Third Strike's the Charm

by Nicci Carrera

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Nicci Carrera

  Third Strike’s the Charm

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “I found out I couldn’t go back to the majors the day of Maya’s wedding.”

  She remembered his anger, the way he stormed off, how hurt she’d been at the time. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.” That news made Maya’s wedding day one of the worst of his life. “I had no idea.”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted to tell you. I was in a really bad state of mind that day. I acted like such a jerk.”

  Her heart constricted. “The whole kiss thing was an accident, and I made it worse by not sorting it out right away. Now to find out you had that awful news hanging over your head makes me feel even worse.”

  He frowned. “I overreacted.”

  “Well, it’s understandable now.”

  He cleared his throat, meeting her gaze. “Now that we have that cleared up, are you seeing someone?”

  Did he want to try again? Her heart gave an inappropriate little bump. Remember your MBA, your new job. And remember how many times Jason disappointed you. “No. I’m not seeing anyone. I need to get my career settled before I think about anything like that.”

  He frowned, and then nodded.

  Praise for Nicci Carrera

  Nicci’s debut novel LOVE CATERS ALL

  was a finalist in the Contemporary Novel category

  of the International Digital Awards, 2015.

  ~*~

  “I would very much recommend this book to any Contemporary Romance lovers. Anyone who loves the mismatch combination of the corporate world with a culinary world would also love this.”

  ~Long & Short Reviews

  ~*~

  “Sweet, spicy and just plain fun reading, LOVE CATERS ALL is the perfect read for a warm sandy beach or a cold winter night curled up by the fireplace. Nicci Carrera’s style is wicked good, as she takes her readers into the world she has created, with vivid imagery, bold pen strokes and characters that you cannot help but fall in love with.”

  ~Tome Tenders

  ~*~

  “I would recommend it to readers who want a light, fun read.”

  ~Coffee Time Romance & More

  Third Strike’s

  the Charm

  by

  Nicci Carrera

  The Lobster Cove Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Third Strike’s the Charm

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Nicci Carrera

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0687-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0688-9

  The Lobster Cove Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Mom.

  Prologue

  Cara Cruz thrust her fingers over the champagne flute to block the waiter from pouring a refill.

  Beside her, Jason raised his glass. “What will you use for the toasts?”

  The clink of silverware and dishes punctuated the swells and troughs of eighty wedding guests conversing at once. Cara swirled the few sips of golden bubbly in the glass. “I have enough. This way I don’t accidentally keep drinking.”

  Jason grinned. “Had a bit too much?”

  Cara shook her head. At least the gesture didn’t make the room spin this time. “Maybe.”

  Cara’s twin sister’s date arrived at the table, looked at Blanca, and said, “That was one hot kiss, baby.”

  “What are you talking about?” Blanca said, dark eyebrows raised.

  Luke’s blue eyes were quizzical behind his glasses. “You know, by the kitchen.”

  “I wasn’t by the kitchen.” Blanca turned to study Cara. The pale sheath fit Blanca exactly the same way it fit Cara. Their eyeshadow and lipstick shades were identical for the wedding. No wonder Luke, new to the family, had mistaken Cara for his date earlier. Cara’s first mistake was not correcting him. Blanca’s dark brows drew together in understanding, and her eyes narrowed in anger.

  Cara opened her mouth to speak, but Jason shoved back his chair. He glowered down at her. “I can’t believe you did that. We’re done.” He marched away.

  Oh crap. Cara’s gaze followed Jason out of the room then moved to her sister. Her stomach sank. Her life sucked.

  Chapter One

  One Year Later

  “That’s just like Kickstarter,” said Jack Pratt, the venture capitalist listening to Cara’s presentation.

  She’d heard about Jack Pratt’s famous comments. Taking a deep breath, Cara spoke. “No it isn’t. This is personality based, using big data to mine social media streams of prominent venture capitalists. The software analyzes what they’re putting out there then determines their traits through proprietary analysis. Then we have the proposers take a battery of personality tests and match them to the ideal VC to make their pitch. Because my research has determined the probability of making a successful pitch goes up when there’s a personality match.”

  Pratt scowled. “Oh, Jane you ignorant slut.”

  Jane? “My name’s not Jane.” What the heck was going on? Was this guy as big of an ass as she’d heard? It sure seemed like it.

  “You don’t have an f-ing clue. You think from analyzing my f-ing posts you can predict my personality? You don’t know f-all.”

  The auditorium was completely quiet. The only sound was her heartbeat pounding in her head. Everyone was waiting for her reaction.

  Jack Pratt wore a smug self-satisfied expression as though he expected to create something useful from the multiple F-bombs he dropped. He didn’t create anything. He just tore people down. Rage burned through her.

  Her vision narrowed to a small circle filled with the man’s face. “It wouldn’t require big data to figure out your personality, Mr. Pratt. Five minutes of listening to you tells me you’re stupid because you have no vocabulary and have to rely on profanity to express yourself. You don’t even know how to use the F-word properly in a sentence.”

  Pratt’s suntan faded to an oatmeal shade. His glittery eyes behind the expensive glasses narrowed to slits. “Do you know who I am?” His voice was menacing.

  Cara’s back went rigid as she folded her arms. “Oh yes, Mr. Pratt. The question is, do you? Do you know what your name means in England?”

  The VC sitting next to him, a Brit, chuckled.

  Pratt surged to his feet. “What are y
ou talking about, you moron?”

  With a shake of her head, Cara said, “I’ll get to that, but first let me finish what I was saying. You have no class and no insight into what would make a great company. Do you think that having a mediocre exit from a second-rate company, slipping on a banana peel, and landing in the most successful startup ever, somehow qualifies you as an expert?”

  A rush of red painted Pratt’s face. Titters emanated from the audience. A frown announced Professor Ortiz’s disapproval. Her advisor’s demeanor gave Cara pause. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She fought to regain her temper.

  Pratt rose from his chair in the front row. He took two steps toward the stage. “Girl, I can guarantee you’ll never see a dime from anyone in venture capital after today. Ever.”

  “You think I want anything from you, Mr. Jack Spratt Pratt? You and your fat cat friends—by the time you’re done with the company there’s nothing left for the founder, the employees, or anyone else because you’ve licked the plate clean.”

  Professor Ortiz rose and spoke in the strong clear voice of a seasoned teacher to the room at large. “I think it’s best if we call a stop to this.” He pivoted to face the stage, his tall gawky frame reminding her, for a split second, of a crane. For a bizarre moment she had to stifle a laugh. As he registered the twitch of her mouth, the expression in his hawkish eyes changed from stern to furious. “Cara,” a second elapsed during which her name uttered in a baritone blast settled into the echoing silence, “my office in ten minutes.”

  Professor Ortiz wheeled and strode from the theater.

  ****

  Cara paused at the entry of her advisor’s office. Professor Ortiz was bent over his desk. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window behind him, forming a soft halo around his silver hair.

  “Hello, Cara. Please come in.” His bushy eyebrows and thick unruly hair added a slightly comical counterpoint to intelligent brown eyes and stern demeanor.

  She took a seat, wiping her palms on her skirt. She was so close to getting her MBA, and yet, despite the warnings about Pratt, she’d lost her temper with the awful venture capitalist. The man was a bully, but she was the one who let emotions derail her career.

  “So,” Professor Ortiz said, “that was quite the blow up.” The edges of his lips twitched. “Although I do like the names you called him. But that isn’t the point. You failed.”

  Two years of grad school, and she flubbed the last test. Tears clutched at her throat.

  The professor’s eyes softened. “This happens all the time, Cara. The reason we have these venture capitalists on the panel, including Mr. Pratt, is because you need to be able to present to these types of people. Our grads with the entrepreneurial emphasis need to be able to get funding, and that means presenting to VCs, who can be very confrontational.”

  Even if she could think of something to say in her own defense, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Bad enough to flunk out one presentation away from her goal—crying in front of her advisor would really put the cherry on top.

  Professor Ortiz let out a sigh. “You aren’t the first student to react that way, Cara. I wish the makeup presentation could retest you on these skills, but you’re now expecting confrontation. Without the element of surprise, we won’t know if you can keep your cool under pressure.”

  Did Professor Ortiz just say something about a second chance? “M-makeup presentation?”

  Crows-feet lines formed around his kind eyes as he smiled. “Like I said, you aren’t the first student to react the way you did to Jack Pratt.”

  “How many others have failed?”

  “The test you must pass isn’t statistical analysis.” His brows drew together in a stern expression, but his eyes still sparkled.

  He didn’t want her to know how many students were having trouble with the exam, but she wasn’t alone. Cara breathed in the comforting scent from the many books lining the walls.

  “Go home,” Professor Ortiz said, “get some rest over the summer. Don’t study. Come back in September and do the makeup presentation.”

  She pulled her dry lips between her teeth to moisten them. She needed water, but first she needed to get through this ordeal, make sure she did what was needed to pass. “I start the job in Chicago in September. At least, I do if they still want me.”

  “The presentation will be before your September start date. You’ll have your degree. They’ll still want you.” He leaned back, making his chair creak. “Where’s home?”

  “Lobster Cove, Maine.”

  “Sounds nice. If that’s a place where you can relax, go there, rest, and come back fresh in September, ready to present a viable business plan to a panel of professors. Unlike the VCs, they won’t be able to fund your idea even if they like it, but you just need to pass.”

  ****

  Cara flew home the next day. By the time her feet landed on Mount Desert Island, she knew her advisor was right, she needed a break. And she needed to devote this summer to having fun, which meant spending a lot of time with her BFF, Francie Ward, who just happened to be Jason’s mom.

  The Ward house smelled so good. The back patio door stood open, letting in the forest and herb-garden fragrances. The sun had moved higher in the sky and slanted through the blinds on the south side, filling the living room with light.

  Cara settled Francie in her wheelchair. “Are you ready?”

  “You bet.” Francie’s blue eyes sparkled from behind cat-eye reading glasses.

  Cara pressed a finger to Francie’s shoulder. “No, you bet. I just drive you to the poker game.”

  Francie gave a saucy shake of her head. “Give me some seed money, and I’ll double it for you.”

  Cara folded her arms and raised her chin in mock disapproval. “I’ve never gambled, and I don’t plan to start now.”

  Francie’s outrageously red-painted lips parted in a smile. “See? You’re perfect for Jason. He doesn’t approve of gambling.”

  “Oh, I approve. I’m just afraid to lose money!”

  “The poker game’s just for fun.”

  “The bets are taken quite seriously, I believe.”

  Francie sniffed as though insulted. “Of course they are. But I usually win. Now let’s get going before Jason comes home.”

  A smile tugged at Cara’s lips. “The less Jason knows the better.” Sneaking around was at least half the fun for Francie, who was a wild-child at heart. Fortunately multiple sclerosis hadn’t dimmed her spirit. “When’s he due home, anyway?”

  “Five.”

  “That gives us a couple hours. Let’s roll.” Cara took hold of the chair handles and pushed Francie toward the door.

  “I know why I’m dodging Jason right now. But why are you avoiding my son?”

  Cara stared down at Francie’s impertinent head, which was topped with teased red hair. “I’m not avoiding him. I’ve only been home a couple days. Plus I saw him at Christmas.”

  “Only because we celebrated the holidays together with your family. Even then you two managed to avoid spending any time together.”

  There was nothing Cara could say. Francie had been at the wedding, even if she didn’t know the details.

  “I just don’t get it,” Francie continued. “You two belong together.”

  “Yeah, just like oil and water.”

  “I was going to say vinegar. That can make a lovely dressing, you know.” Francie said this last bit in a singsong voice.

  “Only for a few minutes after shaking.” Yeah, that pretty much summed up Cara’s relationship with Jason Ward. “Are you calling me vinegar?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Cara laughed. “Thanks a lot!”

  “You know I’m always honest, dear.”

  Cara snorted.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Francie adopted an innocent tone.

  “If you’re honest, then I’m the Pope!” It was so good to have fun again.

  “Let’s get a move on.”

  Cara
eased the wheelchair down the ramp just as Jason’s pickup truck rounded the bend.

  “Oh, drat.”

  Cara’s pulse quickened.

  “Let’s pretend we’re coming back from a walk.”

  “Okay.” That would work. Sort of. Cara turned Francie around and pushed her back up the ramp. She managed to get Francie in her easy chair before the front door opened.

  “Hey, Cara. Mom.”

  Cara couldn’t see Jason from her vantage point. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floors, and he appeared in the opening between the dining and living rooms. Her breath hitched.

  A T-shirt showed off his muscular tanned arms and hung loosely over faded jeans. His dusky hair was in need of a cut, his green eyes sexy as ever. “Hey, Cara.”

  “Hi, Jason.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing!” Francie said, blue eyes wide and innocent, which made her look guilty.

  Cara tried for a light and casual tone. “Oh, we just came back from a walk.”

  “It was really nice,” Francie chirped. “Sunny, with just a few clouds.”

  He stared at his mom. “Uh…yeah. When did you get home?”

  Cara jumped in. “Yesterday.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you. Wait—Home for good?”

  Ah, redirect worked. “No.”

  His brows drew together. “Oh.”

  Was that a good oh or a bad oh? He didn’t sound happy she’d be leaving again soon, yet he was the one to storm out on her last time. Well, best to leave the past where it was. “How’ve you been?”

  Jason shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  “Why don’t you two chat?” Francie seemed to have missed the fact that their conversation had ground to a halt. “I’m going to go get some rest.”

  “Are you tired, Mom?” Jason fell for Francie’s ploy to give them alone time and helped her to her wheelchair.

  “I’m heading home,” Cara scooted toward the door.

  “Why the rush?”

  Jason was back in the hallway. Francie could still do quite a lot and must have shooed him away, no doubt wanting to push the two of them together.

  “Oh, not a rush, really. I just came over to visit your mom. Wasn’t planning to stay long.”