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?”
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
