Enlisted by Love

by Jenny Jacobs

  Or at least those difficulties that did not require the intervention of the State Department. Suave and sophisticated would be a good start. Inept and pathetic was not the impression he wished to portray. Somehow he sensed that left to his own devices, he might not accomplish his goal, at least as regarded interior design.

  He had great enthusiasm for his new job — his new purpose in life — and the Army had taught him everything he needed to know about the execution of a plan. He was certain, given enough time, that he could develop an appealing aesthetic sense, which had never been necessary before. But he was afraid that it was currently a little beyond his grasp. He didn’t think “develop an appealing aesthetic sense” was something he could learn by pulling a couple of all-nighters, and time was not on his side. He had to have everything in place sooner rather than later. Having found the job, he was inclined to keep it.

  He knew Greta would give him exactly the sophisticated yet personal touch he was looking for. She was the walking embodiment of class, all high polished gloss and subtle elegance. Blonde hair in a neat bun — Michael’s mother, Mrs. M, would call it a chignon. Greta probably did, too. He’d bet good odds she never allowed a strand to fall out of place. Carefully understated makeup, exquisitely tailored pantsuit, and blue eyes that dismissed him at a glance. What more could any man want?

  The first thing was to define the problem. Then he could devise a solution. To do that, he had to figure out why she didn’t want to cooperate. His ego, which was of a comfortable size and condition, wouldn’t let him believe that the reason she didn’t cooperate was because he personally repelled her. That was an unacceptable conclusion to reach, and Ian did not reach unacceptable conclusions, just as he did not fail when the Army sent him on a DNF mission. Besides, he had seen the spark in her eyes before she had blandly tucked it away. He knew she’d liked what she saw. So, what was the problem?

  That chilly blonde elegance might be an unshakeable facade but something boiled under the surface, he’d bet good money. Her brush-off hadn’t really been a reaction to him but to something he represented. Which meant that if she spent a little more time in his company, she’d have to see that it wasn’t him she disliked. Ergo, she’d start liking him. She’d have to. Everyone did.

  So what was the solution?

  Time to call in the reinforcements, he decided, and picked up the phone.

  • • •

  “I can’t believe you turned down Colonel Blake,” Tess exclaimed the next morning, coming into the command center — Greta’s bedroom. Greta stifled an inward groan. She should have known Mr. Blake would not go quietly. But hope sprang eternal. “He’s Michael’s best friend,” Tess said, shutting the door with her foot while she juggled the coffee cups.

  Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a precarious knot that was already coming loose. Greta resisted the urge to offer to show her how it was done. It required a certain power of will that she wasn’t certain her sister possessed. Besides, Tess looked cute with the curls falling out of the knot. Cute was not an adjective Greta would ever wish to have applied to herself, but it certainly suited Tess.

  Tess handed Greta a cup of coffee, then plopped down next to her on the bed and snatched her laptop away. Greta supposed this was because she hadn’t immediately responded.

  “It’s a favor for a friend of Michael’s,” Tess reminded her. “I hardly ever ask you for favors.” She glared at Greta, though the glare wasn’t very successful because Tess was trying not to giggle about something. She and Michael had probably met for coffee earlier, the way they often did, and Michael had probably kissed her senseless before sending her to work, a bad habit he had gotten into months ago.

  “Michael owes me a favor,” Greta contented herself with saying, “not the other way around.”

  Tess choked on a sip of coffee and raised a brow. “Is that right?”

  “My dear, I gave you to him,” Greta said, knowing that would provoke Tess and hoping it would distract her from her complaint about Mr. Blake. “He owes me for the rest of his natural life.”

  “You what?” Tess sputtered, just as Greta had predicted. Tess liked to think she had fought hard for her happiness — which she certainly had — but under no circumstances had she fought alone. “You gave me to him?” Tess was almost incoherent, which was one of the advantages of knowing your opponent so thoroughly.

  “Gift-wrapped with my warmest regards,” Greta said tranquilly, taking the laptop back and making an elaborate show of scrolling through her notes. She had a great deal of work to do, and the sooner Tess believed that, the sooner they could drop the subject of Mr. Ian Blake.

  “In other words, Michael did you a favor by taking me off your hands,” Tess said tartly. Which showed Greta’s attempt at diversion had worked perfectly.

  Greta gave Tess a look over the top of the computer. “You don’t seem to have gone anywhere,” she pointed out.

  “That’s because we’re partners,” Tess responded with a wicked grin. Greta had to smile back. She’d had a hard time convincing Tess that she was a full partner in the business Greta had started and Greta knew she still didn’t believe it sometimes. But Greta couldn’t have reached her current level of success without Tess — not just because of her ability to work hard at whatever Greta needed her to do, but because of her unquestioning faith in Greta.

  The smile left her face when she realized that if Tess really were an equal partner — and it wasn’t just something Greta said to be nice — then she had an equal say in running the business, including which clients they would work with. Which meant it couldn’t be considered a favor if Greta did agree to work with Mr. Blake. She hoped Tess didn’t reach this inconvenient conclusion, too.

  Greta sighed. She didn’t want to do it, but she was fair-minded. Too fair-minded for her own good, she thought sourly. Soft and squishy, especially when it came to Tess.

  “Tell me why you care about this client,” she said, not wanting his name to pass her lips, as if that would somehow make him real, a person she had to deal with. Didn’t you have to say the devil’s name to summon him? Same principle.

  “Michael recommended you to him,” Tess explained. “And now Colonel Blake says you’re booked for the next three or four years and did Michael have any other recommendations? And I know for a fact that you are not booked for the next three years.” She tried the glare again, and although this time she didn’t ruin it with a giggle, that didn’t make it any more effective. “In fact,” Tess said, stressing the word fact, “business has been a little slower than usual because of your knee surgery.”

  Greta winced. It was true that her ability to work had been affected by her annoying injury earlier in the year — caused by a man, she might add, however accidentally. Men should not show off complicated skiing maneuvers unless they knew what they were doing. Nor should women, she conceded, but they were less likely to be show-offs in the first place. At any rate, when incompetent show-offs started showing off, innocent bystanders tended to get run over. Afterwards, the show-off hadn’t even had the courage to come visit her at the hospital. Of course, she’d been rather direct in her comments at the time. Still.

  She considered the state of her bank account. If only she were independently wealthy. Even so, just because her bank account balance wasn’t as fat as she liked, that didn’t mean she would just throw in the towel and surrender. She worried her lower lip. What would convince Tess not to ask for this particular favor? She wouldn’t find I don’t like him a compelling argument. Greta had plenty of clients she didn’t like and that had never stopped her for doing her best for them. She tried another tack.

  “I don’t think I can help him,” she began. Maybe if she blamed it on herself and not him. “I don’t think our visions are simpatico.”

  Tess narrowed her eyes. “When you start talking about vision and simpatico, I know tha
t you’re just trying to rationalize your dislike for the task at hand. Face it, we could use the job.”

  Uh-oh. Tess had invoked the we pronoun. That did not bode well for Greta. Unfortunately, the ultimate truth of Tess’s argument also did not bode well for Greta.

  “I don’t take on jobs for painful clients.” Greta tried to look pathetic and put-upon, but she knew she wasn’t very good at it. Besides, her argument wasn’t exactly true, and they both knew it. It wasn’t possible to make a living without painful clients. Which meant Tess was well ahead on points.

  “Colonel Blake seems perfectly nice,” Tess said, tactfully, not directly calling Greta a liar, nor pointing out that she was winning the argument and Greta should just stop fighting and accept defeat no matter how unpalatable.

  “You’re in love,” Greta said, which was the ultimate trump card and one she did not hesitate to play. “Everyone seems perfectly nice to you.”

  Tess did not even respond to that allegation. Instead, she said, “Colonel Blake has a very generous expense account.”

  Greta looked up at Tess and saw the worry in her sister’s brown eyes. Michael made a good living, and Tess didn’t do too badly either, but raising a family was expensive and with both of them basically self-employed, money could come in erratically. Tess’s daughter, Belinda, had special needs and was enrolled in an expensive private school to help her build her skills, so Tess worried constantly about finances. And business had been slow since Greta’s surgery because of the time she’d taken off and the difficulty of visiting sites during her recovery period. Business would improve, but not if she turned down clients only because she found them too attractive for her own good.

  “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.”

  Chapter Two

  Ian looked at the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who was standing in the middle of his living room. Tess, Michael’s fiancée and, as it turned out, Greta’s sister. It didn’t seem possible — she was the complete opposite of Greta. She sort of looked like she might read his fortune. Maybe she could tell him how things would turn out with Greta. Somehow he doubted anyone could guess the answer to that.

  She wasn’t at all what he had expected when Michael said he had a fiancée. Someone like Greta would have made more sense. But then Ian would have had to steal Greta from Michael, and that was the kind of thing that tended to cause bad feelings all around, so it was a good thing Michael had done the unexpected.

  Just an hour ago, she, Tess, had called him to share the good news, giving him a convoluted story about Greta finding room in her schedule to decorate his house after all. He suspected the sudden opening had to do with Michael and Tess convincing Greta to make the opening. When he’d asked to talk to Greta, Tess had hesitated and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” which was as maddening as it was intriguing. When did an interior decorator decline to talk to a newly acquired client?

  And because he’d obviously lost his mind in his transition to the civilian world, he’d said, “Oh, okay.” But that was only until he could regroup, determine the reason for Greta’s change of heart, and develop a new strategy for dealing with her.

  Tess, standing in his living room, pushed her dark curls away from her face, her armful of silver bracelets chiming musically at the movement. “I’m just going to take measurements and check out the furniture you have in storage.” She dug a sketchbook out of her bag and flipped open the book. She began to work, asking him occasional questions about the house’s construction but mostly chattering about Michael, and how Michael talked a lot about Ian, and she was glad she had a chance to get to know Ian. Unlike Greta, Tess appreciated him.

 
Ian followed her from room to room and helped her take measurements that she meticulously noted in her book. She sketched the placement of the windows and doors, recording all the features — ceiling and wall fixtures, even the placement of light switches and electrical outlets. Then she took a digital camera from her bag and took photos, too. Finally, she put all her possessions away in the bag, which he regarded with some awe (how did everything fit in there?). Then she pulled her car keys from the bag and gave him an expectant look.

  He looked back at her, puzzled. Now what?

  “Part two of my reason for being here,” she reminded him. “Furniture in storage?”

  Right. Furniture. “I’m storing the stuff at the Public Storage building on 23rd Street,” he said.

  “I’ll meet you over there,” she said, heading for the door.

  “Sure,” he said, realizing she was done here. “You bet. Meet you over there.” His fault for not noticing how efficient she was despite her appearance. A man expected Greta to be efficient, but not Tess. He wondered if, in addition to efficiency, Greta shared her sister’s warmth. He wanted to find out. It might be dangerous.

  Ian rubbed his hands together briskly. Just what he needed to make the transition to civilian life interesting.

  He realized he was alone in his living room. He grabbed his keys, then ran to catch up with Tess as she swayed down the sidewalk. In a few strides, he was at her side. “I can drive, save you the trip,” he said, indicating his sedan parked in the driveway.

  “Sure,” she answered, putting her keys away.

  If only it would be that easy to get Greta to go along with him.