“Hey, Wil. It’s me. I can’t talk right now, but I think my brother is playing a huge joke on me. Just in case he’s not, I want someone to know that a driver showed up at my office to take me to Carlos Bradley’s house. The story is he wants me to decorate it.”
“What?”
“I know.” Virginia shook her head. “It’s unbelievable. But if I don’t call you back by eight tonight, call the police.”
“Don’t get in that car, girl. It could be because I write murder mysteries for a living that I’m crazy paranoid, but I wouldn’t do it.”
“I really think Asa’s up to something. He called me yesterday right before all this started. He wanted me to come home. I’m wondering what it is.”
“He wants you home? Okay. Go, but you better call me long before eight.”
Willa was smart, the calm, sensible counterpart to Virginia’s adventurous nature. “Okay. I’ll call you after each leg of the trip.”
“Each leg? Where the hell are you going?”
“I think I might be headed to Hideaway Island.”
* * *
Carlos sat just outside his front door waiting to see if the interior designer actually showed up. He could have waited in his house for her, but curiosity about the woman he’d had the strangest conversation of his life with had driven him outdoors.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just sat outside and let the sun beat down on his back. It had probably been the last time he was on the field, the same day he’d got hurt. He had spent so much of his life outside, smelling Astroturf, sweat and dirt, hearing thousands of fans cheer whenever he stepped up to bat. But it had all ended abruptly. Surgery, rehab, recovery. No fields, no fans, no career. It didn’t seem as if it made much sense for him to go outside anymore. But this morning the air-conditioning inside had become too much for him. The stuffy, too-chilled air had made him feel a little choked, so he’d escaped outside, sitting on the stone steps that led to his front door.
He had to admit that the heat felt good, the sun felt good, and the air, even though it wasn’t dirt, sweat and grass scented the way he was used to, smelled sweet to him. Like ocean air. Like summer. He might still be sitting in his bedroom trying to block the sun out if it weren’t for his siblings and the crazy designer who didn’t believe he’d called her.
He could have hung up, called around, hired somebody else who had a better résumé. It would have been a hell of a lot less trouble. But there was something about Virginia’s voice on the phone, something about her warm laughter that made him want to meet her. If for nothing more than to put a face to the woman who’d told him she wanted to squeeze his butt.
People didn’t talk to him like that. At least, not to his face, and he found that intriguing.
A black town car pulled up. Its windows were down, revealing the passenger in the backseat. Carlos couldn’t see her features clearly but he could see that her skin was just a shade lighter than milk chocolate and her hair was in wild thick curls.
The car then came to a stop, the woman scrambling out before the driver could reach her. She was pretty. Beautiful, really, but in an earthy unglamorous way that he wasn’t used to. She wore a long, light pink dress with big flowers, and it bared her pretty shoulders and hugged her curvy body in all the right places. Her skin looked smooth and sun kissed. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone more polished. Not a woman staring up at his house with eyes wide and her mouth open.
He stood up, walking down the steps to meet her. She hadn’t seemed to notice him until that moment. Her eyes snapped to his face. Beautiful almond-shaped eyes with thick lashes. As he stepped closer he could see that her face was clean of makeup, her cheekbones were sharp, but her face wasn’t thin. Nice didn’t seem like a good enough word, but she was nice to look at. Like somebody he could spend hours observing and never get tired of the image.
“Holy crap. It is you.” She surprised him by touching his arm; not just touching it, but wrapping her fingers around his biceps. “Wow, that’s hard.” She took her hand away and he found immediately that he missed the contact. It had been so long since he had been touched. “You’re real, right? I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. You’re really Carlos Bradley, and you really wanted me to decorate your house.”
“You thought I was lying?”
She slowly closed her eyes as a flush spread over her face. “I thought my twin brother was playing a huge joke on me.”
“You have a twin?”
“Yes, Asa. I called him last night promising retribution. He probably thinks I’m a nutcase. You probably think I’m a nutcase.”
“I do. But I have twin siblings, so I understand.”
She opened her eyes, looking thoroughly embarrassed and really kind of adorable. “Thank you for being understanding. If you could be so kind as to point me toward the ocean.”
“It’s behind the house.”
“Great.” She stepped away from him. “If you need me, I’ll just be drowning myself in it.”
He grabbed her shoulders and for a moment his thoughts stopped. Her skin was as soft as it looked, and she smelled good. Something faintly sweet but not perfumed. She smelled like something he would love to bury his face in and inhale. “You can’t drown yourself yet. There’s a basket filled with Swiss chocolates waiting inside for you.”
She placed her hands over her face, her voice coming out muffled. “Oh, please tell me you don’t have a basket of chocolates waiting inside. I said so many things to you. So many stupid, stupid things.”
“You called me a sexy shortstop with a squeezable ass.”
She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
He pulled her hands away from her face. “Look at me, Ms. Andersen.”
She shook her head, her eyes still shut. “Call me Virginia. After all I’ve said to you I think you’ve more than earned the right to call me by my first name.”
“Open your eyes.” He was touching her, he had just met her and yet he had her hands in his. He knew he should drop them, but he wanted to see her eyes again.
“I don’t want to.”
* * *
This had to be a dream. It had to be. Stuff like this just didn’t happen to her. She didn’t arrive in chauffeured cars or ride in private jets. Especially not for work. She was usually chauffeuring people around. She had even picked up Mrs. Westerfield at the airport on a few occasions. But now she was standing in front of the biggest house she had ever seen, with America’s favorite baseball player holding on to her hands. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Because when she did, she would have to come face-to-face with the fact that she had just blown the opportunity at the job of a lifetime.
“It’s hot out here,” Carlos said. “Come inside.”
She opened her eyes then, and there he was. Mr. MVP. He was
