Lessons Learned by Nora Roberts

philistine?”
    She wouldn’t tell him what he looked like. Later, she might privately admit that temper was spectacular on him. Dark and unreasonable, but spectacular. “Carlo, I realize things aren’t quite as perfect here as both of us would like, but—”
    “I don’t need perfect,” he tossed at her. “I can cook in a sewer if I have to, but not without the proper ingredients.”
    She swallowed—though it went down hard—pride, temper and opinion. She only had fifteen minutes left until the interview. “I’m sorry, Carlo. If we could just compromise on this—”
    “Compromise?” When the word came out like an obscenity, she knew she’d lost the battle. “Would you ask Picasso to compromise on a painting?”
    Juliet stuck the can into her pocket. “How much fresh basil do you need?”
    “Three ounces.”
    “You’ll have it. Anything else?”
    “A mortar and pestle, marble.”
    Juliet checked her watch. She had forty-five minutes to handle it. “Okay. If you’ll do the interview right here, I’ll take care of this and we’ll be ready for the demonstration at noon.” She sent up a quick prayer that there was a gourmet shop within ten miles. “Remember to get in the book title and the next stop on the tour. We’ll be hitting another Gallegher’s in Portland, so it’s a good tie-in. Here.” Digging into her bag she brought out an eight-by-ten glossy. “Take the extra publicity shot for her in case I don’t get back. Elise didn’t mention a photographer.”
    “You’d like to chop and dice that bouncy little woman,” Carloobserved, noting that Juliet was swearing very unprofessionally under her breath.
    “You bet I would.” She dug in again. “Take a copy of the book. The reporter can keep it if necessary.”
    “I can handle the reporter,” he told her calmly enough. “You handle the basil.”
    It seemed luck was with her when Juliet only had to make three calls before she found a shop that carried what she needed. The frenzied trip in the rain didn’t improve her disposition, nor did the price of a marble pestle. Another glance at her watch reminded her she didn’t have time for temperament. Carrying what she considered Carlo’s eccentricities, she ran back to the waiting cab.
    At exactly ten minutes to twelve, dripping wet, Juliet rode up to the third floor of Gallegher’s. The first thing she saw was Carlo, leaning back in a cozy wicker dinette chair laughing with a plump, pretty middle-aged woman with a pad and pencil. He looked dashing, amiable and most of all, dry. She wondered how it would feel to grind the pestle into his ear.
    “Ah, Juliet.” All good humor, Carlo rose as she walked up to the table. “You must meet Marjorie. She tells me she’s eaten my pasta in my restaurant in Rome.”
    “Loved every sinful bite. How do you do? You must be the Juliet Trent Carlo bragged about.”
    Bragged about? No, she wouldn’t be pleased. But Juliet set her bag on the table and offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope you can stay for the demonstration.”
    “Wouldn’t miss it.” She twinkled at Carlo. “Or a sample of Franconi’s pasta.”
    Juliet felt a little wave of relief. Something would be salvagedout of the disaster. Unless she was way off the mark, Carlo was about to be given a glowing write-up.
    Carlo was already taking the little sack of basil out of the bag. “Perfect,” he said after one sniff. “Yes, yes, this is excellent.” He tested the pestle weight and size. “You’ll see over at our little stage a crowd is gathering,” he said easily to Juliet. “So we moved here to talk, knowing you’d see us as soon as you stepped off the escalator.”
    “Very good.” They’d both handled things well, she decided. It was best to take satisfaction from that. A quick glance showed her that Elise was busy chatting away with a small group of people. Not a worry in the world, Juliet thought nastily. Well, she’d already resigned herself to that. Five