Page 148 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Libby staredinto Raz’s eyes and watched as the realization sank in.
“That’s him?” Raz asked, gesturing with his chin. “That’s one of those Derricks—the fake venture capitalist blokes? The ones betting against me?”
“Yes, and the first thing he asked me to do when I walked into the conference room was to turn around and bend over,” she uttered, the words tasting like dirt. Memories of the sheer mortification of that day flashed through her mind. She seethed, recalling the Derricks’ stupid smug faces—a trio of spoiled bros, toying with the hopes and dreams of young women in the quest to meet hot chicks. The absolute creeps. At least she’d scared the hell out of them with her power of three curse and gong skills. But it didn’t make the humiliation pill any easier to swallow.
“Oh my gosh, Libby! That’s the guy?” Penny asked.
Libby scanned the area around the ring and got another unwelcome surprise. “Yeah, and those guys with their phones out are the other two Derrick bros.” She turned to Raz, expecting to find the man stone-faced or a little ticked off.
Oddly enough, he wasn’t.
He grinned like an idiot, but there was a fire, or perhaps mischief, behind his twinkling eyes.
“Raz?” she said, concentrating on his bizarre expression.
“Yeah, plum?”
“What are you going to do?”
His grin widened. “Charity work.”
What did that mean?
Libby shared a look with Penny and Char. Her friends stood there, wide-eyed, still staring at the Derricks.
“What are the chances?” Charlotte uttered, shaking her head.
“Want me to hurl a spatula at them?” Mitch asked, eyeing the food tents.
“Or I could hack in and ruin their credit or put them on the FBI’s most wanted list,” Rowen offered.
Libby swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You guys know about this, too?”
“We told them, Libbs,” Penny answered. “They were as upset about it as we were.”
“We’re ready to tear these guys apart for you, Libby. Say the word,” Mitch added, craning his neck to investigate another food tent, presumably in search of spatulas.
“Or if you think ruining their credit would be going too easy on them, I can pull out my phone and arrange for them to be sent to a Siberian prison camp,” Rowen added.
Libby’s gaze bounced between Mitch and Rowen. “You guys aren’t fooling around.”
A wicked smile bloomed on Mitch’s lips. “I spied a spatula. There, in the rocky mountain oyster tent.”
“No need for scrotum cooking utensils or high-tech cyber hacking skills, Mr. Nerd and Mr. Spatula-Obsessed Chef,” Raz countered, as cool as a cucumber. “While I’m sure Libby appreciates the sentiment, you, my bloody prick chat mates, can sit this one out. The beefcake can handle it.”
“I told you he called it that,” Rowen said under his breath.
“I call itman chat,” Mitch murmured.
“Do you really?” Rowen asked. “I never thought to name our group text.”
“Yeah, keep it simple, but add an emoji for a little pizazz. I like the middle finger. It’s edgy,” Mitch continued, pulling out his phone.
Libby shook her head. She didn’t have time to focus on the men’s adventures in texting, not with Raz’s statement swirling in the air.
The beefcake can handle it.
It didn’t sit well with her.
