Playing it safe, Jules arrived at Praeger, Lawson & Day the next morning at nine fifteen. Good thing too, because Vivian swept through the door not five minutes later.
She jumped up from the uncomfortable couch in the reception area and hurried to the desk. The receptionist, who looked far too harassed this early in the morning, looked balefully up at her.
“Hi. Vivian Carlisle’s arrived for her meeting with Preston Praeger.” She tried a winning smile.
The receptionist was not won. “That meeting isn’t until ten o’clock, ma’am,” she said, giving Jules the barest glance before returning her attention to her computer. She clicked her mouse, and the printer behind her began spewing out paper.
“Well, yes, but she’s here now.”
“That’s fine.” The woman remained laser focused on her computer as if gold might fall out of it. “Please help yourselves to bottled water or coffee. There’s a cafeteria on the third floor if—”
“No, no,” Jules said quickly. “I mean she’s here, and she wants to start the meeting. Right now. I’m her assistant,” she added, like that was supposed to make a difference.
The receptionist gave her a look that said she hated her job and Jules too. “Mr. Praeger is not available.” Then she turned her back on her and began gathering the printouts.
Already cringing, Jules headed over to Vivian, who was tapping her foot impatiently. She looked pretty good this morning, all things considered. Actually, she looked great: beneath her cashmere swing coat, she was dressed to kill in an eggplant-shade pencil dress and leopard-print Christian Louboutin pumps.
She hoped Vivian would notice her own fashion choice as well. She’d had to go to a little extra effort to make it happen, and it wasn’t her usual thing.
Vivian, however, did not seem inclined to notice. “Well?” she asked.
Jules drooped. Maybe it hadn’t been as dramatic a choice as she’d thought. Well, on today of all days, she couldn’t blame Vivian for not noticing. “Um, the receptionist said we can’t go in yet.”
Vivian’s eyes darkened.
“But there’s a cafeteria,” Jules added. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes.” She stalked over to the reception desk.
Jules followed her and arrived in time to see the receptionist give Vivian a look of pure hatred. She also looked frightened, though, and picked up her phone.
“Mr. Praeger,” she said, “Vivian Carlisle has arrived, but I know your meeting with her isn’t until—” She stopped and scowled. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.” She glared at Vivian. “You can go on up. Ninth floor.”
Vivian kept looking at her.
“Ma’am,” the receptionist mumbled.
Apparently satisfied, Vivian turned on her heel and strode toward the elevator. Getting knocked up hadn’t robbed her of the ability to scare the crap out of random strangers.
Jules hurried after her, trying not to slip on the marble floors in her four-inch heels. By the time she caught up with Vivian, the elevator doors were sliding open. Jules followed her inside.
Vivian mashed the button for the ninth floor. “You let her say no to you.”
“Um—”
“I’m disappointed in you.”
Jules gaped at her. “Wh-what?”
“When you’re dealing with somebody, you do what it takes to get what you want. You don’t decide to curl up and die.”
“But I did ask her, more than once, and she just—”
“You never ‘ask.’ And you never say anything more than once. We dictate the terms, not them. I hope I never have to remind you again.”
“No, Vivian,” Jules mumbled, wishing she could sink through the elevator’s polished floor. “Sorry.”
Thankfully, at that moment the elevator stopped. The door opened to reveal a slim suited man waiting in the corridor, smiling at them. He was of middle age with salt-and-pepper hair and was obviously accomplished, wealthy, and distinguished. This did not stop him from looking at Vivian with something like fear in his eyes.
“Vivian,” he said as they exited the elevator. He bent forward to kiss the air at either side of Vivian’s cheeks.
“Preston,” she said without preamble, “your receptionist is appalling. She was deliberately rude to my assistant. Isn’t that right, Julia?”
Even if the woman had been rude, it still seemed wrong to throw her under the bus. “Well, I just think she—”
“I see.” The man extended his hand to Jules. “I’m Preston Praeger. And you?”
“Jules Moretti.”
“A pleasure. Vivian, I’m so sorry about Betsy. I’ll speak to her later today. This way, ladies.”
He led them down the hallway. Jules couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between this place and Du Jour, where the office walls were either made of glass or painted in cream, the floors either pale hardwoods or beige carpet. Everything there had the feeling of being transparent, like gossamer, as if you were floating on air.
That, and also of being a surveillance state where Vivian could see everyone in their glass-walled offices and make sure they weren’t wasting her time.
This place was like something out of a Victorian novel, with red carpets and heavy wooden doors and black marble walls. Jules half-expected a butler with a British accent to step out of nowhere.
“I’ve spoken to Robert’s lawyer,” Preston was saying as he led them down a side corridor to an open doorway at the end. Shiny leather chairs were placed on each side of the door. “Looks like everything is in place. And so far Robert’s been willing to compromise—”
“Oh yes,” Vivian said bitterly.
“—and to be punctual.” Preston looked over at Vivian with an attempt at a smile. “I’m willing to bet that two hours from now we’ll be fairly close to a resolution of terms.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Vivian said. “I’ll need to speak to Robert alone.”
It took some effort for Jules not to stop dead in the hallway. Robert was going to be here today? This wasn’t just Vivian and her lawyer? Which meant…
Oh shit. It meant Vivian was going to tell Robert she was pregnant today with Jules in the same building, which would be about a million times worse than waiting for Vivian to finish taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom.
Jules’s parents had wanted her to major in one of the sciences and go to med school. She should have done that. Then she’d be doing something more relaxing right now, like cutting open a cadaver.
Preston was frowning. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked carefully, leading them into a conference room with an enormous oaken table surrounded by plush chairs. “So far he’s been, um, resistant to…”
“I know what he’s been.” Vivian slipped out of her coat and seated herself in a chair precisely at the middle of one side of the table. “This is important, Preston.”
“If you’re sure.” He hung the coat on a rack by the door.
“Where would you like me to sit?” Jules asked.
She’d addressed the question to Preston, but Vivian tapped the table with her right hand. “Here.”
Preston said to Jules, “I see my position has been usurped.” Then he smiled to show there were no hard feelings. “Vivian, I’ve got a few matters to take care of in my office before our meeting starts. Did you have any particular questions for me before I go?”
Vivian gave him a half shrug. “No, thank you, Preston.”
With the air of a man who had received a brief reprieve, he left.
She hefted her bag onto her lap. It was a python drawstring from Michael Kors. Jules wasn’t sure that today was a good day for Vivian to appear snakelike, all things considered.
Rummaging inside, she came up with a bottle of Tylenol. She shook it, and it gave a hollow rattle. “Almost out,” she muttered. “Get me some more when we’re done.”
“Okay. There’s also some in your car, in the box below the driver’s seat. Just for future reference.”
The box had been Jules’s idea. She privately called it the Vivian care kit. It also had travel-sized hairspray, hand lotion, and sample sizes of Vivian’s favorite makeup products, all nicked from the beauty department with Simon’s permission. There were also Band-Aids, a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer, and a couple of little foam pads you could stick into your shoes. Whenever they were out, Jules had all these things at hand since Vivian invariably needed at least one of them.
Vivian never appeared to question where they came from, but at least Jules could pride herself on being the first assistant to think of it. She made a mental note to add some anti-nausea medication.
“Hmm.” Vivian glanced at the sideboard where a pitcher of ice water and glasses sat. Jules took the hint, hurried over, and poured her some before sitting down. Maybe she could get away with slipping off her shoes under the table. She’d give it a few minutes.
Vivian took two tablets, chased them down with the water, and rubbed her forehead.
“I’m not looking forward to this,” she muttered.
Neither was Jules, so she tried to appear sympathetic. Then it occurred to her that she ought to know something, and she cleared her throat.
“Uh,” Jules said, “does Preston know? I mean, have you told him about, you know, on the phone…” She waved her hand vaguely.
Vivian raised her eyebrows as if she had no idea what Jules was talking about when she totally did.
Fine. “You know, the baby.”
“It’s not a baby,” Vivian said dangerously. “It’s an embryo. A thing. And unless I decide otherwise, that’s all it is.”
Chagrined, Jules nodded.
“And, no, Preston doesn’t know. Yet.” Vivian drummed her fingers on the table and looked away again. “No one does.”
Except the doctor, of course, who didn’t really count, and…Jules.
She felt the knowledge like a blow to the stomach. Jesus. The idea that Jules was in on this before Vivian’s husband or, hell, even her lawyer… That was weird. And wrong. And weird.
Time to distract herself. She looked at a clock on the wall: nine thirty-five. She had time to make a few calls.
Before she could, Vivian said, “I see you tried the high-waisted pants.”
Jules managed to keep the smile off her face. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything about the blush. So Vivian had noticed.
“Yeah,” she said. “I stopped by The Row after work.” Shopping had been much easier when she wasn’t hanging around Du Jour until midnight.
“Mm.” Vivian continued to regard her with the same intent, contemplative gaze that made Jules squirm. Then she turned to look back at the wall. “They’re reasonably flattering, but choose a less frivolous top next time.”
Jules frowned and looked at her blouse. She loved this blouse, billowy with a pattern of roses and vines. Vivian had never criticized it before. “Doesn’t it complement the structure of the pants?”
“It does,” Vivian acknowledged, “but the clash of styles is distracting—boho and contemporary often don’t mix.”
“Isn’t fashion about getting people’s attention?” Jules dared to challenge. She might be risking her life, but she hadn’t slogged through four years at Du Jour as intern and assistant to turn down the chance to talk fashion with Vivian Carlisle. That’d be like making it to the top of a Himalayan mountain, meeting the Dalai Lama there, and saying, “No, thanks, I’ve got a pretty good meditation app.”
Vivian regarded her, seeming thoughtful. After a moment, she said, “I’ve always said fashion is about two things: expression and context. As my assistant, is it your job to be flamboyant and attention seeking?”
“Um. Not exactly.” Expression and context. Jules filed that away to think about.
“Express your taste and style within the appropriate context. As you gain seniority, your scope broadens. When you’re at Simon’s level, feel free to wear feather boas. As my assistant, your job is to be chic.”
Coming from the world’s foremost fashion authority, chic suddenly seemed like a low bar. Apparently Jules couldn’t even manage that. Her shoulders slumped.
“But you’re correct,” Vivian added, “about the structure.”
Jules straightened up again. A flash of inspiration struck. “Dries van Noten! He’s doing geometric prints. The silhouettes…”
Vivian considered for a moment. Then she nodded decisively. “Broad shoulders. Small waist. Then the flare of the pants. A bold, structured pattern on the blouse that complements the trousers’ angles.” She looked at Jules’s blouse again. “Yes. It’d change the whole look.”
“Not super Katharine Hepburn-y, though,” Jules felt obliged to point out.
“Neither are you, as far as I can tell.” For a moment, Vivian seemed amused.
Hopefully that was a compliment. Perhaps she didn’t like Katharine Hepburn very much. All Jules could say was “maybe not” as she tried to figure out how to get her hands on a Dries van Noten blouse without destroying her credit limit. Time to touch base with the consignment stores again and see if any of her contacts could do her a favor.
“I wouldn’t have thought of van Noten with that piece.” Vivian sounded absent as she looked inside her handbag. “That’s an innovative idea.”
Was Jules going to fall out of her chair in shock? Probably not the chic thing to do. “Th-thanks. I—”
Vivian closed her handbag with a thump. She sounded as if she were confessing to murder when she said, “I need something to eat. Bring me a yogurt from the cafeteria. Nonfat and plain.”
All the yogurt in the cafeteria was nonfat. None of it was plain. Vivian glared when Jules placed vanilla before her.
“There’s a Whole Foods—” Jules began.
“There’s no time.” Vivian took the yogurt and devoured it, seeming resentful, while Jules stared off into space and pretended not to be there.
“I had breakfast,” Vivian said when she was done and tossed the empty plastic cup into a nearby trash can with unerring aim.
“Well, the doctor said that dairy is good,” Jules said. “Calcium and stuff.”
“I hate this,” Vivian said. “Don’t get pregnant, Julia.”
“N-not planning on it anytime soon.”
“Planning doesn’t always enter into it,” Vivian said darkly and sipped her water.
Jules had the sudden, horrible feeling that Vivian might actually start talking about her birth control when, mercifully, voices sounded down the hallway. Robert and his attorney had arrived early, and Preston was with them.
“—no interest in anything private,” Robert was saying.
Vivian stiffened. Jules’s desire to vanish into thin air redoubled.
“Well, we can talk about that,” Preston said jovially as he led the way into the conference room.
“My client said no, Preston,” Robert’s lawyer said. He nodded at Vivian as he and Robert seated themselves across the table. “Ms. Carlisle.”
Vivian pinched her lips and did not return the nod. “Robert,” she said neutrally.
“Vivian,” he replied in the same tone. He looked at Jules. “What’s she doing here?”
Jules had never liked Robert. This was yet another reminder of why. He’d always talked about her as if she weren’t right in front of him. She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose.
“I asked her to be here,” Vivian said coldly.
“And she is?” Robert’s lawyer asked.
“Ms. Carlisle’s personal assistant,” Preston interjected. “I believe it’s Jules—?”
“Julia Moretti,” Vivian said coldly.
Julia. Vivian had called her that since the beginning. She had always wondered why but had never dared to ask, since the answer was probably because I hate your nickname and command you to stop using it.
Robert’s lawyer said, “Nice to meet you, Julia. Sam Johnson.” He turned to Preston. “I see no reason not to begin.”
“Robert,” Vivian said, “I’m sorry, but we have to speak alone. Just for a minute.”
Jules wondered if anybody else heard the nearly hidden urgency in her voice, the note that was almost pleading.
Robert didn’t seem to. “Vivian,” he said, sounding tired, “we’ve been through this before.”
“Not this we haven’t. We need to—”
“No. Now, Sam—”
“There has been a new development,” Vivian growled.
Finally, something seemed to get through to Robert. He blinked and frowned at her.
“Just a few minutes,” she added, and now everybody could hear her plea.
Something deep inside Jules twinged. How could he ignore that note of desperation? Coming from Vivian, it was practically a scream.
“Okay,” he sighed after a moment. “Let’s give it ten minutes, Sam.”
“Robert,” Sam said warningly.
He held up a hand. “Ten minutes, okay? And then we’ll move on.”
Jules was on her feet before he’d finished speaking, gathering her coat and bag with shaking hands, feeling absurdly as if she didn’t want to leave a single trace of her presence behind that might intrude on Vivian’s privacy.
An astonished-looking Preston held the door open for her. He and Sam followed her out of the room.
“What’s going on?” Sam demanded of her as soon as the door shut behind them.
“Don’t answer that,” Preston said at once.
Like Jules needed the instruction. Instead, she shook her head and plopped down into one of the shiny leather chairs beside the door. She could just barely hear the low murmur of voices speaking in normal tones but couldn’t make out any words.
“Come on, Sam,” Preston sighed. “Ten minutes. There’s coffee in my office.”
“I’d prefer Scotch,” Sam said, sounding rueful.
Preston chuckled. “Wouldn’t we all. Julia, would you like to come along?”
Jules shook her head. She didn’t trust them not to try to pry information out of her. Besides, she wasn’t sure her knees would support her right now.
Preston and Sam had barely rounded the corner when the voices inside the room rose in volume, climbing toward shouts.
Her stomach squirmed even more. Okay, she should have gone with the lawyers.
Robert seemed to be doing most of the yelling. Even through the heavy door, Jules could catch tiny snatches and phrases. The one that stuck with her the most was Robert shouting, “—did it on purpose!”
Vivian’s voice said something in reply that Jules couldn’t catch. Probably just as well.
On purpose. She could understand why he’d feel that way. Vivian Carlisle was the most calculating person she had ever met. It made her great at her job and terrible at her personal life. Robert might well believe she’d done this just to trap him in a failing marriage.
But Jules remembered the look on Vivian’s face when she’d come out of that bathroom. Robert was wrong. Maybe she was trying to use the pregnancy to save her marriage now, but there was no way she’d planned this.
The voices were still raised when Sam and Preston returned, and when the two men heard the voices through the door, they looked apprehensively at each other and at Jules.
“Little talk’s not going well, huh?” Sam asked Jules.
She shook her head again.
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”
“That’s enough,” Preston said to Jules’s relief, and he rapped sharply on the door.
Then, without waiting for an invitation, he opened it just in time for Robert to yell, “It doesn’t make any difference! I didn’t ask for this.”
“Neither did I!” Vivian cried.
Jules had never heard Vivian raise her voice until today. She felt frozen to the chair.
“For God’s sake,” Vivian continued, “you don’t honestly think I wanted—”
“All right.” Sam stepped into the room and out of Jules’s sight. “What’s going on here?”
“Is it even mine?” Robert demanded.
“What?” Vivian said.
Preston’s eyes widened, and he entered the room behind Sam. Jules rose, unsure if she should follow them or not.
“Robert,” Jules heard Sam say urgently, “if this is what I think it is, then you and I need to consult priv—”
“No. It doesn’t matter. It’s over, okay? I don’t care if you’ve got quintuplets in there, we’re through. We’re done. Okay?”
“Robert,” Vivian said, and Jules could hear how hard she was straining for control. “I just wanted to tell you. We can’t decide anything right now. We just need to take some time to think, now that—”
“There’s someone else,” Robert said.
“Robert, please,” Sam interjected.
“No,” Vivian said, her voice trembling, “There isn’t. What do you want, a paternity test? I’ll—”
“I meant for me,” Robert said. “I have someone else.”
Jules stopped breathing. The room went deadly silent.
Then Sam groaned “Robert” right before Preston shut the door, leaving Jules alone in the corridor.
She collapsed back into the chair, her heart racing.
Nobody shouted after that. Sam must have calmed Robert down, and Vivian was likely in shock. Oh Jesus. Robert had been cheating on her. There was a lot about Vivian Jules didn’t understand, but she knew Vivian didn’t forgive easily. Or at all.
Jules’s head spun. It explained the apartment Robert had rented. He’d just spoken to his wife as though he hated her, so he hadn’t just been looking for a Vivian substitute. That was what their relationship had become.
Jules shuddered. Nope. She was never getting married, she was never having kids. She was going to move to Tibet and become a nun and dedicate the rest of her life to serving the poor or something.
The door flung open. Vivian bolted through it, wearing her coat and clutching her bag. Her face was bone white, and she didn’t seem to see Jules as she dashed down the hall.
Jules grabbed her own coat and bag and followed at top speed.
Footsteps followed them both. Jules looked over her shoulder, half-terrified that an enraged Robert was pursuing Vivian. But it was Preston, and he called out, “Vivian!”
Vivian whirled on her heel. The snarl on her face made her look like an animal. A wounded one, caught in a trap.
“Everything,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “We take him for everything he’s got. Do you understand?”
Preston pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and mopped his forehead with it. “The pre-nup—”
“And fire that fucking secretary.” She headed off without another word.
Preston opened his mouth again. Before she could stop herself, Jules pressed her hand to his elbow and said urgently, “Not now!” Then she followed Vivian, who was already at the elevators.
One look at her face told Jules that they would not be sharing an elevator for the trip down, and she focused on the marble tiles as the brass door slid shut between them.
She caught the next car and called for Ben. “Please hurry,” she begged. “Oh my God, she is not going to want to wait.”
“Jules, are you okay?” He sounded alarmed.
“No,” she wailed and ended the call. By the time she reached the lobby, Vivian was waiting by the glass revolving door, staring through the floor-to-ceiling windows and obviously seeing nothing.
Jules took a deep breath, prayed for courage, and went to stand next to her, not daring to speak.
Vivian didn’t move until her Audi pulled up at the sidewalk. Then she broke out of her reverie long enough to tell Jules: “Find a clinic. A decent one. By tomorrow.”
It took Jules a second to figure out what she meant. Then she swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Not a word to anyone. Not one word.”
“I won’t. I haven’t. To anybody.”
Vivian went to the waiting car. To Jules’s surprise, she waved Ben off and held the car door open for her but did not get inside herself. “Go back to Du Jour. I’m walking.”
What? Where was she walking? Home? Well, they were already in the Upper West Side, so she could manage it if she wanted to, although Jules didn’t envy her the task in those shoes. Or was she going somewhere else? Maybe she just wanted to keep moving without any destination in mind.
It wasn’t Jules’s business. She wasn’t supposed to care.
“Okay,” she said. “I-I’ll be at Givenchy with Lucia, if you need…”
“I know.” Vivian walked away.
Jules remained still for a few moments, then got into the car.
Ben pulled away. Jules looked back through the rear window, watching Vivian until she vanished completely into the crowd.