Fortune's Perfect Valentine

Mort Conley was a member of the same developmental team that included Vivian Blair. The young guy was a guru at creating computer commands, but he lacked the creative imagination to create an innovate product on his own, like Vivian had with My Perfect Match. Still, Wes respected his enthusiasm and had agreed to look at a new app design related to sports fans.

“Should be plenty,” he answered. “And I’ll be back before two.”

Wes started to move away from the secretary’s desk, but she stopped him with another question.

“What did you do to Ms. Blair? She stalked out of your office like she wanted to murder somebody.”

It wasn’t unusual for Adelle to speak her mind with Wes. After all, she’d been his secretary for many years, and over that time they’d grown close. Still, it surprised him that she’d taken that much notice of Vivian Blair.

“I didn’t do anything to her. I simply told her to be prepared for the TV segment in the morning.”

Clearly unconvinced, the woman smirked at him. “Before today I’ve never seen as much as a frown on Vivian’s face. You must have said something mean—or threatened her in some way. What were you thinking? She’s one of the brightest workers on the developmental team! Along with that, she’s a sweet little soul who wouldn’t swat a bee even if it was stinging her.”

Vivian had hardly come off as a sweet little soul this morning when he’d voiced his personal feelings about her computer-generated idea of dating, Wes thought. To Adelle he said, “I wasn’t aware you knew Vivian so well.”

His secretary let out an unladylike snort. “You don’t have to have supper with a person every night to know her. Women have instincts about other women and plenty of other things. You ought to understand that, Mr. Robinson.”

Considering the vast difference in their ages, it seemed ridiculous for Adelle to call him “Mr. Robinson,” a fact he’d pointed out to her many times before. But she insisted that calling him Wes wouldn’t appear professional, so he’d given up trying to change her.

“Ah, yes. Women and their instincts,” he said drily. “They’re always right. I’m sure your late husband never argued with you.”

“Rudy always respected my opinion, God rest his soul. That’s why we celebrated fifty-five years of marriage before he passed on. You need to remember to respect Vivian’s opinion—whether you agree with it or not.”

Wes stared at her. “Have you been pressing your ear against the door of my office?”

“I hardly need to,” she retorted, then turned her attention back to the work on her desk.

As Wes made his way out of the Robinson Tech office building, he mentally shook his head. This morning, he’d heard all he wanted to hear about women and dating and love. Yet as he passed the area where Vivian Blair worked, he found himself wondering if she was still miffed at him. And wondering, too, if she ever went out to lunch with a man, or a romantic dinner in the evening.

While heading down the sidewalk to his favorite bar and grill, Wes very nearly smiled at that last notion. He couldn’t imagine Vivian Blair finding her perfect match in a dimly lit café with violin music playing sweetly in the background and soft candlelight flickering in her hazel eyes. No, she’d be looking for her perfect man in a stuffy computer lab.

* * *

The next morning before she left her apartment, Vivian gave her image one last glance in the mirror. Last night she’d agonized for hours over what to wear for the television segment. When Wes had suggested she not look so studious, her first instinct had been to go out and find a dress that showed plenty of cleavage and lots of leg, a pair of fishnet stockings and platform heels. If he wanted a ditzy bimbo to represent Robinson Tech, then she’d give him one. But in the end, she had too much pride to make such a fool of herself. She didn’t need to show Wes she could be sexy. She needed to prove that a compatible mate was far more important than flaming-hot chemistry.

Stepping back from the cheval mirror, she adjusted the hem of the close-fitting black turtleneck, then smoothed her hands over the hips of the matching black slacks she’d chosen to wear. The garments weren’t frilly or feminine, but their close-fitting cut revealed her slender curves. And her golden hoop earrings were far more daring than the pearl studs she normally wore to work.

Wes Robinson would be unhappy because she didn’t look like a sex kitten, Vivian supposed. But she didn’t care. She was hardly going to change her style or her viewpoint for him.

Some fifteen minutes later, she parked her car in the underground parking garage of Robinson Tech and rode the elevator up to the floor that housed the developmental team, along with Wes’s office.

By the time she neared her work space, George was already there waiting for her to arrive.

Glancing at his watch, he said, “Damn, Vivian, I thought you were going to be late.”

“I had a bad night and slept through the alarm,” she explained. Actually, bad night was an understatement. She’d lain awake for hours, her thoughts vacillating between Wes’s infuriating remarks and concerns about the television interview. When she’d applied her makeup, she’d tried her best to hide the circles of fatigue beneath her eyes. “Do I look okay? I mean, for television?”

He let out a low whistle, and Vivian laughed.

“Thanks, George, for your vote of confidence. I definitely need it this morning. My stomach is fluttering like it’s full of angry bees.”

“I’ll go fetch you a cup of coffee with plenty of cream. That should help.”

“No! Thank you, George. My nerves are already frazzled enough without a dose of caffeine.” To be honest, she was about to jump out of her skin. The notion of being on national television was scary. Especially to someone who’d practically wilted into a faint when she’d been forced to give a salutatorian speech at her high school graduation ceremony. Yet if she was being honest with herself, she had to admit it was the thought of seeing Wes again that was really tying her stomach into knots. Which was ridiculous. She’d worked closely with the man for several years now.

Yes, but she’d never had an argument about love and sex and marriage with him before.

Turning to her desk, Vivian flipped on her computer and locked her handbag in the bottom drawer.

“Hey, Viv, good luck on the TV spot this morning. Are you ready to face the camera?”

Vivian looked around to see Justine, a fellow developer, standing next to George at the entrance of the cubicle. The petite young blonde wearing a short, chic hairdo and a tight pencil skirt was more Wes’s style, Vivian couldn’t help thinking.

“Thanks, Justine. I’m telling myself I’m ready whether I am or not. Actually, I wish you or George would take my place in this interview. I feel like I’m headed toward a firing squad.”

Justine laughed. “George and I aren’t camera-friendly. We’re tech geeks, right, George?”

The burly man chuckled. “Right. But with you representing us, you can show everybody that it’s our team that keeps this company in the black. Without our creations, they wouldn’t have anything to sell. If My Perfect Match becomes a hit, we might actually get the recognition around here that we deserve.”

“And a bonus to go with it,” Justine added on a hopeful note.

“Oh, thanks, you two,” Vivian said drily. “I really needed that added pressure right now.”

George glanced at his watch. “You’d better head on to the boss’s office,” he warned. “You don’t want to be late.”

Already turning to leave, Justine said, “And I’m going to go tune in to Hey, USA. Do us proud, Viv.”

Moments later, as Vivian headed to Wes’s office, the word proud continued to waltz through her head. Yes, she had pride in her work as a developer and pride as a woman who had her own ideas of what made relationships work. This morning when the camera started rolling, she had to make sure she was strong, persuasive and full of conviction, even if Wes believed her ideas were a bunch of crap.

When she reached Adelle’s desk, the secretary waved her onward. “I should warn you, it’s a madhouse in there, Vivian. Don’t let the chaos rattle you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Vivian told her, while thinking it wasn’t the broadcast crew she was concerned about; it was her irritating boss.

Resisting the urge to smooth her hair, Vivian opened the door to Wes’s office and stepped inside. In that instant, she realized Adelle’s warning was correct. The place was a jumbled mess of equipment and people. Behind Wes’s desk, near the vast window overlooking the city, lights and cameras were being set up to garner the best angle. Cables and electrical wirings were being pulled here and there over the polished parquet, while, across the room, a makeup person was trying to brush powder across Wes’s forehead.

“Get that stuff away from me,” he ordered the diminutive blonde chasing after him with a long-handled makeup brush. “I don’t care if my face shines.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Robinson, but the glare of the light—”

Before the harried woman could finish her plea, Wes quickly walked over to Vivian standing uncertainly in the middle of the room.

“Good morning, Ms. Blair. Are you ready for this?” He waved a hand to the commotion of the crew behind them.

She drew in a bracing breath, while trying to ignore the way his blue eyes were making a slow, deliberate search of her face. What was the man thinking? That she needed help from the makeup woman? The idea stung.

“I think so. I’ve been going over all the things I need to say about My Perfect Match. I just hope the interviewer asks the right questions. Do you know what anchorperson will be doing our segment?”

“Ted Reynolds. I rarely watch television, so I’m not that familiar with the guy. Are you?”