“There you are.” Friendly as always, he threw his arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “Going great guns out here. Old Carlo knows how to twinkle to the ladies without setting the men off. Damn clever sonofabitch.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Her knuckles were white on the strap of her briefcase. “Bill, is there a phone I can use? I have to call the office.”

“No problem at all. Y’all just come on back with me.” He led her through Psychology, into Westerns and around Romances to a door marked Private. “You just help yourself,” he invited and showed her into a room with a cluttered metal desk, a goosenecked lamp and stacks upon stacks of books. Juliet headed straight for the phone.

“Thanks, Bill.” She didn’t even wait until the door closed before she started dialing. “Deborah Mortimor, please,” she said to the answering switchboard. Tapping her foot, Juliet waited.

“Ms. Mortimor.”

“Deb, it’s Juliet.”

“Hi. I’ve been waiting for you to call in. Looks like we’ve got a strong nibble with the Times when you come back to New York. I just—”

“Later.” Juliet reached into her briefcase for a roll of antacids. “I got the clippings today.”

“Great, aren’t they?”

“Oh sure. They’re just dandy.”

“Uh-huh.” Deb waited only a beat. “It’s the little number in Denver, isn’t it?”

She gave the rolling chair a quick kick. “Of course it is.”

“Sit down, Juliet.” Deb didn’t have to see to know her boss was pacing.

“Sit down? I’m tempted to fly back to Denver and ring Chatty Cathy’s neck.”

“Killing columnists isn’t good for PR, Juliet.”

“It was garbage.”

“No, no, it wasn’t that bad. Trash maybe, but not garbage.”

She struggled for control and managed to get a very slippery rein on her temper. Popping the first antacid into her mouth, she crunched down. “Don’t be cute, Deb. I didn’t like the insinuations about Carlo and me. Carlo Franconi’s lovely American traveling companion,” she quoted between her teeth. “Traveling companion. It makes me sound as though I’m just along for the ride. And then—”

“I read it,” Deb interrupted. “So did Hal,” she added, referring to the head of publicity.

Juliet closed her eyes a moment. “And?”

“Well, he went through about six different reactions. In the end, he decided a few comments like that were bound to come up and only added to Franconi’s—well, mystique might be the best term.”

“I see.” Her jaw clenched, her fingers tight around the little roll of stomach pills. “That’s fine then, isn’t it? I’m just thrilled to add to a client’s mystique.”

“Now, Juliet—”