Valentine's Fantasy. Janice Sims

demand for a divorce. “Not much longer.”

      “Right.” Seth’s voice lowered. “Which is why I think it’s up to us to do something about it.”

      “Us?” She laughed. “How are we going to help professional psychologists—the top in their field, by the way—mend their own relationship?”

      Seth’s lips slid into a wide grin. “An intervention.”

      “An intervention?” Edie repeated and turned her gaze back to Chanté and Matt, just as Matt twisted one too many times and fell out his chair, then proceeded to writhe on the floor. “Forget the intervention, I think we need an exorcist.”

      * * *

      “Oh, hell no,” Chanté snapped at Edie above the den of diners at the prestigious Gramercy Tavern. When all eyes shot to their table, Chanté quickly covered with a bland smile, and then added under her breath, “I’m not going to marriage counseling.”

      Unfazed by her friend’s outburst, Edie calmly peered over the rim of her glasses. “If you look me in the eye and tell me that you honestly want a divorce, I’ll back off.”

      Chanté opened her mouth to make her daily proclamation, but when the words failed her, she closed it and shifted in her chair.

      A triumphant smile bloomed across Edie’s lips. “I didn’t think so.”

      “Explain to me how it would look for two relationship experts to seek relationship counseling. Wouldn’t that also put a dent in our precious credibility?”

      “The public will never know,” she assured.

      “Come on. We live in the information age.” Chanté stabbed at her spinach salad. “Secrets always come out—usually on the Internet.”

      Edie slumped back in her chair, thoughtful. “Then we could release the information ourselves.” She bobbed her head, warming to the idea. “Hear me out on this.” She sat up again. “You and Matthew promote counseling. What better way to show that all relationships hit rough patches? Right now, you guys appear to have the perfect marriage. There are a good percentage of people who think you guys can never understand their problems because you have it so good. But if they see perfect marriages being not-so-perfect then we can tap into a few more readers.”

      “What are you talking about? People see those marriages all the time. They’re called celebrity marriages.”

      “Be serious. No one takes celebrity marriages seriously. We’re talking about two famous love doctors, and when you fix their marriage, it will renew hope.”

      “If we can fix our marriage.” Chanté bit into her salad and rolled her eyes. “And that’s a very big if.”

      “Okay. We’ll keep it out of the papers for now, but if a leak happens we’ll be prepared.”

      Chanté lowered her gaze and stared at her half-eaten salad, remembering the first time she’d laid eyes on Matthew. He’d blown a tire out on the main highway and walked ten miles to Sam’s Café on the edge of Karankawa, Texas, where she waitressed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out with his perfect speech, soft manicured hands and expensive shoes that he wasn’t from around those parts.

      Chanté chuckled aloud from the memory, but snapped to attention when Edie’s sharp gaze zeroed in on her.

      The last thing she expected today was to be ambushed with an intervention for her own marriage. However, her own solution to surviving the rest of her life with her self-absorbed, self-righteous and pretentious husband had already cost her a new Mercedes.

      However, the question was whether she wanted to fix her marriage. As she struggled for an answer, her vision blurred, but she blinked away the tears and forced down another bite of food.

      Edie watched Chanté from over the rim of her glasses for a long time before she prompted, “Well? You have to do something before you kill each other or kill yourselves. You know psychologists have the highest suicide rate.”

      “Where did you hear that?”

      “I read it somewhere.”

      “Huh. I always thought it was dentists who had the highest rate.”

      “C’mon. What do you say? Will you go to marriage counseling?”

      * * *

      Matthew Valentine, handsome in a royal-blue suit, stared over the heads of his studio audience and into the camera. “Today we will be talking about how to take the bitterness out of your marriage.” He smiled, but remained serious. “Oftentimes, it’s not the big things that break a marriage. It’s the small things.” His voice quivered and for a brief moment, Matt appeared to have lost his concentration.

      Seth shifted his gaze from one of the monitors to glance at his client on the stage.

      The ultimate professional, Matthew recovered and continued with his spiel. The irony of today’s subject matter didn’t escape Seth so he found himself paying close attention to how Matthew interacted with his guests and the advice Matthew gave them.

      “Couples tend to argue over something safe or superficial during battle, but they avoid talking about the serious problems.”

      Seth nodded as he listened. Everything Matthew said was sound advice. Everything made sense to him—so what were the serious problems between Matthew and Chanté? Where had they gone wrong?

      While Matthew continued to mingle with his audience and offer handkerchiefs to sobbing guests, Seth thought back to when he first sensed trouble between Matthew and Chanté. Actually, he didn’t sense, more like he dodged a glass vase when he’d entered the Valentines’ home during a heated argument. Chanté was a small woman but she had one hell of an arm.

      Two hours later, with the day’s show finally completed taping and the last of the audience filtered out of the studio, Seth made it to Matt’s dressing room and lingered just outside the door while a young, petite, yet curvaceous intern fawned over her employer.

      “Great show today, Dr. Valentine,” she said breathily. “I swear it’s like you really know how a woman thinks and feels.”

      Seth lifted an inquisitive brow.

      “Thank you, Cookie.” Matt didn’t spare the young girl a glance as he stripped the light coat of makeup from his face.

      However, Cookie ignored his indifference and stepped forward until her perky bosom brushed against Matt’s arm. “I know I’ve only been here six weeks, but I have to tell you—working with you has been like a dream come true.” She reached out a hand and gently stroked the side of his face.

      Belatedly, Matt flinched from her touch.

      “You’re using the cologne I bought you for your birthday.”

      “Yeah, I decided what the hell. I’ve been using the same cologne for ten years.”

      Smiling like a seasoned temptress, she winked. “If there’s ever anything you need—I’ll be more than happy to help.”

      Matt finally met her gaze, but didn’t respond.

      Enough was enough. Seth cleared his throat.

      Matt jumped again and then his face flushed a deep burgundy. “Seth,” he boomed too loudly. “C’mon in. Cookie, that will be all for today.”

      The vixen’s lips managed to spread wider as she demurely cast her gaze down. “If you say so, Dr. Valentine.” She turned and walked saucily toward the door.

      “Remember, if you need anything—anything at all—call me.” Cookie winked and disappeared from the door.

      “Can you spell trouble?” Seth asked, blinking from the trance her swaying hips induced.

      “Who—Cookie?” Matt asked. “She’s harmless.”

      “So