MY ONE AND ONLY (The Youngers #4)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When Carter’s best friend, Anthony Bertram, had suggested that he work on a movie of all things, Carter had thought he was insane.

“I’m a baseball player,” he’d said. “The last thing I wrote was probably some essay in the fifth grade. Also about baseball.”

Anthony had waved his hand dismissively. “You won’t have to write a damn thing. You’ll be playing supervisor, making sure things stay on schedule and on budget. Best of all, it’ll give you something to do now that you’re benched for the season. I was going to do it, but I’m too busy here in Seattle with Thea and the business.”

Carter had told Anthony to go find someone actually qualified. But Anthony had somehow gotten it into his brain that Carter should do the job, and when he’d told Carter he needed someone he could trust at the helm, Carter had given in. Even though Carter’s interest in the movie business was about as high as his interest in the mating habits of sea anemones.

When he’d arrived on Hazel Island yesterday morning to begin the job, he’d expected to be bored out of his mind and wishing to get back to playing ball within a week.

But now, Carter was having too much fun pissing off this gorgeous little blond spitfire. Seeing her sputter in shock after she’d found out his identity was the most hilarious thing he’d experienced in a long time.

Lucy—that was her name. It fit her, Carter thought. With her pointy chin and blazing green eyes, she looked like some elfin creature he’d find deep in the woods. At the moment, her color was high, and she seemed close to punching somebody. That only made Carter smile wider.

“Are you—no, are you sure?” stammered Lucy as she shot a glance at Pamela. “Is this a joke?”

“He’s the executive producer,” hissed Pamela before she said to Carter, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Roberts. Lucy has had a long day. I’m sure she’s horribly sorry for how rude she’s been.”

Lucy didn’t look the least bit sorry this time, either, and Carter had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He wasn’t normally the type of guy to needle a pretty girl like this, but something about the way she’d put her hands on her hips and told him to eat s**t earlier had intrigued him.

Lucy visibly swallowed as she kept looking from Pamela to Carter. “I’m so sorry,” she croaked. “I didn’t realize.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

She squared her shoulders, muttered an apology, and promptly stalked off.

Carter wasn’t mad that she was walking away: it gave him a great view of her ass, nice and round in her tight jeans.

“Mr. Roberts, I’m so sorry,” said Pamela. Her hands fluttered in front of her like wild birds. “I’ll talk to Lucy. I don’t know how she didn’t recognize you, but she would never have talked to you like that otherwise. But that’s no excuse. I’m so sorry—”

Carter held up a hand. “It’s fine. Like you said, she didn’t recognize me.”

Before Pamela could launch into another apologetic speech, Carter left to follow Lucy. He didn’t know why he felt the need to continue to needle her.

Maybe because he’d been bored ever since he’d gotten benched after his shoulder injury. Without baseball, Carter had been set adrift, his life coming to a standstill. Not even women, parties, booze, or money could take the place of baseball in his life, no matter how much he’d partaken of all of those things.

When his good friend Anthony Bertram had asked Carter to be an executive producer for a movie he was funding, Carter had thought Anthony was losing his mind. Anthony had once been the billionaire CEO of Bertram, Sons and Co. and was now the millionaire founder of Goldfinch Press with his girlfriend Thea, so he knew a thing or two about running business ventures. That fact had only confused Carter further—why him?

What did Carter know about movies besides the fact that he liked watching them, preferably the ones that were rated R for “scenes of a s****l nature”? Nothing. He knew nothing. Anthony, though, had persuaded him to come to tiny Hazel Island for the summer to, in his words, “get off his ass and do something useful.”

Carter still didn’t know why he’d agreed to do the stupid thing. Maybe because Anthony had kept looking at him with pity in his eyes. I know you’re unhappy about getting benched, his oldest friend had said, but that doesn’t mean you can sit around moping forever.

Carter had responded that he hadn’t been moping. He’d simply been at a loss how to proceed. Carter had been playing ball since he was a child, and now, at the age of twenty-nine, the thought of not playing was simply unthinkable.

It didn’t take long for Carter to catch up with Lucy. She stopped in front of the steps to her trailer and turned. “Why are you following me?” she demanded. She was still flushed, her feathers still very ruffled. Carter wanted to ruffle those feathers with his own hands.

“I’m not sure your apology was sincere,” he said. At her look of dismay, he barely suppressed a laugh. “I’m not the one who mouthed off at an executive producer, you know.”

Lucy swallowed. “Please accept my apology, Mr. Roberts,” she said meekly. She wrung her hands in distress.

Oh, she was good. A consummate little actress, this spitfire girl. She knew her stuff.

“You’re good, you know. I’ve dated plenty of actresses, but you’re one of the best I’ve seen give an apology.”

Lucy’s meek expression turned to anger in half a second, effectively proving Carter’s theory correct. He grinned.

“You know, I’ve never been on a movie set,” said Carter, “but from what I understand, it’s not usually the executive producers who get coffee for the actors. Unless you’re some big Oscar winner. Are you an Oscar winner, Ms. Younger?”

Lucy whirled on him. “In case you were wondering, I’m not sorry for what I did. You’re the most pompous, arrogant—”

“That’s redundant.”

“—irritating jackass I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, and despite what you say, I’m not afraid of you.”

That made Carter raise an eyebrow. “Why should you be afraid of me?”

“Men like you are all the same. You think women exist for your own amusement.”

“You don’t know anything about me, little spitfire.”

She bristled at the nickname. “I don’t have time for this.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Lucy raised her pointed chin, her lip quivering slightly. Carter suddenly wondered what that mouth would feel like against his own.

“Are you going to fire me?” she asked.

“However tempting that would be,” drawled Carter, “I’m too lazy to go find a new actress and make Jim reshoot everything we’ve already done.”

“You’re a baseball player. What are you even doing here?”

Carter didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to tell Lucy that.

I’m bored. I’m lost. I’m nobody without baseball.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to tell her any of those things.

He shrugged. “Call it expanding my repertoire.”

Her green eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and Carter barely restrained himself from squirming underneath that assessing gaze. It was shrewd, distrustful, yet underneath it lurked curiosity.

Lucy’s eyes widened with realization. “You’re that baseball player.”

“So you have heard of me.” Triumph filled him.

He should’ve expected her claws, considering how he’d been playing with her. He should have, but when her claws sank below the surface, it still hurt.

“Last I heard, you were benched. So, is producing movies what all washed-up baseball players do in their spare time?”

Carter knew he deserved that. He knew, and yet he found himself smarting from the hurt anyway.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Lucy sniffed. “You’re right—I don’t. And I have no intention of finding out anything else about you.” She peered more closely at him. “What’s your game? You don’t even know me. I don’t know you. Don’t you have fancy executive producer things to do?”

He shrugged. “Not at the moment. I was going to head back to the bed-and-breakfast, maybe go for a run. This is more entertaining.”

“I’m not here to entertain you.”

“But here you are, entertaining me.”

Lucy lifted her chin. “I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing. I have things to do. Lines to learn. You know, what I was hired to do.”

Carter didn’t know why he didn’t let her flounce away in a huff. Was it boredom, or something else? Attraction, boredom—a distraction. Not thinking about how his career was still up in the air, and if his orthopedic surgeon didn’t clear him to play, he’d have to give up professional baseball for good.

“I’m not playing anything,” said Carter innocently. “You’re the one getting defensive over a simple conversation.”

He could practically see the steam coming from her ears. “Who in the world hired you?” she said.

“Anthony Bertram.” At Lucy’s widening eyes, he added, “You know the name?”

“I mean, of course I do. He’s funding this project.”

Lucy wouldn’t look him in the eye as she said that, which made Carter suspicious. Not that Anthony would ever cheat on Thea: Carter had seen the two lovebirds together, and they were nauseatingly happy. But he couldn’t help but wonder why Lucy seemed cagey suddenly.

“Cat got your tongue now?” said Carter.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to go work. You know, that thing people do to earn money?”

“Never heard of such a thing,” he drawled.

Lucy’s blond ponytail bounced as she walked away from him into her trailer, shutting the door with a slam that made Carter grin, despite wanting to yank on that ponytail a moment prior.

He didn’t know how this woman managed to bring out the elementary school boy inside him. He wanted to pull on her hair and make her run after him, screaming that she’d get her revenge.

What Carter had once thought would be a boring waste of summer was suddenly becoming more interesting by the minute.

“Carter!” said Jim as Carter was about to enter his own trailer. “I want to talk to you.”

Carter couldn’t stand Jim Stanton, and he knew that feeling was entirely mutual. Jim had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas that Carter had gotten this job solely through nepotism, something that Jim had told Carter point-blank during their second conversation.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you since yesterday. We finally cast our lead actor,” said Jim, his beady eyes glowing under his glasses.

Carter waited for Jim’s point with impatience.

“We managed to get Hayden Masterson.” Normally recalcitrant and irritable, Jim looked like he wanted to burst into song right then. “I can’t believe it either. It took a lot of finagling, but he’s going to be here within the next week.”

“That’s great,” said Carter with little enthusiasm. “Congrats.”

“I want you to be the one to welcome him.” Jim said the words like he wished he could take them back. “Since you’re both Hollywood people, you know.”

“I’m a ballplayer, not an actor.”

“You’re both famous. Same difference. Hayden needs to feel like this is a real movie set, not some indie bullshit. You got me?”

Carter didn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Smiling grimly, he replied, “You got it, Jimbo.”

Hayden Masterson—of course it would be him. Carter didn’t know the actor well, but a few years back, Hayden had gotten to know Carter’s girlfriend at the time very well. Carter had been dating Rosie for three months—practically a decade for Carter—before she’d run off with Hayden, texting Carter with a brief sorry but not sorry message that had included three sad emojis to add insult to injury.

Carter hadn’t been in love with Rosie. Considering it had been three years ago, he hardly remembered what she’d looked like. But it was the principle of the thing: having something that was yours stolen out from under your nose was unsupportable. To make things worse, the tabloids had caught onto the scandal, and it had exploded across social media. It was only when some other famous actress had gotten caught doing h****n that the public had finally looked away from Carter’s humiliation and Rosie’s perfidy.

Carter gritted his teeth. Oh, he’d show Hayden Masterson a great time. And knowing Jim, he knew about his and Hayden’s history and had asked him to be Hayden’s tour guide just to be petty.

Carter wasn’t new to people trying to tear him down or watch him sweat. He’d been drafted into the major leagues at the age of twenty-one and had held his own. He’d had to deal with jealous fellow players who’d wanted a kid like him to fail.

Hayden was merely a bug Carter would squash—and he’d enjoy doing it, too.