Face the Fire Page 0,100

the stockroom. She'd also seen enough behind-the-scenes action in bookstores to recognize ruthless organization.

"I've flapped the copies at title page," Mia began. "If that's not your preference, I'll change them."

Caroline moistened her lips. "These are all pre-sold?"

"Yes. Fifty-three at last count. Those that require personalizing - I was told you'd personalize?"

"Sure. No problem."

"They're labeled with Post-its. Your publicist indicated this is the brand of pen - "

"Just stop a second." Caroline dumped her briefcase, sat down at a stool at the counter. "I've never sold over a hundred new titles at a signing."

"You're about to break your record."

"I see that. Just as I see you have the pen I like, and that there were pink roses, my favorite, on the signing table."

"Wait till you see the cake."

"Cake?" Caroline seemed flabbergasted. "You have cake? You sent me bubble bath and candles, and were at the ferry to meet me."

"As I said, we're thrilled to have you."

"Not finished yet. Your store, which is amazing, by the way, is full of people, and an unbelievable number of them are holding my books. And you hate me because I said something careless, rude, and stupid."

"No. I was annoyed with you because you said something careless, rude, and stupid. But I don't hate you for it." Mia moved to the door to take the soft drink from Pam.

"And because I was once involved, romantically, with Sam."

"Yes." Her tone pleasant, Mia offered the drink. "Naturally I hate you for that."

"And that's fair." Caroline sipped her soft drink. "But since Sam and I haven't been anything but friends for more than four years, and I'm happily married. . . ." She wiggled the fingers of her left hand. "And, since he's hung up on you, who happen to be beautiful, smart, younger than I am, and who has those really fabulous shoes, I get to hate you more."

Mia considered her for a moment. "That seems entirely reasonable." She handed Caroline a pen. "I'll open these for you."

Four hours later, Mia was in her office tallying figures. When the publisher called on Monday for a follow-up on the event, she was going to knock their socks off.

Nell came in, dropped into a chair, and patted the belly she was sure had started to round. "That was great. That was outstanding. That was exhausting."

"I noticed that even with free refreshments, the cafe did a brisk business."

"Tell me about it." Nell yawned hugely. "Did you want to do totals?"

"We'll wait until closing for those. However, I do have the totals for the Trump books that sold during her appearance."

"And they are?"

"New title, including pre-solds? Two hundred and twelve. Paper backlist, also including pre-solds?

Three hundred and three."

"No wonder she walked out of here looking shell-shocked. Congratulations, Mia. She was terrific, wasn't she? Funny and warm during the book discussion. I really liked her."

"Yes." Mia tapped a pen on the edge of her desk. "So did I. She used to be involved with Sam."

"Oh." Nell straightened in the chair. "Oh."

"After meeting her, it's easy to see why he was attracted. She's very clever, urban, energetic. I'm not jealous."

"I didn't say a word."

"I'm not jealous," Mia repeated. "I just wish I hadn't liked her quite so much."

"Why don't you come home with me? We'll sit around, talk about men, and eat hot fudge sundaes."

"I've already gone way over my sugar intake for the day, which is probably why I'm still edgy. You go on. I've got to finish here. Then I'm going home to sleep for twelve hours."

"If you change your mind, I have homemade fudge sauce." Nell pushed herself to her feet. "You did an amazing job, Mia."

"We did. We did a stupendous job."

She turned back to her keyboard and worked until six. Sticking to practical tasks gave her mind the chance to circle and circle and consider. And it gave her the opportunity to admit that the buzz still vibrating through her wasn't going to quiet on its own.

Given the alternatives to select from, she saw no reason not to choose the one that appealed most. Sam stripped down to cutoffs and considered the cartons of leftover takeout Chinese in his refrigerator. He was, as he had been all day, famished. He thought he might order in a pizza, or a side of beef to top off the egg rolls and pork fried rice.

He was relieved that Caroline had turned down his invitation to dinner. As fond as he was of her, his brain just couldn't handle an evening of struggling