Jules had hoped that, when she woke up on January 1, she would no longer find Vivian Carlisle attractive. Like it had been the last mistake she’d made in the previous year. Something that wouldn’t matter anymore when they changed the calendars, and on New Year’s Day, she could start completely fresh.
She could even make a resolution of some kind: I will not fantasize about having sex with Vivian until we are both too tired to move.
Then again, she’d already broken that one in about half her dreams last night. So much for dreaming of professional success.
After waking from one of those dreams at six thirty, Jules staggered into the shower to start her day. Then she dressed and went downstairs, fully expecting to have the place to herself for an hour or so. She could make those changes The Cut wanted and forget all about Vivian dressed in champagne and gold.
This wasn’t Jules’s fault. Vivian had been so stunning that practically everybody at the ball had wanted her or wanted to be her. Jules couldn’t be blamed for being dazzled by something so…perfect. Today would be different. Today everything would be back to normal.
But when she wandered into the living room at five till seven clinging to a hot cup of coffee, she ran smack into the sight of Vivian curled up on the love seat by the window.
She wore hunter green cotton pajamas that weren’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime glamour. No makeup, no jewelry. Her lips were thinned into a line of displeasure, and her brow was furrowed, making her look older. But her bare feet were peeping out from beneath the hems of her pajama pants, and she had a tuft of platinum blonde hair sticking up from behind one ear.
Jules’s stomach plummeted right down into her feet. Fuck. Oh…oh fuck.
Vivian looked up and scowled.
Jules immediately took a step back, her heart beating painfully hard. “I didn’t think you’d be up yet.”
“Surprise,” Vivian said testily. She tucked the tuft of hair back behind her ear before Jules could protest that it was adorable, which would have been unbelievably stupid.
She clutched her coffee mug tighter instead. “I’ll just go back to the kitchen.” Maybe when she got away from Vivian she would remember how to swallow, breathe, and do other things that would help her stay alive and drink the coffee.
She’d already turned to go when Vivian said, “No. Stay here. Look at this.” She held out her phone.
Jules was already extending her hand when she realized that this was Vivian’s personal phone, not the one she used for Du Jour business. People didn’t just do that. Jules hadn’t let anybody look at her own phone since Aaron, and even then it had always made her nervous.
She took a deep breath and accepted the phone with a hand that shook only a bit. She hoped Vivian would put it down to fatigue. But no, Vivian was looking out the window onto the still-dark street, not paying attention to her at all.
“Preston sent that email sometime last night when we were gone,” she said.
Jules sat down in the nearest chair, set her coffee aside, and studied the phone. It was the legal document about Robert’s agreement to give Vivian full custody of the baby and to relinquish visitation rights. Robert had had to sign and initial it about fifty million times. He hadn’t missed a single blank space. All the t’s were crossed, all the i’s were dotted, and all the dates were in good order.
“Oh,” Jules said. This seemed like a good thing, but her chest felt heavy.
“I want this done.” Vivian tapped her fingertips on the windowsill in agitation. “I want it final.”
Jules couldn’t blame Vivian—Robert clearly wanted out as soon as possible too. But people could change their minds once they were presented with the practical rather than the theoretical. Once the baby was born, it was entirely possible that he would want to share custody or at least be a part of his or her life.
But would that be so bad? In her head, Jules heard Preston’s voice telling Vivian that the child had a right to know its father. And Vivian had seemed open to reconciling with Robert before the whole infidelity thing had come out.
What if she relented? Maybe that would be the best thing for everyone. It’d be better for the kid, who wouldn’t grow up thinking that his—or her—father had never wanted anything to do with her. Or him.
But maybe…
There was one possibility that made Jules feel ice-cold inside, and she voiced it before she could stop herself. “What if he changes his mind?”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Vivian gestured angrily at her phone. “Didn’t you hear me say ‘I want this done’?”
“Yes,” Jules said and then added, “No, I mean, not about the baby, about—about your relationship or something.”
She got an incredulous look.
Jules didn’t see why the idea was so outlandish. Yes, the divorce would be finalized by the time the baby arrived, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Robert would change his mind. What if he wanted Vivian back? What if she took him back for the kid’s sake?
“What if he does?” Vivian said coldly.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, retreating in the face of Vivian’s clear reluctance to discuss the issue.
But Vivian might change her mind too. And if she did, if she took Robert back and became part of a happy little nuclear family, the agony Jules had suffered last night at the ball—watching all those men watching Vivian—would be a cakewalk in comparison. Just thinking about it made her feel physically ill now that she knew…
Knew what?
Jules noted the time on her phone. “Um, I need to take my shoes and accessories back to Du Jour UK. The office opens at eight. I’ll just call Jimmy, if that’s okay.”
And if it wasn’t okay, she’d take the Underground. She’d hitchhike. She’d walk in her bare feet. She needed to get out of here for an hour or so, needed to breathe.
“Fine.” Vivian gave her a long, inscrutable look. She extended her hand for the phone. “Don’t forget our lunch reservation today.” Yesterday morning she’d had Jules book a table for two at Core in Notting Hill, citing a desperate need to get the hell out of the townhouse. She hadn’t seemed interested in meeting with any associates for this one. “Be back here by noon.”
Jules rose to hand her the phone. “Do you want me to make breakfast?”
“No.” Vivian’s cheeks went a little paler, and a shudder ran along her frame.
Jules left without saying another word. She called Jimmy, went upstairs, and carefully packed up the accessories and shoes. She had no idea how to explain the missing jumpsuit. “Vivian said I can keep it” seemed a little thin.
She’d figure something out. In the meantime, she used the car ride to pull herself together. It didn’t completely work, but she reminded herself of some salient facts.
Like the fact that Vivian was over a decade older than her. And Vivian was getting divorced. And was pregnant. And was Jules’s boss. And liked men, not women, as far as Jules knew.
It had to be a defense mechanism. Jules was still stung from losing Aaron, and so she’d fixated on somebody safe, or—okay, not safe. Not safe at all. But somebody she didn’t have a chance with. Somebody unattainable so that she didn’t have to worry about having an actual relationship. That was all.
And this was so sudden. At least, it felt sudden. It had obviously been building up for a long time, but that totally didn’t matter because Jules was overreacting and letting her feelings go to her head, and in a few days’ time she was going to feel ridiculous about this. It wasn’t a true feeling. It was an impulse, a crush on a mentor figure, the result of months of celibacy. It was anything but genuine. It’d vanish like the wind.
Jules told Jimmy not to wait for her, deciding that taking the Tube home or even just wandering around for a couple of hours would be good for her. Anything that kept her away from Vivian until lunchtime would be good for her, in fact.
The Du Jour UK offices were much more sparsely populated than they had been on her last visit, although they weren’t completely closed for the public holiday. They felt lonely.
Georgie and Janys weren’t there. Hopefully, they’d done something suitably wild for New Year’s Eve. The front desk was manned by a lone receptionist, who looked sleepy.
Jules made matters easy on herself, saying only, “Vivian wants to keep the jumpsuit. You can call the Du Jour office in New York when she gets back to confirm.” That seemed good enough for the receptionist, who surely wasn’t paid enough to deal with Vivian Carlisle. She accepted the package with a friendly New Year’s greeting, and Jules escaped.
The streets felt deserted when she emerged from the building. Few Londoners or tourists were out and about at eight a.m. after a night of revelry. No shops or attractions were open yet.
Jules’s stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t had breakfast. At least some restaurants had lit OPEN signs in the windows. She stopped in a nearby café, glad of the warmth inside. When she’d decided to go for a walk, she’d forgotten how cold it would be, especially at this time of day. She’d been spoiled by cozy car rides.
She bought a coffee plus bacon and eggs (might as well enjoy them while Vivian wasn’t around to get nauseated) and pulled out her phone as she began to eat. She’d have to edit her article later today. In the meantime, she scrolled Twitter. It had been a while since she checked her feed.
Oh wow. The first recommended tweet came from a gossip site showing pictures of the New Year’s ball at the Dorchester. It was official: her phone was spying on her.
Jules tapped on the article and skimmed the photos. There was a picture of the London mayor, a couple of MPs, and socialites Jules didn’t recognize.
And there was one of Jules and Vivian too. They were leaving the ball, going down the stone steps. Vivian looked elegant but also vaguely pissed off. Jules, thank goodness, was looking down at the steps so no one could really see her face.
She read the caption: Tyrannical American fashion queen Vivian Carlisle leaves the ball with no date but a lowly assistant. Looks like soon-to-be-ex-hubby had a better time and bubblier company.
What?
Lowly assistant? Hubby? Bubblier company? Lowly assistant?
Already snarling with indignation, Jules searched for Robert Kirk New Year’s. The first result was a photo of him with a dazzling, big-chested blonde on his arm, a young British actress currently living in New York. And she was dating Vivian’s husband.
Robert was looking down at her with an utterly fatuous expression on his face. His stupid, weak-chinned indecisive face that Jules had never found remotely appealing and which she now realized was downright repulsive. Asshole.
Jules fought the urge to throw her phone across the café. She’d only eaten a few bites of her breakfast, but now she couldn’t stomach another mouthful. Great start to the new year.
How many websites and feeds were featuring this crap? Not that she needed to be reminded that she was just a “lowly assistant” who only got to spend time with Vivian because “the tyrannical fashion queen” couldn’t find somebody better.
She left her nearly full plate on the table and stormed out of the café. This just confirmed her worst fears, didn’t it? She hadn’t even been able to enjoy twenty-four hours of being in…in lust or infatuated or whatever it was called before her ridiculous thoughts had been shot out of the sky.
If Robert tried to get Vivian back after this, he’d be lucky if Jules didn’t kick him in the balls.
Thank God Jules was leaving tomorrow. The sooner the better. London wasn’t so great.
Glad of her warm coat, scarf, and hat, Jules kept walking. She remembered how Vivian had needed to go for a walk after discovering Robert’s infidelity. She must have been feeling a lot worse than Jules felt right now.
Jules walked and walked while thinking unhappy thoughts, occasionally stopping to look at things and people. When she looked at her watch, it was eleven forty. She’d wandered too far from the townhouse to get there by noon. Shit.
Well—it didn’t have to be a disaster. There was no way Vivian would want to venture out of doors after a humiliation like this. Jules just needed formal permission to cancel their lunch reservation.
She texted Vivian:
Heading back now, calling an Uber, sorry
Then she swiped open the Uber app, not expecting a response. To her surprise, though, Vivian texted only moments later:
If you’re not here at noon, we’ll be late for lunch.
She blinked. Vivian still wanted to go? She texted back:
Sorry, I thought you’d want me to cancel, be right there
Before she could go back to the Uber app, her phone rang. Vivian.
“Uh, hi,” Jules said, bracing herself. “I’m just about to—”
“Why would I want to cancel?”
“I, uh—never mind. I guess it’d be faster for me just to meet you at the restaurant. I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?”
Jules hadn’t been paying attention at all to where she was going. She looked around for a street sign. “I’m not actually sure.”
“Why are you not here?”
“You said noon—never mind.” Jules wrapped her free arm around herself, shivering. “Time got away from me.”
“Got away from you. Well.”
“I was upset,” Jules said before she could think better of it. “I just kept walking. I didn’t mean to. But I can get to the restaurant before you and make sure the table’s all ready.”
“You were upset?”
Dammit. There was no use pretending. Either Vivian knew about the pictures or she’d find out soon, and she’d be pissed that Jules had danced around the subject.
“There are some photos of New Year’s on Twitter,” Jules mumbled. “Of you and m—of you leaving the ball.”
“Oh. How upsetting.”
“No, but—” Jules bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Just say it. “There are also pictures of Robert in New York. With a woman.”
Silence. Jules closed her eyes. This would be ugly.
Then Vivian said, “Core Restaurant. It’s in Notting Hill.”
Wait. That was it? That couldn’t be it. “Um, yeah. I already told Jimmy, so he should—”
“Be there by twelve fifteen.” She ended the call.
The bite in her voice could have cut through steel. Jules grimaced and looked up at the gray London sky. Lunch at a swanky restaurant after the revelations of last night with Vivian in a terrible mood.
Wouldn’t this be fun?