Chapter 4 - The Chaos on the Carpet
Clara tried to say something between breathless gaspings.
It might have been “stop.”
It might have been “help me.”
Nobody in the room could understand a word she was saying over the noise.
Every time she managed to sit up, holding her hair out of her eyes, one of the twins immediately launched himself back onto the carpet beside her.
All three of them burst into another wave of wild laughter.
Oliver rolled onto his side, clutching his small stomach because he was laughing too hard to stand up.
Then, a few seconds later, he scrambled right back into position, his small hands grasping Clara's blue dress sleeve, ready for another round.
Arthur stood in the doorway, incapable of moving a single muscle.
His mind was completely overwhelmed by the sensory overload.
The businessman inside him—the man who spent twelve hours a day calculating risks, managing liabilities, and enforcing order—immediately started analyzing the physical scenario.
Possible minor injuries.
Potential hospital visits.
Medical liability expenses.
The statistical probability that a young, petite nanny might actually survive being physically tackled by two hyperactive four-year-old toddlers.
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Then Clara looked up.
Her warm hazel eyes locked directly onto his.
