She’d be at his disposal, Juliet reminded herself, for the next three weeks. Without appearing to think about it, she skirted around a barrel-chested man hefting a bulging garment bag and a briefcase. Yes, he liked the way she walked, Carlo thought again. She was a woman who could take care of herself without a great deal of fuss.

“At seven? You have a talk show in the morning that starts at seven-thirty so we’d best make it an early evening.”

Seven-thirty A.M. Carlo thought, only briefly, about jet lag and time changes. “So, you put me to work quickly.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Franconi.” Juliet said it cheerfully as she stepped up to the slowly moving baggage belt. “You have your stubs?”

An organized woman, he thought as he reached into the inside pocket of his loose-fitting buff-colored jacket. In silence, he handed them to her, then hefted a pullman and a garment bag from the belt himself.

Gucci, she observed. So he had taste as well as money. Juliet handed the stubs to a skycap and waited while Carlo’s luggage was loaded onto the pushcart. “I think you’ll be pleased with what we have for you, Mr. Franconi.” She walked through the automatic doors and signaled for her limo. “I know you’ve always worked with Jim Collins in the past on your tours in the States; he sends his best.”

“Does Jim like his executive position?”

“Apparently.”

Though Carlo expected her to climb into the limo first, she stepped back. With a bow to women professionals, Carlo ducked inside and took his seat. “Do you like yours, Ms. Trent?”

She took the seat across from him then sent him a straight-shooting, level look. Juliet could have no idea how much he admired it. “Yes, I do.”

Carlo stretched out his legs—legs his mother had once said that had refused to stop growing long after it was necessary. He’d have preferred driving himself, particularly after the long, long flight from Rome where someone else had been at the controls. But if he couldn’t, the plush laziness of the limo was the next best thing. Reaching over, he switched on the stereo so that Mozart poured out, quiet but vibrant. If he’d been driving, it would’ve been rock, loud and rambunctious.

“You’ve read my book, Ms. Trent?”

“Yes, of course. I couldn’t set up publicity and promotion for an unknown product.” She sat back. It was easy to do her job when she could speak the simple truth. “I was impressed with the attention to detail and the clear directions. It seemed a very friendly book, rather than simply a kitchen tool.”