Page 31 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“You didn’t know about the match—about me?”
He was still reeling from that revelation. Sure, Madelyn had sent the email, but he only checked his inbox a few times a day. And what would have happened if he’d seen the matchmaker’s note? Would he have hired Libby to be his son’s nanny? Then again, Libby hadn’t agreed to anything yet, either. Nothing was set in stone. What did he want? He didn’t know. In the last hour, his entire world had been turned upside down.
“Raz?” she whispered, and God help him. He liked hearing her say his name.
Bugger! Get it together.
“Madelyn mentioned she’d found a candidate a few weeks ago. She didn’t say anything about the nanny’s identity. Rowen offered to hack into Madelyn’s mobile to learn more, but Penny wouldn’t let him.”
Libby released a nervous little laugh, then stilled. “It sounds like them.”
“It does,” he replied, studying her face. He forgot what it was like to have this with a woman. Back in school, he and Mere had quite a social circle. Pints at the pub, laughing as they traded stories and gave each other shit. Back in the day, when he didn’t worry about the press or sponsors or titles—back when there was joy, real make-you-smile-the-moment-you-woke-up joy.
Do not go there.
He released a shaky breath. This couldn’t work—not with Libby Lamb. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate with her buzzing around his orbit, wearing form-fitting yoga clothes and those little sports bras. This gold number she had on was already doing a number on him. A bloody twenty-four-seven hard-on would zap his energy before he’d even donned his boxing gloves.
“We don’t want to keep the chief waiting. Not when your freedom hangs in the balance,” Madelyn called, gesturing for them to hurry up.
How did he keep forgetting that good old Mr. Short Cop and Mr. Tall Cop didn’t look keen on letting them bugger off scot-free?
Madelyn knocked on a mahogany door withChief Letitia Ramirezstenciled in bold white letters. “I’m back, Letty.”
Back? What had Madelyn and the chief discussed?
Madelyn opened the door for them to enter. “Go on.”
“Have a seat. I’m Chief Ramirez. I presume you’re Libby Lamb, and you’re Erasmus Cress,” the chief said, pointing to a set of chairs in front of her imposing desk. Letitia Ramirez crossed her arms. With her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, the woman’s sharp, stone-faced demeanor gave nothing away. “You’re fortunate that Madelyn speaks so highly of the two of you. I respect her opinion.” The woman leaned forward. “How about we cut to the chase?”
“Okay,” he answered, anticipation nearly tearing him apart as he shared a look with Libby.
“There is a way to chalk up tonight’s charges as a misunderstanding,” the chief explained, and bloody hell, that was a relief.
“That’s exactly what it was, Chief Ramirez, a misunderstanding,” he answered as Libby nodded. And bugger all, they were in the clear. He’d have to thank his granny Fin for introducing him to Madelyn. The woman and her vast collection of connections were worth her weight in bloody gold.
“And we’re happy to do whatever you ask of us,” Libby added.
“Are you up for volunteering to help the city?” the chief pressed, sharing a look with Madelyn, who stood a few feet away from them, observing closely.
At the mention of volunteering, he couldn’t help but think of Mere.
What would she say if she could see him now?
“Absolutely, we’d be happy to volunteer,” Libby answered, pulling him from his thoughts. He needed to be grateful they were getting off with a bit of community service. He could manage that. Hell, Briggs would probably find a way to publicize it.
“But understand this,” the chief continued, “if you choose to decline the offer, you will be charged and booked.”
“We understand, Chief Ramirez,” he answered.
“Good, then I can give you these.” The chief swiveled in her chair and removed two folded items from the shelf behind her. “You’re officially Denver’sAsinines.”
“Ass in what?” he exclaimed.
What kind of bloody volunteering did this woman want them to do?
“Asinine, like something stupid or foolish?” Libby stammered as Chief Ramirez came from behind her desk and presented them with T-shirts printed with a donkey on the front.
“No, it’sAss-in-Nine,” the woman clarified, without clarifying anything. She spoke slowly as if she were addressing a pair of asinine idiots, which, honestly, she may be doing exactly that because he still had no bloody idea what she was talking about.
