Surrender At Sunset

“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.”