Catching Zia (Spring Training Book 1)

by Becca Jameson

  “Thanks. Absolutely. I’d be happy to come by one evening and take a look at the space and get an idea of what you want.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll be home Thursday night by about seven. Does that work for you?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’ll text you my address.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  Huh. Interesting. And surprising. Brett was his name. She didn’t catch his last name, and it wasn’t likely to match his sister’s. But she was certainly curious as to why he was doing her this favor. Surely he wasn’t interested in her. Right? There were better ways to pick up women than to arrange for them to do a mural in their sister’s house.

  Besides, she was so not in his league. He was buff, and sexy, and blond, and sculpted like a model.

  She was, well, Zia. Not that she thought she wasn’t attractive. Her self-esteem was fine. She dated on occasion, when she had the inclination to give someone a chance. But not often and never seriously.

  A permanent relationship had never been on her radar. Not after watching what her mom went through for eighteen years before Zia moved out, got her own apartment, and landed a good enough job to make ends meet.

  She shuddered, remembering her mother’s parting words. “Zia Marie Sharpley, if you think you can make it out there on your own with just your looks, you’re sadly mistaken. Do not come crawling back here when you find out how hard the real world is. I’m done with you.”

  Zia was so done with her mother it wasn’t funny. The door didn’t hit her in the ass, and she never looked back.

  Carmen Sharpley lived in a warped world in which she was the center of the universe and no one else mattered. Including her illegitimate daughter, who—to hear her tell it—ruined her mother’s perfect body by being born.

  The woman spent every moment of her life fixated on her looks and her body—her hair, her skin, her nails, her face. Made Zia nauseous. And the parade of men she dated was worse. All any of them saw was a temporarily pretty face and body. All Carmen ever saw was dollar signs. And she used any means she could to snag one man after another—including lying her way into their lives. Deception was her forte. She had perfected it with decades of practice.

  Years of therapy in Zia’s early twenties helped her realize all the things her mother spewed at her when she was growing up were lies. She was nearly her mother’s twin in the looks department, if the woman could strip away the fake façade. But apparently, Carmen hadn’t wanted the competition. So she spent most of Zia’s childhood pointing out how unlucky Zia was to be so ordinary and drab.

  The constant put-downs exacted their toll—at least in the short run.

  Zia had one important detail in her favor, however. She didn’t want to put on a mask like her mom. She didn’t want the attention it brought or the fake life the woman led with a steady stream of fake suitors.

  Zia was in her twenties before she realized she wasn’t the ugly duckling her mom told her she was, but by then, she preferred her life the way it was. It wasn’t that she hid from her looks. It was that she enjoyed anonymity. She wasn’t shy. She was introverted. And she was perfectly content when people walked right by her without noticing her.

  She had no time for disingenuous people who only cared about the surface of things.

  That’s why she loved children.

  When the car door opened, she nearly jumped in her seat. Her mind had wandered until the world ceased to exist around her.

  “Hey, Zia.” Haley leaned in the passenger side and grinned. “Can I drive home?”

  Zia smiled back. “Of course.” She climbed out of the driver’s seat and traded sides with Haley, the act a constant reminder that in a few weeks, Haley would be sixteen. The girls didn’t need Zia anymore—Tasha was thirteen—but neither them nor their parents had wanted to let her go until it was absolutely necessary.

  Zia had pride in knowing that. She’d been with the girls for almost ten years. Before she became their nanny, she had been babysitting for them at least once a week in the evenings for three years, and then Mrs. Wilkenson decided to go back to work. At nineteen, Zia was a little younger than the average nanny, but she’d been on her own for almost a year and was desperate for a full-time job. Since the girls loved her, the Wilkensons had hired her, and the rest was history.

  Zia had been saved from the possibility of crawling back home with her tail between her legs or homelessness.

  For the first few years, she lived with the Wilkensons. Then she’d gotten an apartment and started taking college classes while the girls were at school.

  Now, things were winding down. It was time to move on. She’d finished her art degree but had no idea what to do next. Find another family and do what she was comfortable with? Or step out of her comfort zone and search for an art-related job? Could she stay afloat as an artist? She had very little savings.

  Both prospects were scary. At twenty-nine… Ugh.

  Haley was an excellent driver. She would do fine when she got her license. And though no one had specifically set a date for Zia to move on with her life, in her mind, Haley’s birthday was the best day to end her employment.

  As she watched the young almost-woman navigate the Miami streets, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. She was partially responsible for the wonderful women Haley and Tasha would be.

  “You’re quiet,” Haley commented.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “What a great driver you are.”

  She giggled as she made a right turn, looking carefully both ways. “You mostly taught me.”

  “Your dad worked with you a lot. Don’t give me all the credit.”

  “Yeah. He did. Some. But not every day like you.” She grew quiet again, and then she whispered, “You’re going to leave us, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “I know, but you don’t need me anymore. You’re almost a grown woman. I need to move on. It’s time. It’ll be sad at first, but we’ll always be in touch.” Zia swallowed the ball forming in her throat that threatened to bring tears.

  “What are you going to do?” Haley asked as she made another turn.

  “Not sure yet. I have lots of decisions to make, don’t I?”

  “Art? You worked so hard for your degree. Maybe something in design or a magazine or something?”

  “Maybe.” The truth was Zia had avoided facing this fact. It was time, though. She needed to pull up her big-girl panties and tackle the future.

  “Does your friend Lily have any ideas? Maybe you could work in her gallery or something?”

  Zia shrugged. “I prefer actually making art over selling it.”

  “Yeah. I can see that.” Haley sighed. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, sweetie. More than you know.”

  Chapter Four

  “What did you have in mind?” Zia asked Monica as she stared at the blank wall in what would be her baby’s nursery. “Brett said something about fairies?”

  Zia liked this woman. They hit it off immediately. She was warm and friendly, like her brother. Not the least bit pretentious, even though she lived in an expensive house in an equally wonderful neighborhood—a gated community.

  Monica hadn’t mentioned her husband yet. No one else seemed to be home. But that didn’t matter. She doubted any man cared much about the color schemes of a nursery.

  “Yeah. Can you do something like that? I’ve always had a fascination with fairies and their magical mysticism. Oh…” She turned around quickly and grabbed a book off the lone piece of furniture sitting in the middle of the room. “I have pictures. Just an idea. I’m open to suggestions.”

  Zia stepped closer and leaned over to watch as Monica flipped through the pages slowly. “No problem. I love the idea. I can do it.”

  Monica beamed. “Really? That would be so awesome.”

  “If you want, I could come over tomorrow night a
nd do some preliminary sketches on the wall to give you an idea. See if you like it. I’ll sketch something up on paper too. You can tweak it to fit what you visualized.”

  “I didn’t honestly visualize anything in particular. Just the fairy motif. Maybe greens and pinks and purples and blues?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  A noise somewhere in the house caused Zia to face the door. Maybe Monica’s husband was home?

  But the person who filled the doorway a few seconds later took Zia’s breath away. For a heartbeat, she stood there blinking. Then she realized this wasn’t Monica’s husband. It was Brett.

  His smile filled the room. “Hey, ladies. You coming up with ideas?”

  “Yep,” Monica responded. “You were right. I looked at the murals she has on her website. She’s really talented. She has a vision already. I’m sure she’ll do a great job.”

  Brett cocked his head to one side, still smiling. “You doubted me?”

  “Never.”

  Zia cleared her throat. “I hardly think you had much to go on. A glimpse at my doodling in the park.” She didn’t mean to make light of her abilities, but honestly, Brett had no idea what she could do from what he saw. He hadn’t even flipped through her sketchbook to see any other examples.

  “Don’t sell yourself short. I saw your website. I also visited that gallery where you have several items on display.” He strolled slowly into the room, his fingers tucked into the edges of the pockets of his jeans, his navy polo stretched tight across his chest, his blond hair hanging slightly too long in ringlets across his forehead. Holy mother, he was hot.

  Zia fidgeted in her spot, switching her weight from one leg to the other several times. Her hands were sweaty, and she wiped them on her thighs. Suddenly she was hyperaware of the fact that she had on worn, faded jeans, a white tank top, and flip-flops.

  Since when did she care what she looked like?

  And why hadn’t it occurred to her she might see Brett here tonight? After all, it was his idea.

  Wait… He went to the gallery and saw her work? She hadn’t even told him which gallery exhibited her paintings.

  She lifted one shaky hand and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Her long thick locks were pulled back in a clip, but several from the side always managed to escape.

  She hadn’t even put on makeup.

  Again, why do I care?

  It had been a long time since she had the urge to impress someone. Starting with this golden specimen of a man was probably not in her best interest.

  Monica cleared her throat. “Gosh. I’m thirsty. I’m going to grab a bottle of water. You want anything, Zia?”

  “No.” She jerked her gaze to the kind woman. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Monica fled the room as if it were on fire, her cute baby bump leading the way.

  Brett inched closer. “What do you think?”

  “About what?” Her mind was foggy with him so close. He looked different tonight. With clothes on. He was tanned. Perfectly tanned. But not nearly as red as he had been after running the other day.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “The mural?”

  “Oh. Right.” She turned to face the wall to avoid staring at him. As if the mural spoke to her, she commented. “It will be a fun project. I’m looking forward to it. Thanks for the referral. That was kind of you.”

  “Zia.”

  She jerked her gaze back to his, meeting his deep blue eyes. “Yes?”

  “You don’t seriously believe I didn’t have ulterior motives when I asked you to do this project, do you?”

  “What?” She hesitated a moment. Shit. Shit shit shit. What was he talking about? She glanced at the door, fearing for half a second that he meant to abduct her or something.

  But that was crazy. She didn’t feel unsafe in his presence. Or his sister’s.

  He slowly reached out a hand and tucked that lock of hair behind her ear again. Then he cupped her cheek for a brief moment before dropping his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re an amazing artist. I’m sure you’ll do an unbelievable job here, but really, I wanted to get to know you.”

  She gasped. Though she shouldn’t have. It’s not like the idea hadn’t crossed her mind. She just found it rather inconceivable. “I don’t think I’m your type,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

  He frowned. “How do you know? I don’t have a ‘type’.”

  She pursed her lips and glanced at the door, willing Monica to return. She didn’t, of course. “So, you never needed me to paint this wall?” That hurt.

  “What? Are you kidding? Of course I want you to paint my niece’s wall. Definitely.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. “I never should have said anything. I’m sorry. Can we back up a step?”

  “I don’t think so. No.”

  He sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. “Okay, so obviously what I meant was that I’m attracted to you. I saw you multiple times while I was running. And I manned up and spoke to you. Then I found out you were an incredible artist, and I used that to my advantage.

  “That’s the whole truth. Please paint my sister’s mural. I’ll leave you alone to do it. But then I’m going to ask you out.” He turned around and left the room.

  He left the room?

  Zia couldn’t move or breathe. Everything he said was such a blur.

  Monica returned at the same time Zia heard a door shut. “Everything okay?”

  “No idea. Your brother… He…”

  “Stuck his foot in his mouth?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Yeah. He does that.” Monica winced as Zia looked from the doorway to her.

  “He does that? Invites strangers into your home and then asks them out? Does he do that often?”

  The woman laughed, holding a hand over her belly. “No. Never. Not even once. I meant, he stumbles over his words when he’s nervous. And he likes you.”

  Zia simply blinked at Monica. This was preposterous. “You want me to paint a mural?” She still wasn’t sure that was even a real prospect.

  “Yes. Definitely. You’re starting tomorrow, right?”

  * * *

  Zia was at lunch the following day when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled before answering. “Lily. What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “I was going to say the same thing about you,” her friend replied. Zia had met Lily eight years ago at the university. Lily had taught the first painting class Zia registered for. She was only five years older than Zia, and the two of them had become friends throughout that semester.

  Lily also owned a gallery in Miami, and she’d graciously put several of Zia’s pieces up for sale. So far, Zia had sold several pieces, and Lily had been nagging her for months to have her own show.

  “Please tell me you sold something of mine,” Zia began. “I could use the ego boost.”

  Lily giggled, her light, tinkling voice making Zia smile. “In fact, I did. I sold that colorful painting you did at the park a few years ago.”

  “The one with the orange sunset?”

  “That’s the one. So get on it, girl, and bring me some more work. You really need to have your own show. Let’s get it on the calendar. Your star is on the rise.”

  “It wasn’t a friend of yours that bought it? Someone you put up to it?”

  Lily laughed. “Nope. A legitimate sale to someone I’d never seen before.”

  Zia had several pieces in her apartment. She could bring a few more to Lily, but she hadn’t put much time into her paintings lately. Maybe the mural would inspire her to get back into it. She’d spent countless hours sketching, but few hours with acrylics.

  “What have you been working on lately? Please tell me you’re putting yourself out there. You went to all that trouble to get your art degree, and now you’re too modest to go for it. Or maybe you’re scared?”

  Lily knew her well. “True on both counts. But there’s also the little matter of
rent and utilities and food.” She vowed to get her rear in gear and spend more time in her studio. It wouldn’t be easy keeping a full-time job and painting at night, but if she ever wanted to make it as an artist, she needed to quit stalling and put in the long hours.

  “Eh. Highly overrated,” Lily teased. “Besides, you have nights and weekends.”

  She was right. Zia perked up. It did seem like the world was giving her a sign lately to return to her passion. Reminders were popping up at every turn. “I do have an art job, actually. I’m painting a mural for a baby’s room. Fairies.”

  “Ooh, that sounds like fun. Anyone I know?”

  “Doubt it. The job sort of fell into my lap. Met this guy at the park the other day—”

  “Wait. Met a guy? My Zia met a guy?”

  Zia chuckled. “Okay, maybe that didn’t come out right. There was a guy at the park. He met me really. Walked right up, admired my sketches, asked me to paint something for his sister.”

  “No shit. Did he call you? Are you going out with him?”

  A shiver raced up Zia’s skin. I wish. “I’m not sure it’s like that. I think he genuinely wanted me to do a mural.” Right? Did he really intend to call her after she finished the mural?

  Lily laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “No way some guy introduced himself at the park just to hire you for an art job. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  “Ha ha. There are people in the world who aren’t looking to get laid just because they speak to you.” Though Zia winced as soon as the words left her mouth. The guy Lily had been dating for over a year was probably only interested in getting laid any time it suited him.

  Zia was convinced Luke Vandergriff was sleeping with far more women than Lily. She didn’t have any proof, but she’d bet her paycheck on it.

  “Mmm. Not likely. But you go with that. Ten bucks says he shows up at his sister’s while you’re working.”

  “Hmm.” Zia wasn’t about to take that bet. It was entirely possible Lily was right.

  “Let me know how it goes with Mr. Art Enthusiast. And think about that art show, okay?”