At first, Jules couldn’t help being a little grumpy about the addition to her commute. The subway was faster by thirty minutes, give or take. Now Jules and Ben had a forty-minute drive from Jules’s place on Clinton Street to Vivian’s carriage house on West Seventy-Third. From there, it was another twenty minutes to Koening. She lost a precious half hour of sleep.
After a week, though, she had started to enjoy her job’s latest…perk? Responsibility? New York in December wasn’t a fun place to frolic. It was nice to sit in a warm car with heated leather seats and watch the world go by during the quiet moments.
Before, being quiet with Vivian had meant Jules was always on her toes, awaiting the next instruction, holding her tongue, or trying not to be noticed. Now it just meant…being quiet with Vivian.
Until one afternoon.
“Are the Christmas gifts arranged?” Vivian asked.
“Yes.” Jules had created an email subfolder just to handle the order receipts from various merchants. Seeing the massive cash Vivian dropped on gifts for people she didn’t even like was enough to make Jules advocate for the abolition of money. “I had to get on Simonelli about that espresso machine you’re sending to Mordechai Rubinstein, but other than that, we’re all ready.”
“Good. Don’t forget to—”
Vivian’s stomach growled. Loudly. She went red and pinched her lips.
Jules kept her face as straight as possible. This happened from time to time, and besides, it was about two in the afternoon. Vivian had eaten lunch at eleven thirty. They were on their way back to the office, so Jules thought fast. A walnut salad? The bistro down the street did those, and Vivian liked them.
“Pizza,” Vivian mumbled.
Jules glanced over, not sure she’d heard right. Then her brow cleared. Oh, of course. “I’ll call La Borghese.”
La Borghese was a tiny, ridiculously expensive pizzeria that had opened four months ago. They only made pies with fresh, organic stuff from local farmers markets, and they put weird toppings on them, which meant it was okay for rich people to eat there and act as if they weren’t at a pizzeria.
“Not La Borghese.” Vivian’s voice was so low that Jules could barely hear her. Her face was even redder.
“Oh.” Jules tried frantically to think of Italian restaurants Vivian liked that served pizza. It was a short list. “I’ll try Vitali, then.”
“I don’t want Vitali. I don’t want La Borghese.” Vivian’s face was going even redder.
Was she going to have a stroke? “Okay,” she said helplessly. “So, um, what—”
Then she figured it out. Oh. Wow. Her fingers flew over her phone’s display. The nearest pizza joint was two blocks down. “Uh, Ben, there’s a place called Frankie’s at—”
“I know the one.” He flicked on his turn signal.
Jules glanced at Vivian, who refused to make eye contact even as she nodded. Then Jules dialed the number for the restaurant.
“Hi,” she said when they picked up on the third ring. “I need to put in an order for pickup.” She avoided looking at Ben. He was probably having as hard a time not laughing as she was.
Twenty minutes later, Vivian had her revenge. Of course she wasn’t going to eat some greasy commercial pizza in front of anybody else, so Ben and Jules had to stand on the sidewalk, stamping their feet and watching their breath turn into ice crystals while Vivian wolfed down a pineapple-and-olive pizza in the comfort of the car. The toppings were disgusting. The cold was worse.
“London can’t come soon enough,” Ben muttered. He looked around nervously. The only parking space had been a loading zone, and it was a miracle nobody had yelled at them yet.
“God, yes,” Jules agreed fervently. “Roll on, Christmas. It’s not going to be any warmer in Philadelphia, but—”
“But it’s not here,” he said. “Lucky you. I’m stuck in town. How long will you be with your family?”
“I’m coming back to New York on the twenty-seventh.”
“Any big plans for New Year’s?”
“Not a one.” Jules didn’t pretend to sound disappointed. After the year-round whirl, she couldn’t think of anything more heavenly than sitting on her sofa in sweatpants, watching the ball drop down in Times Square on TV. “What about you? You and Shelley having a night out?”
“Actually, Shelley and I broke up last week.”
“Oh no!” Breaking up was shitty. Breaking up before the holidays seemed even worse. “I’m sorry, Ben.”
“Yeah, well, it was the same old thing. Long hours, she never saw me. You know.”
“Do I ever.” Jules could just imagine Aaron’s smirk right now.
“Yeah,” he said, then added casually, “so I’ve been thinking, maybe if you’re not doing anything—”
At that moment, Vivian rapped sharply on the window of her car door. The two of them jumped. Ben hopped immediately back into the driver’s seat while Jules opened the door, took the pizza box from Vivian’s hands (she’d eaten half the slices), and tossed it in the nearest trash can.
“We’re late.” Vivian glowered at the back of Ben’s head like it was his fault. Her face was a little flushed, though, and her eyes actually seemed to glow with satisfaction.
Jules had seen herself looking like that a couple of times in the mirror. Usually after she’d just had good sex.
She looked out the window before Vivian could catch her staring. Well, heck, if Vivian could get some postcoital bliss from eating a pizza once in a while, good for her. It’d be good for everybody else around her too.
But the memory of Vivian’s glow and the huskiness of her voice bothered Jules all day. For some damn reason.
* * *
Jules had the sinking feeling that Ben had been leading up to asking her out before Vivian interrupted him. That didn’t have to be a bad thing. He was nice and not much older than she was. Thirty or thereabouts. He’d never be able to complain about her long hours. And she had a feeling he’d actually be a lot of fun to hang out with outside of work.
But dipping into company ink was a bad idea. Honestly, he ought to know that, and she was kind of pissed he’d put her into the position of having to turn him down—if he had asked her.
Which he hadn’t. And might not. So she ought to get over herself, all things considered.
Besides, after her breakup with Aaron, she wasn’t really feeling men. It might not hurt to explore the other side of the fence again. It had been a while since she had enjoyed what a woman had to offer. Why not now?
Because she was too busy to breathe, that’s why not.
Luckily, Jules and Ben were both so busy for the next few days that they didn’t get a chance to talk, even when they were alone—they were still sleepy when Ben picked Jules up in the mornings and half-dead when he dropped her off at night. It probably wasn’t good to have that much in common with somebody you dated.
* * *
Vivian left for London on the twenty-second. Jules accompanied her to the airport to take care of last-minute details and instructions before she vanished through the security checkpoint.
Now at said checkpoint, Vivian was glaring at the metal detectors, the long lines, and the miserable TSA agents. “Look at this. For God’s sake, a handful of terrorists got lucky over two decades ago, and we’re still making things as inconvenient as possible.”
Jules looked deep within herself and failed to detect even trace amounts of sympathy. Vivian had Global Entry, which sped her through the security process. Plus she was traveling first class, which meant shorter lines for everything.
Meanwhile, Jules was taking the train to Philadelphia tonight, which wasn’t exactly glamorous. But all she said was “yes, it’s awful.”
Vivian barreled on. “And when I spoke to Michelle this morning, I could barely understand what she was saying. Terrible phone reception.”
Michelle was the temporary personal assistant Vivian had retained in London. Michelle’s recruitment firm had pushed her forward as their best and brightest choice, and Vivian had accepted their recommendation with apparent disinterest.
Which was fine. Jules was not jealous. At all. It was temporary, and it would be nice for some other sucker to be at Vivian’s beck and call for a few days.
Besides, Michelle wouldn’t be as good at working for Vivian as Jules was. No way. This wasn’t arrogance or anything, she told herself. Vivian was the arrogant one. It was just a fact.
“And the weather’s dismal,” Vivian continued. “They haven’t seen the sun for days.”
“I’m sorry,” Jules said through her teeth. Gosh, going to London for Christmas and you’ve got some fog. How terrible. Vivian should have rented in Tahiti instead.
“And of course I’m going to have to check in with Preston almost every day,” she spat, “now that Robert—”
Vivian suddenly seemed to realize where they were and how angry she sounded because she cut herself off.
Jules stayed quiet this time. Robert had been remarkably amenable so far to Vivian’s request that he sign himself right out of his own kid’s life. Preston was still drawing up the paperwork, ensuring there were no loopholes.
It was pissing Vivian off like nothing else. She probably hadn’t expected Robert to put up no resistance. She’d been anticipating battle and victory. Instant surrender wasn’t as satisfying.
Vivian looked at the security lines and sighed as if she were about to be led off to a firing squad. “Well, here we go.”
Jules cleared her throat.
Vivian glanced over at her.
She hoped her smile didn’t look too timid or weird. “Have a good trip,” she said. “Oh, and, um, Merry Christmas. Or happy holidays. Whichever.”
Vivian’s lips quirked up in something very smile-like, but it disappeared almost immediately. Then to Jules’s shock, she said, “You as well,” before heading for the Global Entry line.
Jules left right away, already thinking about whether she’d packed everything yet and what time she’d have to leave her apartment for Penn Station. Before she turned the corner, she looked over her shoulder just in time to see Vivian dropping her Marni bag on the conveyer belt with an expression of profound irritation.
Jules laughed and hurried for the exit. To her surprise, Ben was still waiting at the curb. Jules dithered for a second, then got in the back seat. Getting in the front would have given him the wrong idea.
“You didn’t have to wait,” she said. “I was going to take the subway home.”
“Yeah, well, my afternoon’s kind of open now.” He sounded downright perky.
Jules couldn’t blame him. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the realization of her own freedom for the next week.
“What time’s your train?” he asked.
“At 6:05 p.m.” Jules checked her watch. It was 2:45 now. She wanted to be at the station about twenty minutes before departure. The subway was going to be nuts, so she should leave by—
“Want a lift there?” Ben said.
Jules managed a weak little smile. Crap. “Oh, no, Ben. I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”
“I know.” She tilted her head toward the window, toward the crush of traffic outside. “But I’m not going to make you get out in this again when you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. Thanks,” she added, hoping her tone was final enough without sounding mean.
“Well, if you’re sure.” To her relief, he didn’t press.
Looking for an excuse not to talk for the next half hour, Jules said, “You mind if I catch some shut-eye? I hardly slept at all last night, and getting back together with my family’s going to be chaos.”
“I guess I can hold off on playing deadmau5,” he said.
Jules couldn’t stop a smile. He really was nice. But…no. Bad, bad idea.
“You get some rest,” he added.
Jules hadn’t planned on actually falling asleep, but she did. It was a nice surprise.