Fortune's Perfect Valentine. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
row of cabinets, refrigerator, microwave, hot plate and coffee machine.
Even though it was lunchtime, only a handful of people were sitting at the long utility tables. Since Robinson Tech was located in downtown Austin, most of the employees who worked in Vivian’s department went out to lunch. There were several good eating places within walking distance and they all strived to give quick service to the workers on a limited time schedule. But usually Vivian chose to bring her own lunch and remain in the building.
“Looks like most of your friends are out today,” George said as the two of them took seats across from each other. “Guess they don’t mind walking in the cold.”
Vivian didn’t mind the cold, either. But she did mind sitting at a table with a group of giggling women with little more on their minds than the latest hairdo, a nail salon or a man.
“The wind was very cold this morning,” she agreed. “I was already here at the building before the heater in my car ever got warm.”
As she’d readied herself for work this morning, she’d also dressed more warmly in dark gray slacks and dress boots. The gray cardigan she’d pulled over her white shirt had looked perfectly appropriate to her, but now, as she glanced down at herself, she was doubting her fashion choices.
Damn Wes Robinson! What did he know about women and sex and romance, anyway?
Probably a whole lot more than you do, Vivian. It’s been weeks since you’ve been on a date, and that evening turned out to be as exciting as watching a caterpillar slowly climb a blade of green grass.
“Well, Mr. Robinson’s office must have been plenty warm,” George commented between bites of sandwich. “You looked pretty hot when you got back to your desk.”
Vivian shot her friend an annoyed look. “You noticed?”
He smiled. “I just happened to look up. Did anything go wrong with the meeting?”
She let out a heavy breath. “I just don’t agree with some of the man’s ideas, that’s all. And frankly, I’ll be glad when the introduction of My Perfect Match is over and done with. I’m a computer developer, George. I don’t work in advertising.”
“But you are going to do the TV spot in the morning, aren’t you?”
The smirk on her face revealed exactly how she felt about being on a national television show that pulled in millions of viewers each morning. “I have no choice. Wes—I mean, Mr. Robinson—wants me to explain how the app works.”
“Well, it is your brainchild,” George reasoned.
Reaching across the table, she gave his hand a friendly pat. “I could’ve never created the app without your help, George. You’re the wizard here. As far as I’m concerned, you can explain how the thing works far better than I.”
He chuckled. “Only the technical parts. All those questions and what they’re supposed to do for the person answering them—well, that’s more your line.”
Vivian had stood in line for nearly ten minutes this morning at Garcia’s Deli just to get one of Mr. Garcia’s delicious pork sandwiches called the Cuban Cigar, but now each bite she took seemed to stick at the top of her throat.
Shaking her head, she said, “Not really. Those questions were compiled by a set of psychologists who are experts in human relationships. But I do believe in them. And you should, too, George. Otherwise, our little brainchild will be a bust.”
And after the way she’d defended the new app to her cynical boss, seeing it fall flat would just about kill her.
He shrugged one thick shoulder. “I’m not worried. We’ve developed some stinkers before and survived. Not everything we create is going to be a huge success.”
No. In this age of fast-moving technology, it was hard to predict what the public would spend its hard-earned money on. Yet Vivian knew first-hand that being lonely was a painful thing. Her many failures at finding true love were the main reason she’d come up with My Perfect Match. At the age of twenty-eight, she would be silly to consider herself an old maid, yet she was growing tired of playing the dating game and falling short of having any sort of meaningful relationship to show for it. Her own frustration led her to believe there were plenty of lonely people out there who’d be willing to give the app a try.
“That’s true. But I’ve really stuck my neck on the chopping block for this project. More than anything, I want it to be a huge success. That’s why I can’t falter in the interview tomorrow.”
George’s coarse, ruddy features spread into a reassuring smile. “Don’t think about your nerves. Just look into the camera and pretend you’re talking to me. You’ll be great.”
Great? Sitting in front of a television camera with Wes Robinson at her side? She’d count herself lucky to simply hold herself together.
Back in Wes’s office, he was just hanging up the phone with the marketing department when his twin brother, Ben, walked through the door.
“Looks like I need to have a long talk with my secretary.” He leaned back in the desk chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Normally, Adelle knows better than to let riffraff come into my office unannounced.”
Clearly amused by his brother’s sardonic jab, Ben walked over and rested the corner of his hip on Wes’s desk. Dressed in a dapper gray suit and burgundy patterned tie, Ben was every inch the business man and more like their father than Wes would ever want to be. Full of brass and swagger, Ben went after anything and everything he wanted with the ferocity of a stalking tiger.
For a while after their father, Gerald, had appointed Ben the new COO of Robinson Tech, Wes had felt worse than slighted. He’d been cut to the core. As vice president of the developmental team, Wes was adept at presiding over operations, generating revenue, analyzing financial reports and motivating staff, along with a jillion other responsibilities that went along with the job. He could’ve handled the COO position with his eyes closed.
But Gerald had chosen to hand it to his elder twin. And to Wes the reason had been blatantly obvious. Because Ben was their father’s favorite. Which wasn’t hard to understand, given the fact that Ben had the same aggressive business tactics as their father, while Wes considered hard work and integrity the best way to climb the corporate ladder.
Grinning, Ben said, “I’m glad to see you’re getting your wit back.”
“I wasn’t aware I’d ever lost it,” Wes quipped.
Ben thoughtfully picked up a paperweight and held it up to the florescent light. The hunk of gray glass was the shape of a dove, and Wes wondered if Ben was thinking the bird matched his younger twin. No doubt their father would say Wes was the peaceful dove of the two, while Ben was a fierce hawk. The idea stung far more than Wes wanted to admit.
“Hmm. Ever since I got the COO position, you’ve been about as warm as a polar bear. I thought you’d be over Dad’s decision by now.”
Wes inwardly bristled while trying to make sure his expression remained bland. No one could rankle him more than his twin, but he hardly wanted Ben to know that. The man was already smug enough.
“I was over it five minutes after Dad’s decision was announced,” Wes told him.
Ben’s expression said he found Wes’s statement laughable. Which came as no surprise. From the years when they were small boys until now, the two of them had been rivals in everything, including their parents’ love and admiration. And Wes supposed he’d spent most all of his thirty-three years trying to prove he was equal or better than his slightly older brother.
“If that’s the case, then why have you been giving me the cold shoulder?”
“That’s all in your mind,” Wes told him.
Placing