by Jenny Jacobs
“It had better be a huge expense account,” Greta warned, hating the worry in Tess’s eyes. “And you’re going to be the one who deals with Mr. Blake.” Wasn’t that what partners were for?
“Deal,” Tess said, and stuck out her hand to shake. The look of relief on her face gave Greta a pang. She knew it wasn’t just about money. It was that Mr. Blake was Michael’s best friend. Tess wanted to please her husband-to-be by sorting things out for his best friend. Greta knew full well that Michael would be surprised to find out that his simple request — “please talk to your sister” — had caused Tess so much anxiety. It was ridiculous. But Greta remembered being young enough to want to please a man. She would never be that young again. Or that much of a naïf.
Of course, being old and cynical wasn’t working all that well, either. If she was young and naive, she would be spending her days in romantic reveries about his gray eyes and the way they crinkled up at the corners. Smiling over the way he ran his hand through his hair as if he still expected it to be there even after all those years of crew cuts. Wondering what it would be like if he kissed her —
That was not the point. Greta marshaled her wayward thoughts and put her mind to solving the problem at hand. Mr. Blake. The only solution was to make Tess do as much of the work as possible and get the project done as quickly as could be. That, in fact, would not be a bad strategy for all of her projects.
She turned to her sister. “You can start by getting the dimensions of the rooms down and taking pictures of the furniture he has in storage,” she said. Who knew? Maybe he had stumbled onto something good. But she didn’t plan to go look herself. That was what assistants, not to mention little sisters, were for. “He wants to use the pieces he’s picked up in his travels.” She did not say that she had, or would, agree to do so. But she needed to start somewhere and seeing what he had collected would give her a sense of just how much work it was going to be to produce an effective, elegant design.
“Ooh,” Tess said, eyes shining. She was bouncing on the bed again. “That’ll be fun! I wonder what he’s got — ”
Greta would bet good money that his collection included a fine selection of dashboard hula girls and at least one object made of coconut shells. Tess caught Greta’s look and said more soberly, “I’ll give him a call and make arrangements.”
“Find out what his purpose is,” Greta said. That was usually Greta’s job, but it meant spending time with the client discussing his or her vision and planning how to achieve it, and Greta had no intention of being in Mr. Blake’s company for that amount of time. A vision of succumbing to temptation rose in her mind.
Stop that.
“I’m not very good at client relations,” Tess said doubtfully.
“Nonsense,” said Greta, giving her an encouraging smile and patting her hand. Tess could hardly balk now that Greta had capitulated. “It will be excellent practice for you.”
“Uh huh,” Tess said, then brightened. “So I guess I can tell Michael everything’s all set.” She paused and added, “Do you want me to let Colonel Blake know, too?”
“Yes,” Greta said before Tess had even finished the sentence. She was not now, nor ever, going to be eager to let him know he had won.
“I appreciate your doing this,” Tess said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
“I’ll try to suffer through somehow,” Greta agreed. “But between this and that maid of honor thing, you and Michael will be indebted to me for life.”
“That’s just the way you like it,” Tess said. She glanced at her watch, made a sound of frustration, then scrambled off the bed. “I have an appointment with the florist.”
Greta watched as Tess scrounged through her bag for her keys. Every bride needed someone to restrain her when it came to floral arrangements. But Michael was busy, Greta knew, trying to get enough work done that he could take off two weeks for the honeymoon that he and Tess — not to mention Belinda — were planning, to celebrate the creation of their new family. She eyed her sister. She was not to be trusted buying flowers on her own.
“Great!” Tess said when Greta pointed this out. “You can help me decide about boutonnieres.”
“Terrific,” Greta murmured, sliding off the bed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
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