Fortune's Perfect Valentine

Holding up a hand to ward off their remarks, she said, “You don’t have to tell me. I was a complete disaster.”

George gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “It wasn’t all that bad.”

“Not at all,” Justine chimed in. “And you looked great with your hair like that.”

Vivian shot her a confused look, then quickly patted the top of her hair. “Like what? Is it all mussed up?”

“No,” Justine said with a giggle. “The way it’s tucked behind your ear. Gives you a really chic look.”

Just the thought of Wes’s infuriating remarks had Vivian quickly shaking her hair loose. “My hair was—just a mistake. And my mouth was even worse,” she added with a groan of misery. “Every word that passed my lips made me sound like an idiot! I’ve probably ruined any hope that My Perfect Match will be a big seller.”

“I wouldn’t think that,” George spoke up. “Uh, so what did Mr. Robinson say afterward?”

Before Vivian could answer George’s question, Justine pelted her with another.

“Probably angry, huh?”

Exhaling a long breath, Vivian moved past her coworkers and practically flopped into her desk chair. “Not exactly. I mean, Wes—uh, Mr. Robinson—isn’t the type to show much emotion. Have you two ever seen him angry?”

George and Justine both shook their heads.

Justine said, “We’re not as lucky as you, Viv. We rarely meet with the man.”

“I’m fine not to meet with him,” George put in. “Makes me nervous to have to talk to the boss.”

Justine made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Technically, he’s not our boss, George.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” George said drily. “You mess up with Wes Robinson and you’ll be outta here.”

“His twin, Ben, is the new COO. And from what I hear, Wes was pretty hacked off that he didn’t get the job.”

Her nerves already frazzled, Vivian massaged the pain gathering in the middle of her forehead. “Justine, please, give it a rest. Anybody in this building with the name Robinson is our boss. Plain and simple. Now if you two will excuse me, I need to get to work.”

“Oh? Orders from our boss?” Justine asked slyly.

Dropping her hand, Vivian looked at her coworkers. She might as well let them in on her plan, she decided. They were going to hear about it sooner or later anyway.

“Not exactly. I’m signing up on My Perfect Match. The quicker, the better.”

“What?” George stared at her with real concern.

Justine giggled. “You? On My Perfect Match? Are you kidding, Viv?”

“Not in the least. Wes is willing to give it a try. So am I.”

The concern on George’s face grew deeper as he walked over to Vivian and looked down at her. “Are you doing this just because he is?”

Was she? When Vivian had first come up with the concept of My Perfect Match, she’d certainly not been creating the app for her own personal use. In spite of everything she’d said to Wes, she still wanted to meet her suitors the old-fashioned way. After that, she’d make the decision whether they were completely compatible or not. But when Wes had insisted he was actually going to use the app, she realized she had to step up to the plate and do the same.

“If a person isn’t willing to use her own product, George, what kind of impression is that going to give the public? I’ve got to show Wes and everyone that I believe in this thing.”

“Good thing you’re not a casket maker,” Justine quipped.

George shot the other woman a tired look, then shook his head at Vivian. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Viv?”

To answer his question, Vivian picked up her smartphone and scrolled through the pages of applications until she found My Perfect Match.

“I’ve never been more certain. I’m going to find the man of my dreams. Our likes and dislikes will match precisely. We’ll have no choice but to fall in love and live happily ever after.”

Justine let out a mocking groan. “Oh, please. That’s enough to send me back to work.”

George must have had the same thought because he turned to follow Justine out of the small cubicle.

“What? No words of wisdom from you, George?”

Looking over his shoulder, the burly redhead frowned at her. “All I can say is good luck, Vivian. You’re going to need it.”

Scowling back at him, she asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’ve set your goals mighty high.”

“Somewhere out there is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. And My Perfect Match is going to find him for me.”

“Hmm. Well, if that’s the case, then Wes Robinson is going to find the woman he wants to share the rest of his life with. So this app should make you both very happy.”

Happy? Oh, yes, Vivian thought, proving Wes wrong was going to make her ecstatic.

Chapter Four

“Vivian, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

How many times had she heard that in the past two days? The question was becoming a broken record, Vivian thought.

Not bothering to look over at her sister, Michelle, who was standing a few steps away, watching as Vivian applied a coat of mascara to her already dark lashes. Normally she didn’t use a great deal of makeup when going on a date, but tonight was special. Or at least she was treating it as such. Tonight was her first date generated by My Perfect Match and she wanted to make a good impression.

“I’m going on a dinner date,” she answered, trying her best to sound casual even though her nerves were balled in a knot.

“With someone you’ve never met before.” Michelle shook her head in dismay. “You’re far braver than me, sis.”

She wasn’t brave, Vivian thought. Determined was more like it. “I have to start somewhere. And it’s just dinner.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you should’ve never made such a wager with Wes Robinson,” she argued. “And just what are you going to get if you prove the app works? A bonus from Robinson Tech? Bragging rights?”

Vivian turned away from the dresser mirror to glance at her sister. Three years older, Michelle was a few inches taller and several pounds lighter than Vivian. Michelle had curly chestnut hair and pale, porcelain skin, and Vivian had always considered her sister to be far prettier than her. And as a high school art teacher, Michelle was far better at communicating with people.

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