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,