Stella Bagwell - Fortune's Perfect Valentine

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?”

Vivian rubbed her sweaty palms down the sides of her hips. “Yes. He’s the darling of the network morning shows and the reason Hey, USA is such a hit.”

“Great. The more star power, the better for us,” Wes remarked, then suddenly wrapped his hand over her shoulder. “Are you okay, Vivian? You’re looking very pale.”

If she resembled a ghost, then the shock of his touch was taking care of the problem. Hot blood was shooting straight from his hand on her shoulder all the way to her face. He’d never touched her before. Not like this. Maybe their fingers had inadvertently brushed from time to time, but he’d never deliberately put his hand on her. Why had he suddenly decided to touch her today of all days?

Don’t be stupid, Vivian. The man is simply steadying you because you look like a wilted noodle ready to fall at his feet. That’s all it means. Nothing more.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “I just want this to be over with so I can get back to work.”

She was trying to decide how to disengage her shoulder from his hand without appearing too obvious, when a member of the production crew spoke up.

“Mr. Robinson, it’s nearly time to go on the air. We need you and Ms. Blair to take your seats and let us wire you with earpieces.”

The thin young man with a shaved head, red goatee and skintight black jeans motioned to the two of them, prompting Vivian to ask, “Who is he?”

“A guy who wishes he was in Hollywood instead of Austin,” Wes said drily, then added in a more serious tone, “actually, his name is Antonio. He’s the manager of this affiliate crew.”

With his hand moving to the small of her back, Wes ushered her forward. “Come on. Let’s go put on our act.”

Act? Wes might be planning to put on an act for the camera. But Vivian was going to speak straight from the heart. Whether he liked it or not.

Chapter Three

Five minutes later, Wes and Vivian sat side by side in a pair of dark blue wingback chairs and stared at a monitor positioned in front of them, yet out of view of the camera lens.

A few steps to their left, Antonio stood at the ready, his finger pointed at the monitor. “Get ready,” he instructed. “As soon as this commercial ends, Ted will greet you and introduce you to the viewing audience.”

Vivian’s heart was suddenly pounding so hard she could hardly hear herself think. As much as she wanted to duck behind the chair and hide from the camera, she had to remain at Wes’s side and face the viewing audience.

Her hands laced tightly together upon her lap while her mouth felt as if she’d just eaten a handful of chalk. Just as she was trying to convince herself she wasn’t going to panic, she felt a hand at the side of her face.

Turning slightly, she realized with a sense of shock that the hand belonged to Wes and his fingers were gently tucking her hair behind her ear.

“So everyone can see your face better,” he explained under his breath.

As if Vivian wasn’t already shaken enough, the man had to start touching her like a familiar lover! The idea of being on television must be doing something to him, she thought.

Sucking in a deep breath, she resisted the urge to shake her hair loose so that it would drape against her cheek. “I think—”

Antonio suddenly interrupted her retort. “Here we go,” he warned. “Three, two, one—you’re on!”

Vivian straightened stiffly in her seat and stared dazedly at the television monitor, while inches away, Wes leaned comfortably back and, with an easy smile, gazed at the camera.

What a ham! During the years she’d been at Robinson Tech, she’d not heard of anyone in the company’s developmental team or its vice president being on television. Yet he was behaving as though he did this sort of thing every day.

Just as she was thinking Wes ought to go into the acting profession, Ted Reynolds’s image popped onto the screen. Dressed in a flamboyant, brick-red jacket and a blue patterned tie, he had subtly highlighted hair slicked back from his broad face. Through the earpiece she could hear his voice giving the two of them a routine greeting and introduction.

Once they’d responded to his welcoming words, Ted quickly slipped into the role of interviewer. When he asked Wes to give the audience an overview of the company, her boss smoothly went into a brief summary of what Robinson Tech was all about, and the huge strides it had made in recent years at providing the consumer with affordable, up-to-date technology for use in homes and offices.

While Wes was doing a flawless job at praising the company’s capabilities and progress, Vivian was trying her hardest to remain focused on the words being exchanged between the two men. But she was rapidly losing the battle. Instead of following their conversation, her mind began drifting to the ridiculous. Like the tangy scent of expensive cologne wafting from Wes’s white dress shirt. The way his dark hair lay in mussed waves and the shape of his long fingers resting against his thigh. On his right hand he wore a heavy ring set with onyx, but the left hand was bare. No, she thought wryly. Wes wouldn’t be wearing a ring on his left. Not unless a perfect princess came along and swept him up in a cloud of bliss.