole different animal.
“This is too much, Briggs,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll go out alone.”
“Champ, they want Libby,” Briggs answered. “If you go out there, they’ll wait until they can see her. This way, we’re in control,” the man replied, then let out a self-congratulatory harrumph.
“What’s that for, Briggs?” What did the posh bloke have to be harrumphing about?
“I threw that spiritual advisor mumbo-jumbo together on the fly. It could have flopped. The press could have called our bluff. But no, they’re buying it, and they want more. I quite deserve a pat on the back.”
“For lying to the press?” Libby asked.
Briggs shook his head. “I didn’t lie. I crafted a narrative around an unfortunate set of events. Honestly, Miss Lamb, I thought you might be deranged. What an amazing turn of fate that you’re not completely off your rocker. And, thanks to Sebastian, the press knows that you’ve been using your spiritual yoga skills to help train the Lion.” Briggs beamed, doing a little jig—a bloody jig. The guy was positively buzzing with excitement.
Libby twisted the corner of her curtain scarf nervously. “About the whole spiritual advisor position…”
“Just be yourself, Libby,” Briggs interrupted, “but at the same time, bring your A game. We’ve got major sports media outlets here.”
This was too much.
Raz shook his head. “Briggs,” he hissed, getting in his agent’s face. “Libby didn’t sign up for this. This is my world. This is my fight.”
“Listen, Raz,” the man answered, raising his hands defensively. “I understand, but in this business, you’ve got to be able to pivot at a moment’s notice. That’s what I did after the incident in front of Aug’s gym, and that’s what we have to do now. This was supposed to be a quick photo shoot with you and Aug in your mountain training location. Then your son mentioned a special yoga regimen, and the press glommed on to it—hook, line, and sinker. We need to go with it. I’m sure there are people out there still skeptical about us calling that event outside Aug’s gym a new-age training technique. Today, Libby controls the story. They want her.”
He hated to admit it, but Briggs had a point.
“They’re not expecting me to throw things at Raz, are they?” Libby asked. “I brought the devices with me, but I don’t think it would be appropriate to use them in front of Sebastian. And as we learned back in Denver, it’s a crime to throw sex toys in public. I don’t want to get arrested again.”
Raz’s jaw dropped. “You brought them? You packed sixteen vibrators?”
“I wasn’t about to leave them in Denver,” Libby whispered, wide-eyed. “What if someone found them? What if your grandmother or some of Madelyn’s people saw them? What would they think?”
“I get it. I get it,” Raz conceded.
Briggs waved them off. “It’s no secret that you’ve got them. Astronauts reenacted that scene in space—great exposure, by the way. Masterful PR! Pay-Per-View sales spiked like I’ve never seen. Thanks to the show you put on outside the gym, the championship fight between the Lion and the Snake may be the most-watched TV event ever. And like I said, the online betting alone is astronomical.”
Libby crossed her arms. “Listen, I’m willing to help in whatever way I can, but I won’t go out there and throw vibrators at Raz to improve gambling.”
“We’re not doing that, Briggs,” Raz said, picking up on the shift in Libby’s energy. Her uneasiness had changed to simmering anger.
“Forget throwing things. That’s not even what they want to see. Show them the yoga techniques Sebastian mentioned. That is what you were doing locked in that room, right?”
“Right,” he and Libby chimed in unison.
“Brilliant! Demo that. But only give them a sneak peek. Don’t give too much away. We don’t want Silas Scott’s people to pick up any tips,” the agent added.
Raz pinched the bridge of his nose. This would be a bloody terrific idea, aside from the fact that the special noisy yoga Sebastian announced to the press didn’t even exist.
“About that special yoga regimen I’m implementing with Raz,” Libby began, but Briggs had checked out of the conversation. The man swung open the front door to an onslaught of reporters lobbing questions.
“Raz, what do I do?” she asked, but before he could respond, Briggs gestured for them to exit the house.
They left the confines of the Victorian. Luckily, the porch was enormous, allowing them to hang back in the cover of shade as Briggs addressed the media from the front steps.
“Thank you for waiting so patiently,” the agent crooned. “We don’t want to cut into the champ’s training time too much, but we’re thrilled to give you a taste of the Lion’s mountain training regimen. As you know, Erasmus Cress is taking a multifaceted approach to prepare for the upcoming fight. Working with his longtime trainer, Augie Bimston, and his spiritual advisor and private yogi, Libby Lamb, the Snake, Silas Scott, doesn’t have a chance against London’s Lion. Now enough of me, I give you the Lion and the Lamb,” he announced like a bloody carnival barker.