about you coming.”
“You were nervous?” Seth asked her. More twinkling.
“No. I—”
“Extremely,” Gail inserted. “This story is vital to us.”
“Uh, Gail, we don’t want to tie Seth up.” But can I offer you a gag? “Will you hold my calls?” Janie attempted an eyebrow move meant to convey a plea for cooperation.
“Hold your calls?” Gail blinked. Janie wanted Personal Touch to seem thriving but they hadn’t even had the usual quota of wrong-number perverts since Seth had arrived. Finally, Gail caught on. “Oh, you bet. I’ll do my best to keep those calls at bay. It’s not easy, let me tell you. It’s wild out here on the switchboard.” If anything was worth doing, Gail believed in overdoing it.
After she’d gone, Janie smiled at Seth. “Gail’s very enthusiastic. She was my first client, you know.”
“Oh, yeah?” Seth listened politely while she explained how she’d matched Gail and her husband, but took no notes.
“Maybe that would be a good sidebar?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job.” Was she irritating him? He hadn’t responded to any of her ideas so far. Her skin itched from tension, and the spots where the fire had touched her arm stung like crazy. “So, how did you envision capturing Personal Touch for your readers?”
“Envision?” He smirked, but kindly. “I don’t know if I intended anything so lofty, but how about a photo of you?” He lifted his camera.
“You’re a photographer, too?”
“When I have to be.” He didn’t seem too happy about it.
“Okay. Where do you want me?”
His eyes sparkled at her words. You really want to know? Then he surveyed her office. “Man, it’s pink in here. Looks like a dollhouse.”
“I chose this look to reassure our clients. The flowers, the soft colors and the lace convey the idea that dreams can come true.”
“You check that theory with men? Looks pretty girlie to me.”
“Men want romance, too, Seth. Along with logic. And that’s why Personal Touch is unique. We mix the pragmatic with the romantic.”
“Sure. I get it.” But he thought she was dishing out a sales pitch and he didn’t buy a word. “So, back to the photo.”
“How about here?” She rushed to the table under the lace-curtained window, where a vase of fresh pink roses rested. Kylie, who’d declared live flowers too expensive, had inexplicably sent her a dozen dewy blooms.
Seth considered the scene. “Kind of a cliché, but why not?” He moved closer and snapped a quick shot, studying it for a sec in the viewfinder. “Looks great.”
“Did I blink? I don’t think I was smiling.”
“See for yourself.” He turned the digital camera for her to look in the viewfinder. In the photo she looked startled and nervous and wore a faint smile.
“Pretty eyes, nice smile, see?” he said, and she was too swamped by the crinkles around his eyes, his scent, and his strong fingers clutching the camera to object. “Just a few questions and I’ll get out of your hair.” He started toward his chair.
“But I want you to take all the time you need. The computerized personality profile would take just ten minutes. That’s your angle, by the way. I have a trademark on the software, which is unique to the industry.”
He turned to stare at her, his impatience palpable, though he was clearly trying to appear relaxed.
“I know your time is valuable….”
He studied her while the antique clock behind her desk clicked off five seconds. “I give,” he said finally. “Show me your software.” His tone was teasing and low, the way he’d ask a lover to reveal something even softer.
There was a zing of connection between them. Gratifying, but not good.
“It’ll be quick, I promise,” she said, swallowing past the knot in her throat. She went to her desk and clicked open a fresh Mate Check computer file. Seth stood behind her and looked over her shoulder, his gaze warm on her skin, that lovely mix of coconut and leather filling her head.
Keeping her voice steady, she described the six areas of compatibility and opened the first set of questions, her fingers a little shaky on the mouse. “So, how would you describe your temperament, Seth?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“How about…?” She checked the box for I’m usually easygoing, but when I’m angry, I blow. She was being generous. He struck her as irritable and a bit gloomy.
“Close enough.”
She guessed at three more questions.
He nodded. “Okay. What if I lied?”
“Like any good psychological test, this one includes questions designed to detect inconsistencies. And the profile is only part of the Personal Touch process.”
“I get it. All very scientific.” He returned to his chair, evidently finished. “And you also make videos, right? Close-Ups? I’ve looked at your Web site. What else?” He prepared to write.
“There are networking parties, of course, and—”
“The magazine. Can I see one of those?”
She found the summer Book of Possibles and handed it to him.
He flipped through it, scanning the pages. “My favorite things are calico cats,” he read from one listing, “and the smell of the desert after a rain.” He shook his head, then flipped forward. “I can’t wait to swirl snifters of brandy with you in front of a roaring fire in my custom-built Prescott cabin.” He looked at her. Do you buy this?
“The magazine piques interest, Seth. I handpick the matches based on my analysis of all the data I gather.”
“And you’re a good judge of character?” He returned the magazine to her, holding her gaze.
“No one’s infallible, but I must be doing something right, since my success rate is—”
“Eighty percent, yeah, I read that. Impressive for a year-old business.”
“We think so.” Now they were getting somewhere. At least he’d done some advance reading.
He made a note, then raised his eyes. “So, describe your average client.”
“I have no average clients. Each and every one is special.” She smiled, pleased at her line, though Seth didn’t react.
“But we’re talking professionals, right? CEOs, doctors, lawyers. People
