Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts

see what your shops have to offer.” He beamed back. “So far, I’m charmed.”

      She watched the exchange and tried not to clench her teeth. “All right, then, if you’ll just be sure to—”

      “Be in Special Events on the third floor at eleven-forty-five,” he finished. In his friendly, casual way, he kissed her forehead. She wondered why he could touch her like a cousin and make her think of a lover. “Believe me, Juliet, nothing you say to me is forgotten.” He took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. That was definitely not the touch of a cousin. “I’ll buy you a present.”

      “It isn’t necessary.”

      “A pleasure. Things that are necessary are rarely a pleasure.”

      Juliet disengaged her hand while trying not to dwell on the pleasure he could offer. “Please, don’t be later than eleven-forty-five, Carlo.”

      “Timing, mi amore, is something I excel in.”

      I’ll bet, she thought as she started toward the escalator. She’d have bet a week’s pay he was already flirting with the lingerie clerk.

      It only took ten minutes in Special Events for Juliet to forget Carlo’s penchant for romancing anything feminine.

      The little assistant with the squeaky voice was still in charge as her boss continued his battle with the flu. She was young, cheerleader pretty and just as pert. She was also in completely over her head.

      “Elise,” Juliet began because it was still early on enough for her to have some optimism. “Mr. Franconi’s going to need a working area in the kitchen department. Is everything set?”

      “Oh, yes.” Elise gave Juliet a toothy, amiable grin. “I’m getting a nice folding table from Sporting Goods.”

      Diplomacy, Juliet reminded herself, was one of the primary rules of PR. “I’m afraid we’ll need something a bit sturdier. Perhaps one of the islands where Mr. Franconi could prepare the dish and still face the audience. Your supervisor and I had discussed it.”

      “Oh, is that what he meant?” Elise looked blank for a moment, then brightened. Juliet began to think dark thoughts about mellow California. “Well, why not?”

      “Why not,” Juliet agreed. “We’ve kept the dish Mr. Franconi is to prepare as simple as possible. You do have all the ingredients listed?”

      “Oh, yes. It sounds just delicious. I’m a vegetarian, you know.”

      Of course she was, Juliet thought. Yogurt was probably the high point of her day. “Elise, I’m sorry if it seems I’m rushing you along, but I really need to work out the setup as soon as possible.”

      “Oh, sure.” All cooperation, Elise flashed her straight-toothed smile. “What do you want to know?”

      Juliet offered up a prayer. “How sick is Mr. Francis?” she asked, thinking of the levelheaded, businesslike man she had dealt with before.

      “Just miserable.” Elise swung back her straight California-blond hair. “He’ll be out the rest of the week.”

      No help there. Accepting the inevitable, Juliet gave Elise her straight, no-nonsense look. “All right, what have you got so far?”

      “Well, we’ve taken a new blender and some really lovely bowls from Housewares.”

      Juliet nearly relaxed. “That’s fine. And the range?”

      Elise smiled. “Range?”

      “The range Mr. Franconi needs to cook the spaghetti for this dish. It’s on the list.”

      “Oh. We’d need elecricity for that, wouldn’t we?”

      “Yes.” Juliet folded her hands to keep them from clenching. “We would. For the blender, too.”

      “I guess I’d better check with maintenance.”

      “I guess you’d better.” Diplomacy, tact, Juliet reminded herself as her fingers itched for Elise’s neck. “Maybe I’ll just go over to the kitchen layouts and see which one would suit Mr. Franconi best.”

      “Terrific. He might want to do his interview right there.”

      Juliet had taken two steps before she stopped and turned back. “Interview?”

      “With the food editor of the Sun. She’ll be here at eleven-thirty.”

      Calm, controlled, Juliet pulled out her itinerary of the San Diego stop. She skimmed it, though she knew every word by heart. “I don’t seem to have anything listed here.”

      “It came up at the last minute. I called your hotel at nine, but you’d already checked out.”

      “I see.” Should she have expected Elise to phone the television studio and leave a message? Juliet looked into the personality-plus smile. No, she supposed not. Resigned, she checked her watch. The setup could be dealt with in time if she started immediately. Carlo would just have to be paged. “How do I call mall management?”

      “Oh, you can call from my office. Can I do anything?”

      Juliet thought of and rejected several things, none of which were kind. “I’d like some coffee, two sugars.”

      She rolled up her sleeves and went to work.

      By eleven, Juliet had the range, the island and the ingredients Carlo had specified neatly arranged. It had taken only one call, and some finesse, to acquire two vivid flower arrangements from a shop in the mall.

      She was on her third coffee and considering a fourth when Carlo wandered over. “Thank God.” She drained the last from the styrofoam cup. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”

      “Search party?” Idly he began looking around the kitchen set. “I came when I heard the page.”

      “You’ve been paged five times in the last hour.”

      “Yes?” He smiled as he looked back at her. Her hair was beginning to stray out of her neat bun. He might have stepped off the cover of Gentlemen’s Quarterly. “I only just heard. But then, I spent some time in the most fantastic record store. Such speakers. Quadraphonic.”

      “That’s nice.” Juliet dragged a hand through her already frazzled hair.

      “There’s a problem?”

      “Her name’s Elise. I’ve come very close to murdering her half a dozen times. If she smiles at me again, I just might.” Juliet gestured with her hand to brush it off. This was no time for fantasies, no matter how satisfying. “It seems things were a bit disorganized here.”

      “But you’ve seen to that.” He bent over to examine the range as a driver might a car before Le Mans. “Excellent.”

      “You can be glad you’ve got electricity rather than your imagination,” she muttered. “You have an interview at eleven-thirty with a food editor, Marjorie Ballister, from the Sun.”

      He only moved his shoulders and examined the blender. “All right.”

      “If I’d known it was coming up, I’d have bought a paper so we could have seen her column and gauged her style. As it is—”

      “Non importante. You worry too much, Juliet.”

      She could have kissed him. Strictly in gratitude, but she could have kissed him. Considering that unwise, she smiled instead. “I appreciate your attitude, Carlo. After the last hour of dealing with the inept, the insane and the unbearable, it’s a relief to have someone take things in stride.”

      “Franconi always takes things in stride.” Juliet started to sink into a chair for a five-minute break.

      “Dio! What joke is this?” She was standing again and looking down at the little can he held in his hand. “Who would sabotage my pasta?”