Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,76

the same thing."

That was so like something Nana would say. I guess there was no denying genetics.

Gillian looked at Marla. Marla looked at Gillian. They both looked at Duncan. "Do you have a calculator?" they asked in unison.

He held his hands up defensively. "The only thing I have on me is my phone."

"I propose another toast," Philip bellowed as he returned with another full glass of wine. "This one is for Margaret." He raised his glass. "May your decision provide us with the next rising star in the romance world."

"I'll drink to that," I said, touching my glass to his. Marla and Gillian glared as he downed his second glass of wine.

"So how many millions are you going to pay the next rising star?" Marla sniped at him, angry fists poised on her hips. "More than four? Sylvia told me I was your highest-paid author. Funny how she forgot to mention that the cowboy queen was getting more!"

"I want my money back!" Gillian demanded. "Sylvia's dead. That 15 percent belongs to me... and I want it right now!"

Philip eyed each woman blandly before shoving his empty glass at Duncan. "Be a good chap and refill that for me, would you?"

Hmm. I wondered if Hightower had ever published a book on the dangers of binge drinking.

"Are we going to toast Mr. Fox?" Mom asked him.

"Hell, no!" Blackmore's face was so red by now that he looked like a Valentine balloon. "The little bastard. He had responsibilities on this trip and what's he done? He's run away."

Time to play a little devil's advocate. "How do you know?" I leaped in. "I mean, aren't you in the least bit alarmed that something terrible might have happened to him?"

"If he's not here, something terrible better have happened to him! He better be dead! But I won't hold my breath. He's done his disappearing act to get even with me, but the son of a bitch has forgotten it doesn't pay to piss off the guy who signs your paycheck. So he'd better use this time away from the tour to begin looking for another job, because as of now, he's fired!"

Gillian and Marla sucked in their collective breaths. "Can you do that?" they cried in one voice.

When push came to shove, I guess having a literary snob for an editor was better than having no editor at all.

"I can do whatever I damned well please," Philip corrected. "Ah, Duncan, good man." He snatched the glass from Duncan's hand and without bothering to offer another toast, guzzled the contents like an empty gas tank at the pump.

"But you said Gabriel was our ticket to respectability!" Marla whined.

"You said he was going to give romance a good name!" Gillian added.

Philip remained stone-faced. "There are other editors in New York. People who, unlike Gabriel Fox, know how to be team players. Now that he's out of the way, I'll find you the best, ladies. You'll see."

Was that a slip of the tongue? Mere speculation? Or did he know for sure that Gabriel Fox was "out of the way"?

Philip regarded his empty glass, seeming to ponder how it had gotten that way. "I need another drink," he said, but as he turned, Duncan stayed him with a hand.

"Why don't we grab something to eat first," Duncan said with quiet authority. "You mentioned you'd like to dine by the river. I know the perfect place. Great food. A spectacular wine list. Much better than anything you'll find at a wine bar."

It took a moment for Duncan's words to bore into Philip's skull, but when they did, Philip deposited his empty glass in Duncan's hand and nodded agreement. "A fine idea. I could use something to eat. What do you think, ladies? Shall we dine by the Arno today on Hightower's dime? I'll write it off as a 'memorial to Sylvia' on my expense account."

"You're not addressing my concerns, Philip," Marla blasted.

"You're ignoring mine as well!" Gillian spat.

"And I shall continue to do so for the remainder of the tour. If you have a problem with that, ladies, I suggest you buy your own damned lunch. Emily, Margaret, I hope you'll agree to join us. Maybe you can show Marla and Gillian how a typical adult conducts a conversation without all the bickering."

"We'd love to!" Mom agreed. "Wouldn't we, Emily?"

"You bet." Whether Gabriel Fox was dead or alive, I figured there had to be safety in numbers, even if Gillian and Marla did end up killing each other.

Duncan led the