Jules’s alarm went off at seven the next morning. Vivian hadn’t given her a particular hour to rise and shine, but this seemed reasonable.
It probably wasn’t good form just to roll out of bed and wander out into the house. Jules ignored the grumbling of her stomach and showered in the spacious bathroom. Then she made her hair presentable, dressed, and decided not even Vivian could care that Jules wasn’t wearing makeup at seven thirty in the morning at home.
She sighed and headed downstairs to make breakfast. The farmhouse-style kitchen worked nicely for the cook she’d hired months ago on Vivian’s behalf but was way too overqualified to work for the two of them.
The enormous refrigerator’s capacity was more suited to a restaurant. The hood over the gas stove alone could house a family of four. Jules almost wanted to apologize to the place as she turned on the Keurig.
Vivian was nowhere to be seen, but about twenty minutes later, Jules heard the sounds of movement upstairs. Just in time—she’d finished her coffee and was starting to get hungry. She raided the pantry and popped two bread slices into the cavernous toaster oven before cutting up a piece of melon and dropping a decaf K-Cup into the Keurig to brew.
A few minutes later, she heard footsteps descending the stairs and glanced up to see Vivian entering the kitchen. She was fully dressed and made-up, appearing totally composed.
Looking closely, Jules could see that her skin looked too pale beneath the makeup, but otherwise she seemed pretty steady on her feet.
“I made you some breakfast, if you want it,” she said. At that moment, the toaster oven clicked off, and Jules whisked out the slices.
Vivian just stared at them.
She suddenly felt self-conscious. “It’s just toast and melon. Do you want something else?”
“This is fine,” Vivian said. “You’re making coffee?” She sat down at the table.
Jules set a plate with toast in front of her. “Decaf.” This was going okay so far. “Water too?”
Vivian nodded.
As Jules went to fetch it, she added over her shoulder, “Your facialist is opening her practice for you in an hour, so I’ll call to confirm she’s ready.”
When she turned back with a glass of water, Vivian was looking at her in obvious surprise. “You already have the number?”
Jules looked back at her, surprised as well. Since when did Vivian expect her or anyone else to be anything less than perfect?
“Well, yeah,” she said. “It’s on my London contact list.” Along with Vivian’s physician, her housekeeping service, her hairdresser, her favorite florist, and, of course, the main office of Du Jour UK, plus a few others. When it came to Vivian, you could never, ever be too prepared. You could never be fully prepared at all, in fact.
“Oh. That’s…good,” Vivian said.
They blinked at each other. Jules felt herself turning red from both pleasure and embarrassment, and she could have sworn that, beneath her makeup, Vivian’s cheeks had gone faintly pink.
Just yesterday, Jules had imagined her wearing a skimpy—
At that moment, the Keurig beeped. Jules immediately poured the decaf, ordered herself to stop blushing, and brewed some regular for herself.
“Tonight is dinner at the Chislehursts. Before then, you’re going to the London Du Jour office to get your outfit for New Year’s,” Vivian said, her tone far more businesslike.
“I remember.” She sat down and took the second piece of toast, careful not to get crumbs everywhere.
“Try to wear something interesting. Something more challenging than your usual boho-whatever-it-is.”
Jules almost choked on her toast, unable to believe what she was hearing. Boho-whatever? That was ridiculous! She pushed the fashion boundaries plenty. She’d even tried those high-waisted Hepburn pants, and both her outfits yesterday had been almost conservative. She wasn’t stuck in a rut. Was she?
“You don’t like my clothes?” she asked.
“That’s not what I said.” Vivian gave her a level glare. “I said to be challenging.”
Jules glared right back. It was too early in the morning, and she hadn’t finished enough of her coffee to take this shit. “I think I can handle that just fine, Vivian.”
Dammit. Vivian looked pleased.
* * *
Everyone at Du Jour UK was remarkably accommodating. Jules didn’t try to speak to any bigwigs but rather reached out to her fellow assistants, all of whom were sympathetic to the demands of people like Vivian—and surprised that Jules got to go to the New Year’s ball.
“I’d kill for an invitation,” said a tall, skinny young woman named Georgie.
“Imagine all the people you’ll hobnob with,” added another tall, skinny young woman named Janys.
“She wants me to be more challenging.” Jules brushed down her corduroy Tach pants, which until this morning she’d thought were fine. But apparently fine was a dirty word to Vivian. This could be just a mood swing. Hormones or something. “She thinks my clothes are too predictable.”
Georgie and Janys nodded, and within twenty minutes, Jules found herself in front of a mirror wearing a scarlet silk plunge jumpsuit with fluttering kimono sleeves. The low neckline made her blush: her breasts were large enough that she didn’t usually wear tops that opened nearly to her stomach. Thankfully, Georgie and Janys also provided her with boob tape and a silicone lift bra that offered support while staying out of sight.
The outfit was out of her comfort zone, but Jules had to admit she looked fierce in it, especially when she added gold Jacquemus sandals with jewelry accents on the stiletto heels. The sandals were edgy and unusual, and she’d been coveting them ever since they’d first appeared on the runway. Now she actually got to wear them. As for accessories…
“I’m thinking a lariat necklace,” she said.
“With that Michael Kors gold stud cuff,” added Georgie.
“High five,” Jules said in delight, and they slapped palms.
When the ensemble was complete, Georgie clapped. “Perfect!”
“I wish I had tits like yours,” Janys sighed. “So many old men will buy you drinks.”
“Pass,” Jules said, although her boobs did look fantastic. She headed back for the dressing room to disrobe.
Then it was time to leave. Georgie and Jules carefully folded the jumpsuit into a garment bag while Janys bagged up the shoes and accessories. They bid each other cheerful farewells, and Jules left the office feeling much more optimistic than when she’d arrived.
Vivian called Jules just as she was heading out the door. “Are you on your way back?”
“Yes,” Jules said, and practically ran for the waiting Jaguar. At least the garment bag wasn’t too heavy to lug. “We should be back in twenty minutes.” It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Vivian had plenty of time to make it to her appointment. Jimmy helpfully opened the door so Jules could toss the bag into the back seat.
“I’ve just arranged lunch with some associates,” Vivian said, “so I won’t be home to eat.”
“Okay.” At least Vivian had found some other “associates,” even if for just a few hours. “Uh, where will you be?” she added as she slid inside the car and buckled up.
“RŌKA,” Vivian said absently. She was probably multitasking as always. “Some sushi place, apparently.”
Jules sat bolt upright. “You can’t have sushi!”
“What?”
“Because…” Jules suddenly remembered Jimmy in the front seat and said, “I mean, I heard that restaurant wasn’t good.”
“Julia.” On a scale of one to ten, Vivian sounded about level eight impatient.
“Raw fish is bad,” Jules muttered, staring out the window. “You, uh, you can’t have it. Or undercooked anything.” Dr. Latchley had said so on the very first day.
“I know that,” Vivian said. “They serve more than sushi. Now, come home.”
“We’re on our way,” Jules said. “Oh, and they loaned me a jump—”
But Vivian had disconnected.
Whoops. Jules winced. Vivian had been acting so…differently for the past couple of days that Jules had forgotten her intolerance for idle chatter. Vivian had not asked about the outfit; Vivian did not want to know about the outfit.
Jules looked at the garment bag lying on the seat next to her. The jumpsuit was stunning on her. In a few days, London high society would get a look at her in it. She’d be at Vivian’s side in scarlet silk with a scandalously low-cut top.
Brace yourself, Vivian Carlisle. I’ll challenge the hell out of you.