Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines Collide / To Love Again

“Edie! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on reality’s side.” Her friend finally cast her a long look. “It’s not going to kill you to bend a little.”

“If I bend any further you may as well remove my spine,” Chanté snipped.

“Better flexibility can only improve one’s sex life.” Edie winked. “I can testify to that.”

“I just bet you can.”

* * *

Once a month, Dr. Matthew Valentine and his agent, Seth Hathaway, met at the International House of Pancakes for their favorite selection of Rooty Tuitty Fresh and Fruity pancakes.

“It was a joke,” Matthew laughed, and then leaned toward Seth. “It was Letterman, for Pete’s sake.”

Seth leaned his six-foot-five frame over the table and settled his serene ocean-blue eyes on him. “Let me guess, Chanté didn’t think it was funny?”

“Blew a damn gasket is more like it.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “For punishment, I endured a four-hour rant about how I was undermining her authority and poking holes in her credibility—not the first time I heard that crap by the way.” He stabbed his pancakes and twirled it absently in its strawberry syrup. “There’s no pleasing her anymore.”

Seth kept his face blank as he bridged his hands above his plate. “Far be it for me to give America’s top relationship guru advice.”

Matthew glanced up wearily. “But something tells me I’m not going to be able to stop you.”

“Hey, I don’t have a fancy degree, but twenty-five years of marriage—an interracial marriage at that—says I’m qualified.”

Matthew flashed his million-dollar smile and forced a casual shrug. “All right. Shoot.”

Seth waited until he’d captured Matthew’s full attention. “Apologize.”

Matthew waited for more, but concluded none was forthcoming when his agent returned his attention to his breakfast.

“That’s it?”

“Yep.” Seth shoveled food into his mouth.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Good thing I didn’t call you for help during the writing of my last book.”

Seth smiled and dabbed the corners of his mouth. “C’mon. It’s not rocket science. A man is just fooling himself if he thinks he could ever win an argument with a woman. Everything is always our fault. I don’t care what it is. So apologize and move on.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re joking, right?” Seth rocked back in his chair as his laughter rumbled. “Look, I don’t mean to offend you or anything. I mean, you’re my best client and all, but, when a woman gets mad it’s usually for three reasons: something we did, something we didn’t do or something we’re going to do.”

“Sounds scientific.”

“Thanks. It is.” He took another bite and quickly swallowed. “In this case, you went on a nationally televised show and made a lousy sucker punch to her reputation. Every man watching knew you’d get the couch last night.”

“You don’t understand.” Matthew slumped back in his chair and refused to give credence to Seth’s advice. “Once upon a time Chanté didn’t take everything so seriously. She knew how to laugh at herself. C’mon. She graduated from Kissessme College. That’s funny.”

“She also has a syndicated talk radio show and is a bestselling author.”

“I know about her accomplishments. I’m proud of what she’s done—”

“So it’s not so hard to understand she just wants to be taken seriously in her profession.”

Matthew shook his head. “I’m telling you, I know my wife. She’s not mad about something I said on Letterman. There’s something else that’s bothering her and she just won’t spit it out.”

“She keeps asking for a divorce,” Seth reminded him.

Matthew shook his head again. “She doesn’t want a divorce or she would have been gone by now. It’s something else—I’m sure of it. She just won’t talk to me.”

“Two psychologists who can’t talk. I think that falls under irony.”

“Very funny.”

Seth chuckled. “How long now since the Love Doctor has been locked out of his own bedroom?”

Matt grunted and lowered his gaze.

“Five months, right?” the agent continued, during Matt’s silence. “Look, you’re a big shot in your field—four number one New York Times bestsellers and a syndicated television talk show, but maybe it’s time you listen to advice other than your own. Apologize and move back into your old bedroom. If you don’t, things between you and Chanté are only going to get worse.”

Chapter 2

Chanté breezed into WLUV’s studio with her head held high but with her lips showcasing a nervous smile. The station’s small crew greeted her with wide toothy grins, however, no one’s eyes managed to meet hers. To top it off, on more than one occasion, she heard snickering whenever she turned her back.

“Oh, don’t pay it any mind,” Thad Brown, Chanté’s extremely young, talented and laid-back producer advised as he settled behind the glass partition separating them and reversed his New York Yankees baseball cap.

“Easy for you to say,” Chanté mumbled, and then placed on her headset.

“To be honest, I thought it was pretty funny,” Thad said into his microphone. “Of course, I’m a little hurt I didn’t know this embarrassing tidbit about you. I thought we were best friends.”

“Thad—”

“Yeah, yeah. I forgot. You have a new best friend—a hotshot publishing editor.”

“Thad,” she warned.

“Okay. Okay.” He shrugged with a lopsided smile. “But when you start hobnobbing with Oprah...call me.”

“First, I’ll have to call my mother.”

“You’re on a hot streak. Hell, I bought your book yesterday and I’m halfway through it. Real good stuff. A lot better than—well, it could have been professional jealousy that sparked Dr. Matt’s comment on Letterman the other night. Did you ever think of that?”

The On Air sign lit up.

“A little competition will do Matthew Valentine a world of good. Maybe his loyal readers will actually demand he write new material instead of rehashing the same trivial tripe of his last three books.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “And don’t get me started on those Jerry Springer rejects he says he counsels on his show.”

Still laughing, Chanté lifted her eyes to Thad and was stunned to see him frantically pointing upward. When her gaze landed on the sign, her voice failed her.