by Jamie Pope
It wasn’t her job.
And when her parents called to see what she was working on—and they always wanted to know what she was working on—she wanted to tell them she was using her eye for design and color to decorate beautiful homes, not picking up dog mess.
It was important to her that she prove to her parents that she was successful, or at least supporting herself in a lifestyle that they saw fit. Her father was a high-ranking military official, and her mother was a mathematics professor at an Ivy League college back in her home state of New Jersey. They’d had big plans for their twins.
But none of them included being an almost starving artist, and that was just what Virginia had been before she’d opened her design firm. Moving from state to state, chasing boyfriend after artistic boyfriend and painting. Some of her pieces had sold for big bucks, but it was never enough for her parents. They’d never understand her need to splash colors onto a blank canvas. They were too practical to see how a painting on a wall could bring someone joy.
And while they would have much rather had her be an actuary or an engineer, they’d never denied her the opportunity to learn about the things she loved. She had a bachelor of fine arts in painting with a minor in interior design and a master’s degree in art history. She was educated, just like any child of Colonel and Dr. Andersen should be, and they felt she should have a job suited to that education.
She’d been all ready to ignore her parents’ wishes and follow her heart, until her heart had led her here to Miami. She had come here at the request of her last boyfriend. Burcet, a beautiful Moroccan man with striking bronzed skin and long, wavy black hair, had grown up in France and spoke the most perfect French. He was a sculptor, passionate about his work and incredibly sweet and sensitive.
She had followed him when he’d told her he was going to get his big break, asking her to support his dreams, promising that once he hit it big he would return the favor. But after six months here he had disappeared, leaving a goodbye note taped to her microwave, never telling her why he left, just saying that he couldn’t be his true self with her.
That was when she’d taken a long hard look at her life. She’d been twenty-eight then, sleeping on a mattress in an un-air-conditioned studio apartment because she’d wanted to live the bohemian-artist lifestyle. And because she’d thought she was in love. But what had she had to show for it?
Absolutely nothing but the thoughts her parents had put in her mind about coming back home and getting a sensible job and leading a sensible life.
But sensible meant boring to her. So she’d taken her savings and her design degree and decided to do something meaningful. She’d opened a design firm. But for the past year she’d only had a few high-paying jobs in Miami’s crowded market. Most of her clients of late were the little elderly ladies who lived in Mrs. Westerfield’s condo complex. And while she enjoyed doing neoclassic dining rooms, she wanted a project that she could really sink her teeth into. She’d only had a couple of those and she was afraid there weren’t going to be many more in her future. If things didn’t pick up, she was going to have move back home and get that practical job her parents were always suggesting. Her mother had an in at a university. Virginia could be teaching bored college freshman Art History 101 by fall. All she had to do was say the word. All she had to do was go home with her tail tucked between her legs.
But she didn’t want that. She wanted a career where she could be creative. Where she could be in charge of her own path.
The phone on her desk rang and she jumped. Mrs. Westerfield had her cell phone number, so it couldn’t be her. Her heart lifted at the thought of a new client. “Andersen Interiors. How can I help you today?”
“I’ve got a German shepherd that needs to be taken to the vet. Are you available?”
“Shut up, Asa,” she said to her twin brother, but she smiled as she said it. Her brother was the only one who really understood her because he’d been raised by the same parents with the same expectations.
He chuckled. “What’s going on with you today, Gin? I called your cell but it went to voice mail.”
“That’s because I took Mrs. Westerfield to get a pedicure and had to shut off my phone.”
“You took her to get a pedicure?”
“Yup. She wanted me there to help her pick out a color. One that went with her manicure but not one that matched exactly. Coordination is in, matching is out, apparently. Then, this afternoon she called me back and fed me excellent chicken salad and lemonade while we looked at drapes. She’s tired of the ones in her bedroom. In fact, she’s tired of her bedroom, period, and would either like a Paris in the twenties theme or a hard-bodied man to shake things up.” She doodled a sketch on a piece of paper as she spoke to him. “You keep yourself in good shape, why don’t you truck yourself down here and make yourself useful?”
“No, thanks. Why do you work for her anyway?”
“Because, believe it or not, I like her and she pays me for my time. I told her she didn’t have to anymore, but she says she’s rich and she can’t take it with her, and she likes having a decorator on retainer. Plus she feeds me. She’s taking gourmet cooking classes and she tries all her new recipes out on me.”
“Sounds as if she’s keeping active in her old age.”
“I want to be her when I grow up,” Virginia told him, meaning it. “She’s going on a world cruise next week. She’ll be gone for one hundred and eight days. I’m going to miss her.”
“What are you going to do without your only paying customer?”
“Panhandle? Do caricatures on the boardwalk? I hear they are looking for cage dancers at a bar downtown.”
“Or you could come home,” he said quietly. “Well, not home to Mom and Dad, but move to New York where I am. You could be with all your artsy people and I’m sure you could get a job teaching at a school here without Mom’s help.”
“I don’t want to teach, Asa. I like being an interior designer. I’m good at it, too. I just need more time to prove it.”
“I know, Gin. You’re a good painter, too. A great one, but you gave that up.” He knew she had to follow her own path, just as he had to follow his. He’d been on track to become a doctor, just the way her parents wanted, but he’d dropped out of medical school in his third year and become a paramedic. He was too much of an adrenaline junkie to do rounds and spend all day in one building. His choice had, of course, disappointed their parents. Both of them had disappointed their parents when they’d diverged from the paths laid out before them. “You do whatever you want, Gin. But you can always come home if you need to.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. Just don’t forget it. I’ve got to go. I’m about to start my shift.”
“Love you.”
“Yeah, me, too.” They disconnected. Asa used to drive her crazy when they were kids, but they had grown a lot closer as adults, though they lived hundreds of miles away from each other. He was protective, even though she was older by six minutes. He would make a good husband for some woman.
One day.
It was as if her brother was on a single-handed mission to date all the women in the mid-Atlantic states.
Her phone rang again, which was shocking considering she barely got two calls a week, much less two in one day. “Andersen Interiors. How can I help you today?”
“Is Virginia Andersen there?” It was a man’s deep voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place.
“This is she.”
“This is the same Virginia Andersen who did the Rosecove Inn?”
“Yes, I was the interior designer.” Rosecove had been her favorite job. There was something special about that little ocean-side inn with its own private beach. It had been one of her first big jobs, and the owner had taken a chance on her. She’d be forever grateful for that chance. When
she’d showed her parents the pictures of it afterward they had been impressed. She didn’t need their praise to feel validated, but it sure was nice to have it.
“Good. I want you to decorate my house.”
“You do?” She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Great! Are you interested in your entire home or just a few rooms?”
“The entire thing.”
Her heart beat a little faster as she changed the page on her notepad. This was just what she needed. A new client equaled a new opportunity. “How many bedrooms?”
“Six bedrooms. Five bathrooms.”
“Six bedrooms, five bathrooms?” Her voice squeaked. “How many square feet are we talking, Mr....”
“Mr. Bradley and seventeen thousand.”
“Square feet?” she squeaked. “Seventeen as in one more than sixteen and one less than eighteen.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, and she realized something was up. This was a joke... It had to be. She didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or cry, because for a moment she’d thought she had the job of her dreams.
“Your house is seventeen thousand square feet and you want me, who has decorated two inns and a slew of old ladies’ condos, to decorate it? Okay, Mr. Bradley, my mysterious benefactor, who are you really?”
“I’m Carlos Bradley.” His deep voice sounded slightly annoyed. “I have a house on Hideaway Island that I would like you to decorate.”
“Carlos Bradley! The sexy shortstop.” She laughed. “You look damn good in those uniform pants, Mr. Bradley. Tell me, how many squats does it take to get your behind that hard?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got a great butt. One that I would very much like to squeeze one day.”
“Uh...I might let you one day, but I think we should at least meet first to talk about the house.”
“Your house. Right. I suppose I have an unlimited budget to decorate your massive mansion. Tell me, do you have a pool and a tennis court that need some jazzing up, too?”
“Yes to the unlimited budget and pool, and no to the tennis court.”
“Can I ask you a personal question, Carlos?”
“You told me you wanted to squeeze my ass, I think we’re at that stage in our relationship.”
“Do you really give gift baskets to all the women you sleep with after you’re done with them?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Where any self-respecting gossip seeker does. The internet. There was a picture of one and everything.”
“I don’t give every woman a gift basket.”
“It depends on how good they are in bed, huh?”
“What?”
She giggled. She would think this was a mean joke if she weren’t so entertained by it. “You can drop the act now. Are you one of Asa’s friends? You’ve done a great job mimicking the voice. I’m impressed.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Andersen, but this is really Carlos Bradley and I really am calling to see if you will decorate my house.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “And I was on the cover of the swimsuit issue.”
“I’m not joking.”
“No? Well, if you aren’t joking and you are Mr. MVP with the sexy round behind and the sleazy parting gifts, then I expect a town car waiting for me here at ten tomorrow morning and a private plane taking me to Hideaway Island. I could take the ferry, but why should I? You can afford to fly me out.”
“A private plane?”
“Yup and chocolate. I would like a basket of Swiss chocolates waiting for me when I get there.”
“Fine. 10:00 a.m. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Great! See ya then.” She hung up the phone. Asa had gotten her good. She was going to have fun getting him back.
Chapter 2
The next morning Virginia was sitting in her office thumbing through her recently delivered design magazines when a man in a black suit and cap came through the door.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to pick up Virginia Andersen.”
She blinked at the man for a moment. He certainly was wearing a driver’s uniform complete with a name tag. “Pick me up for what?”
“I’m Mr. Bradley’s Miami driver. He asked me to take you to the airstrip. There will be another driver waiting for you to take you to his house.”
“What?” She laughed. “You’re here to take me to the airstrip?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked confused for a moment and then glanced at his watch. “The pickup was requested for ten o’clock. Is that correct?”
“Um...” She thought back to the phone call yesterday. She had requested a 10:00 a.m. pickup along with a long list of ridiculous things. Her brother had sworn he wasn’t playing a joke on her when she’d called him last night. She hadn’t believed him. He was the same guy who used to throw spiders at her when they were kids. She wouldn’t put a phone call past him, but this...this was too much. “I did say ten.”
“Do you need more time, ma’am?”
“No.” She stood up, grabbing her handbag from beneath her desk. “I just need to lock up. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’ll be waiting outside.” He turned to leave.
“Wait! You aren’t an ax murderer, are you?”
“No,” he said slowly, pulling out his wallet. “I can show you my credentials.” He showed her his employee ID and his driver’s license.
“You probably think I sound crazy. You probably are just doing what you are paid to do and have nothing to do with this whatsoever. I’ll be out in a moment. Thank you, Richard.”
He left and Virginia pulled her cell phone out of her bag, calling her best friend Willa.
“Hello?”
“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 f
elt 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.
