Dawn in Eclipse Bay

his dark hair. “If that’s the conclusion your idiotic program came up with, you’d damn well better see about getting some new software.”
    “I don’t think the program is at fault here.”
    “A robot, huh?” He nodded once. “Maybe that’s what went wrong on those five dates you arranged for me. Maybe you sent me out with five robots. Come to think of it, they were all a little too thin and there was something very computerlike about the way they tried to grill me on the subject of my portfolio.”
    “You got exactly what you said you wanted, according to the questionnaire,” she said very sweetly. “There was no strong emotion in any of your responses except when it came to the importance of not being matched with what you call arty types and your insistence on a prenuptial agreement.”
    “What’s the problem with the lack of strong emotions?”
    “For one thing, it makes it extremely difficult to find a match for you.”
    “I would have thought taking emotion out of the equation would have made it easier to match me, not harder.”
    “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’m a big believer in approaching marriage logically. I’ve built this business on that premise. But you’ve gone to extremes. You’re hunting for a wife as if you were interviewing a potential employee for an executive slot at Madison Commercial. It won’t work.”
    “Why not?” His eyes were emerald hard. His voice fell to an even softer pitch. “Because I’m a Madison and Madisons can’t do anything without getting emotional?”
    “That does it.” She powered down the laptop. “It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a Madison. You can’t expect me to find you a proper match when you insist on concealing your true feelings on certain matters.”
    “Concealing my true feelings?”
    “Yes.” She closed the lid of the laptop, reached down, opened a drawer and removed her shoulder bag.
    “Just a minute. Are you accusing me of having deliberately shaded a few of my answers on that questionnaire?”
    “No.” She straightened and slung the strap of the bag over her shoulder. “I don’t think you shaded a few of your responses. I think you lied through your teeth about everything except prenuptial agreements and arty types.”
    “Why the hell would I lie on that stupid questionnaire?”
    “How should I know? You’d need to discuss that with a trained therapist. I can give you the name of one, if you want to pursue the matter. He’s right here in this building. Three floors down. Dr. J. Anderson Flint.”
    Gabe’s expression hardened. “His name certainly popped up in a hurry in the course of this conversation.”
    “Probably because he’s on my mind at the moment.” She glanced at the roman numerals etched on the jade green face of her watch. “I’m on my way to his office.”
    “You’re seeing a therapist?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” She went to the small closet behind the desk, opened it and removed the hooded, ankle-length rain cloak inside. “Anderson is doing research for a book. He wants to interview me.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he specializes in treating people who have problems in their uh, physical relationships with their partners.”
    “In other words, he’s a sex therapist?”
    She could feel herself turning red again. “I believe sex therapy constitutes the major portion of his practice, yes.”
    “And he wants to interview you. Well, now, that would certainly raise a few eyebrows back in Eclipse Bay.”
    “Try to get your mind out of the gutter.” She scooped the laptop off her desk and stuffed it into a waterproof case. “I’ve got a very high success rate here at Private Arrangements. Anderson feels my computer program is the key. He is looking for ways to incorporate the principles of that program into a useful guide for couples seeking committed relationships.”
    “You sure can’t prove your very high success rate by me.”
    “No.” She picked up the case containing the laptop and walked around the corner of her desk. “I admit you are a glaring failure. Most of my clients, however, are satisfied with the results they get here at Private Arrangements.”
    And I intend to quit while they all feel that way, she thought, heading for the door.
    Gabe grabbed his black trench coat off the coatrack. “Your matchmaking program sucks in my opinion.”
    “You’ve made your feelings on the subject quite clear.” She opened the door. “And that is why