Lessons Learned

mustn’t worry. Your tidily married Liz only enjoyed a mild flirtation with a man she’ll more than than likely never see again. Harmless. Perhaps because of it, she’ll find more romance with her husband tonight.”
    Juliet eyed him a moment in her straight-on, no-nonsense manner. “You think quite of lot of yourself, don’t you?”
    He grinned, not sure if he was relieved or if he regretted the fact that he’d never met anyone like her before. “No more than is warranted, cara. Anyone who has character leaves a mark on another. Would you like to leave the world without making a ripple?”
    No. No, that was one thing she was determined not to do. She sat back determined to hold her own. “I suppose some of us insist on leaving more ripples than others.”
    He nodded. “I don’t like to do anything in a small way.”
    “Be careful, Mr. Franconi, or you’ll begin to believe your own image.”
    The limo had stopped, but before Juliet could scoot toward the door, Carlo had her hand. When she looked at him this time, she didn’t see the affable, amorous Italian chef, but a man of power. A man, she realized, who was well aware of how far it could take him.
    She didn’t move, but wondered how many other women had seen the steel beneath the silk.
    “I don’t need imagery, Juliet.” His voice was soft, charming, beautiful. She heard the razor-blade cut beneath it. “Franconi is Franconi. Take me for what you see, or go to the devil.”
    Smoothly, he climbed from the limo ahead of her, turned and took her hand, drawing her out with him. It was a move that was polite, respectful, even ordinary. It was a move, Juliet realized, that expressed their positions. Man to woman. The moment she stood on the curb, she removed her hand.
     
    With two shows and a business brunch under their belts, Juliet left Carlo in the bookstore, already swamped with women crowded in line for a glimpse at and a few words with Carlo Franconi. They’d handled the reporter and photographer already, and a man like Franconi wouldn’t need her help with a crowd of women. Armed with change and her credit card, she went to find a pay phone.
    For the first forty-five minutes, she spoke with her assistant in New York, filling her pad with times, dates and names while L.A. traffic whisked by outside the phone booth. As a bead of sweat trickled down her back, she wondered if she’d chosen the hottest corner in the city.
    Denver still didn’t look as promising as she’d hoped, but Dallas… Juliet caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she wrote. Dallas was going to be fabulous. She might need to double her daily dose of vitamins to get through that twenty-four-hour stretch, but it would be fabulous.
    After breaking her connection with New York, Juliet dialedher first contact in San Francisco. Ten minutes later, she was clenching her teeth. No, her contact at the department store couldn’t help coming down with a virus. She was sorry, genuinely sorry he was ill. But did he have to get sick without leaving someone behind with a couple of working brain cells?
    The young girl with the squeaky voice knew about the cooking demonstration. Yes, she knew all about it and wasn’t it going to be fun? Extension cords? Oh my, she really didn’t know a thing about that. Maybe she could ask someone in maintenance. A table—chairs? Well golly, she supposed she could get something, if it was really necessary.
    Juliet was reaching in her bag for her purse-size container of aspirin before it was over. The way it looked now, she’d have to get to the department store at least two hours before the demonstration to make sure everything was taken care of. That meant juggling the schedule.
    After completing her calls, Juliet left the corner phone booth, aspirin in hand, and headed back to the bookstore, hoping they could give her a glass of water and a quiet corner.
    No one noticed her. If she’d just crawled in from the desert on her belly, no one would have noticed her. The small, rather elegant bookstore was choked with laughter. No bookseller stood behind the counter. There was a magnet in the left-hand corner of the room. Its name was Franconi.
    It wasn’t just women this time, Juliet noticed with interest. There were men sprinkled in the crowd. Some of them might have been dragged along by their wives, but they were having a time of it now. It looked like a cocktail party, minus the cigarette smoke and empty glasses.
    She couldn’t even see him,