Page 194 of The Nanny and the Heartthrob

Nope.

He wasn’t about to let Vance Vibe call the shots.

The pop tool glanced at the myriad of cameras livestreaming on LookyLoo. He mustered a weak grin and leaned in. “Whatever Harper told you, she lied.”

What a moron! Did he want to leave this place with a limp? Didn’t he realize his nervous blathering was an admission of his guilt?

It was a damned shame Harper didn’t have proof.

“Are you calling my wife a liar?” he growled in a hushed rasp.

“What do we have here, fellas? A little pop star comradery?” Donna crooned. The woman grinned, but concern clouded her gaze.

“We’re…” Vance stammered, but the guy had turned green. He looked almost as bad as the pianist who’d run offstage to puke her guts out.

Clearly, this guy could only perform with a fog machine cranked up to the max and Auto-Tune altering his voice.

It was time to show this poser how a real artist treated an audience and drop a littleProfessional Entertainer 101on the guy.

“I’m letting Vance know what I think of him.”

Vance’s eyes widened.

“On behalf of myself and my wife,” he continued, “I want to congratulate Vance and Barbie on their cookie victory. I’d also like to thank the choir and their families and friends for coming out today to support the community.” He leaned in toward Vance. “Listen and learn, dude. You can’t steal songs and Auto-Tune your way through this industry. That shit will catch up to you.”

Was he being a hypocrite?

Possibly.

Sure, he had secrets he didn’t want the world to know about. But that was personal.

Vance’s offenses and misdeeds were criminal.

The douche’s gaze hardened, but he didn’t reply. It was the first smart choice he’d made all day.

“And a special thanks to the competition’s baking coach, Schuman Sweet, and to Cupid Bakery for sponsoring the contest along with Luxe Media and Entertainment,” Damien added, piggybacking on his sentiments.

The host had barely finished speaking when the rich tones of the rolling arpeggio scale echoed through the space. Progressing from a low rumble to a high-pitched tinkling, the pleasing sound drew the crowd’s attention. The cameras lost interest in him and Vance and zeroed in on the beguiling brunette working her way through a warm-up.

She was going for it.

“Harper…” Vance eked out.

Could this guy not take a hint?

He slung his arm around the pop poser like they were old chums. “Harper, we double-dog dare you to play your version of the song. Don’t we, Mr. Keep Fighting the Good Fight and Vibe On?”

“Um…” Vance stuttered.

“Vibe on, vibe on,” the audience chanted, and holy hell, it felt freaking amazing to hear Vance’s stupid catchphrase used against him.

Harper nodded to the audience, and the chants died down. She removed her quiet cardigan, then tossed him a flirty wink. “We don’t turn down double-dog dares, do we, heartthrob?”

“No, bonbon, we do not,” he answered, bursting with pride.

Even flying high on God knows how many psilocybin micro-dosed lollipops, the woman still kicked ass and took names.

She inhaled a slow breath as her fingertips hovered over the keys.

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