Page 21 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
As far as he was concerned, women were for fucking and forgetting now. That’s the way it had to be. And it had been that way right up until a pair of amber eyes lassoed his pitiful soul.
Stop.
He stared hard at his mobile, trying to get Libby Lamb out of his head when dots appeared on the screen.
Bloody Nerd Prick Rowen Gale: Regarding your pending nanny situation. I could hack into Madelyn’s phone and see what I could learn. Once I have the nanny’s name, I can hack into her accounts. It would take less than five minutes.
Raz shook his head as more dots appeared, and another text from Rowen flashed on the screen.
Bloody Nerd Prick Rowen Gale: Sorry, Raz. Penny tells me I can’t do that—the hacking part. But we can help you out with the kid camp information.
How did that man survive before he had Penny?
Bloody Music Prick Landon Paige: If we had her name, we could see if she’s in one of my fan clubs. There are over 3.4 million Landon Paige fans worldwide. Just saying…
Bloody Nerd Prick Rowen Gale: Sorry, Landon, Penny again says there will be no hacking into fan clubs. She also says you only have 3.2 million followers.
Bloody Music Prick Landon Paige: I lost followers?!?!
Bloody Chef Prick Mitch Elliott: I’m in the middle of a damned dinner rush, and you guys are texting me about hacking and fan clubs?
Bloody Chef Prick Mitch Elliott: Raz, want me to have a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches sent over to the gym for you and Augie?
Raz emitted a low growl. These bloody American knobs.
Erasmus Cress: It’s a cheese toastie, you culinary wanker.
Bloody Chef Prick Mitch Elliott: My sandwich. My name. What’s the nanny situation?
In any other world, would Erasmus Cress be chatting it up on his mobile like a preteen with a nerd, a chef, and a heartthrob?
No.
Did he like these blokes?
No.
All right, maybe he liked them a bit. There’s something to be said about seeing the change in the men who’d been matched. Did it warrant an Augie-sized eye roll? Yeah, but he understood it—and understood he couldn’t have it. He checked on Aug. The press was still laughing at something the codger had said.
He stared at the screen. He wasn’t about to tell them he was nearly coming out of his skin with anticipation.
Erasmus Cress: No word yet on the nanny.
Dots instantly appeared.
Bloody Chef Prick Mitch Elliott: Be prepared, man. Madelyn sent me on a wild goose chase to find Charlotte, but looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing. She’s made me a better man. You never know—your match could be the match that changes everything.
It was nearly impossible to tell that, a few months ago, Mitch was one of the angriest, hotheaded chaps he’d ever met.
Erasmus Cress: Giving up cooking to write commercials for dating apps, are you, Chef? It must be all that cheese you use on your cheese toasties going to your head.
He’d played it off, but emotion clogged his throat. This nanny would be a nanny. Nothing more and nothing less. There was too much at stake. If he didn’t want to be written off as a loser in the annals of boxing history, he had to regain his focus and find the equilibrium he’d lost. He started to type, telling the men there would be no falling for the help when Aug called to him from across the room.
“Raz, want to stop gawking at titties on your bloody mobile?” Augie gave him a look that said, get your arse in gear, lad. We’re working.
“We have a few minutes left before we need the Lion to get back to his training,” Briggs announced when a reporter raised his hand.
“What about a few questions for the British Beast?” the man called.
