Page 88 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“It’s just…stuck. We’ll try to open it from our side. Now, what’s going on outside?” he asked, finally able to speak.
“I told you already, Dad. There are a bunch of people here.”
It could be that Maud woman who’d left the note, but why would she have a bunch of people with her? A jolt of anxiety rocketed through his body. Bloody Briggs had sent a slew of emails withRickety RockPR Eventswritten in the subject line.
Had he bothered to open them? No, and that was a decision he was beginning to regret.
“And what are they asking for, Sebastian?” he called, waiting, trying to get a handle on what the hell was going on outside. He held his breath. A thousand bloody lives could have been lived in the few seconds it took for the boy to answer.
“They’re asking for—”
“For me?” he interrupted.
“No, Dad, they want Libby.”
Thirteen
Erasmus
What in thebloody hell was going on?
“Who would want to speak with me? I don’t know a soul in this town,” Libby said with a crease to her brow as he set her down.
That was his question, too.
“They asked for Libby, you’re sure?” he called to his son on the other side of the door.
“Yeah, Dad, that’s what I said. I decided to check out the barn since it sounded like you and Libby were busy doing noisy yoga, and I didn’t want to bother you. And when I opened the front door, I saw the people with the cameras.”
Cameras?
“One posh guy knew my name,” Sebastian continued. “He said, ‘Hello, Sebastian.’ And I said, hello, posh bloke, if you want my dad and Libby, you’ll have to wait because they’re busy doing noisy yoga, or they could be doing noisy tummy yoga because my dad farted in the car. And yoga helps if you’ve got a sour belly.”
Bloody hell.
“Want me to tell them that you’re coming?” Sebastian asked.
Libby gasped.
What was wrong now—aside from completely losing themselves in frenzied passion.
“What is it, plum?”
She ran her hands through her tangle of hair, working to fix her now lopsided ponytail. “If there’s press here,” she said, lowering her voice, “I don’t think you want your son to run onto the porch to tell them we’re upstairs, locked in a bedroom, doing noisy yoga, andcoming.”
She was right!
He cleared his throat. “Sebastian?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“No matter what you do, do not go outside and say that I’m coming with Libby.”
“Well, Dad, who else would you be coming with?” the child lobbed back.
This had to stop.
“Want me to see if any of the people outside can help open the door? Maybe that posh guy?” the boy offered.
