Fortune's Perfect Valentine. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
COO of Robinson Tech, expecting Wes to put some new innovative idea on his desk every other day.
“You’re on track now, Ms. Blair.”
Her expression rigid, she reached for the small notepad and pen she’d placed on the edge of the desk when she’d first sat down for their meeting.
“So is the live remote still on for tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’ve already spoken with the producer of Hey, USA this morning. Our segment is set to be broadcast at nine fifteen central tomorrow. So I expect you to be ready well before that time.”
She nodded. “And where do they plan to shoot this remote? The conference room?”
Wes shook his head. “Right here in my office.” He jerked his thumb toward the window behind him. “We’ll sit in front of the plate glass so the backdrop will be the skyline of the city. I think the producer—she wants an urban feel to the segment. You know, the image of city people hurrying and scurrying—too busy to find a date, so they rely on an app to find them one,” he added drily.
“My Perfect Match is more than finding a person a date. It’s—”
He held up a hand before she could slip into another sermon about compatibility and long-term relationships. Wes didn’t want anything long-term. And he sure as hell wasn’t looking to make any woman his wife. He’d seen his mother suffer through too many years of a loveless marriage to want the same for himself.
“Save it for the camera tomorrow,” he told her. “The public is who you need to convince, not me.”
She clutched the notebook to her chest, and Wes found himself wondering if she’d ever held a man to herself in that manner. He couldn’t imagine it. But then, he didn’t have a clue about her social life. Could be that once she was away from the Robinson Tech building, she tore off her professional demeanor and turned into a little wildcat. The idea very nearly put a smile on his face.
“Do you have any idea what sort of questions the interviewer will be asking? I’d like to be prepared.”
“You’ve had plenty to say on the subject during our meeting this morning,” he told her. “And I’m sure you won’t have any problem speaking your mind tomorrow. You’ll simply explain the product and how it works. I’ll speak for Robinson Tech and what the company stands for. The national exposure will be great.”
She dropped the notepad to her lap, but Wes’s gaze lingered on the subtle curves of her breasts beneath the white shirt. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He didn’t need to be ogling this woman. There were always plenty of women in his little black book who were ready to go out on a date with him. He certainly didn’t need to start having romantic notions about Vivian.
“Yes, the publicity is just what the app needs,” she said primly. “I only hope everything goes smoothly.”
Annoyed at his straying thoughts, he frowned at her. “Why should it not?”
Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ve never been on television before.”
He leveled a pointed look at her. “I’m sure there are plenty of things you’ve never done before, Ms. Blair. And there’s always a first time for everything.”
She straightened her shoulders, and once again Wes spotted a flash of anger in her eyes.
“You’re very reassuring,” she said.
“I’m not your caretaker, Ms. Blair.”
“Thank God.”
The words were muttered so quietly that at first Wes wasn’t sure he heard them. And once he’d concluded he’d heard correctly, he couldn’t quite believe she’d had the audacity to say them.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
Louder now, she answered, “I said, are we finished here?”
Any other time he would’ve upbraided an employee for making such a retort, but seeing Vivian Blair turn into a firecracker right in front of his eyes had knocked him off kilter.
“Yes. Be here in my office no later than eight forty-five in the morning. I don’t want any glitches or mishaps happening before the interview.”
“I’ll certainly be on time.”
She quickly rose to her feet and started toward the door. Before Wes could stop himself, he added, “And Ms. Blair, tomorrow for the interview, could you not look so—studious? My Perfect Match is all about romance. It might help if you—well, looked the part a bit more.”
Her back went ramrod straight as she fixed him with a stare. “In other words, sex sells,” she retorted. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
To a woman like Vivian, he supposed he sounded crude. But she should have understood that this was all about business. Still, something about the disdain on her face caused a wave of heat to wash up his neck and over his jaw. He could only hope the overhead lighting was too dim for her to pick up his discomfort.
Clearing his throat, he purposely swiveled his chair so that he was facing her. He’d be damned if he let this woman make him feel the least bit ashamed.
“Ms. Blair, there’s no cause for you to be offended. I’m not trying to exploit you or your gender. I’m trying to sell an idea. Having you look attractive and pretty can only help the matter.”
Even from the distance of a few feet, he could see her heave out a long breath. For one split second he was so tempted to see that fire in her eyes again that he almost left his chair and walked over to her. But he forced himself to stay put and behave as her boss, instead of a hot-blooded male.
Tilting her little chin to a challenging angle, she asked brusquely, “And what about your effort in all of this, Mr. Robinson? Do you plan to wax your chest and unbutton your shirt down to your waist?”
It took Wes a moment to digest her questions, but once they sank in, his reaction was to burst out laughing.
“Touché, Vivian. I expect I deserved that.”
“I expect you did,” she said flatly, then turned and left the room.
As Wes watched the door close behind her, he realized this was the first time in days that he’d laughed about anything. Strange, he thought, that a brainy employee had been the one to put a smile on his face.
Shaking his head with wry disbelief, he turned his chair back to the desk and reached for a stack of reports.
* * *
By the time Vivian returned to her work cubicle, she felt certain that steam was shooting from her ears. Before today, she’d never allowed herself to think of Wes Robinson as anything other than her boss. She’d kept herself immune to his dark good looks. A rather easy task, given the fact that he was so far out of her league, she needed a telescope to see him. But their meeting this morning had definitely given her a full view of the man. And what she’d seen she certainly disliked.
“Hey, Viv, ready for lunch?”
Pressing fingertips to the middle of her puckered forehead, she looked over her shoulder to see George Townsend standing at the entrance of her work cubicle. In his early fifties, he was a tall, burly man with red hair and a thick beard to match. Other than a set of elderly parents who lived more than a thousand miles away, he had no family. Instead, he seemed content to let his work be his family. Most everyone in the developmental department considered George a social recluse. Except Vivian.
During the years they’d worked together, she’d grown close to George. Now she considered him as much of a brother as she did a coworker. And she was thankful for their friendship. In her opinion, the man was not only a computer genius but also a kind human being. He didn’t care about her appearance. Nor was he interested in the size of her apartment or bank account.
“Is it that time already? I’m not really hungry yet.”