“Think anybody’ll notice if I slip out of here wearing the same clothes I was wearing twenty-four hours ago?” Jules asked.
Vivian shook her head as Jules refilled her water glass. They were just finishing up dinner at the kitchen table. Outside, the sky was dark.
The rest of the day had passed in a strange mélange of the ordinary and extraordinary. On the ordinary side, following their afternoon delight, they both had gotten to work: Vivian went through the mock-up of the next print issue while Jules took notes on her commentary. There was a lot of commentary.
On the extraordinary side, they broke up work shortly afterward to fool around. It started when Vivian said, “Ugh. Tell Joey we have to get rid of this photo in the big band spread. Joan Smalls looks completely ridiculous with that sexophone.”
Jules had stopped writing and stared at her. Vivian obviously had no idea what she’d just said, but she kept on talking and said the word “sexophone” two more times before Jules gave up and doubled over with helpless laughter.
Vivian scowled, Jules explained, Vivian got snippy, and Jules had to take emergency measures. As it happened, she’d learned a couple of surefire ways to distract her by now.
Yeah. It had been a good day.
Dragging Jules back to the present, Vivian said, “Most people in this neighborhood don’t actually spy on each other through the blinds. I doubt anybody saw you arrive last night, much less cared what you were wearing. As long as the paparazzi are away, there’s nothing to worry about. And I’m old news by now.”
“Right.” Jules finished her water. “That’s good. I just figured I should leave after we eat.”
Otherwise Vivian would never get any work done at all, and Jules couldn’t stay the night again unless she wanted to creep out when it was still dark, which she didn’t. Vivian’s personal trainer was due at six thirty in the morning.
“Probably for the best,” Vivian agreed, her expression not betraying any particular emotion. Then she added, “We didn’t talk about it.”
“About what?”
“About the ethical problems of me sleeping with my assistant and then sending her out to get my coffee.”
Dammit. And it had been such a nice day too. “I don’t mind getting you coffee or anything else. I told you—”
“You like looking after me.” It was clearly not enough to appease her. “I heard you. Multiple times.”
“C’mon,” Jules protested. “Maybe you think it’s sappy, but it’s true.”
“I didn’t say it was sappy. If I couldn’t see the appeal of caring for someone, I wouldn’t be pregnant or here with you. I’m saying it’s naïve. You think those feelings aren’t going to change over time?”
Jules crossed her arms. A small part of her was whispering that Vivian might have a point. She shushed it for now. “So what are you saying? Am I looking for a new job?”
“No,” Vivian frowned. “You know if you want to leave, you have my full support. But I won’t dictate your comings and goings. Just think about it. Don’t pull a Scarlett O’Hara and keep putting it off until tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Jules sighed. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”
“Thank you.” Vivian sounded resigned to the idea of Jules eventually running for the doors of Du Jour and never looking back.
Jules reached out and took her hand. “Hey.”
“Hey, what?”
“I’ve got to be out of here in a few minutes. Want to get started on the goodbye kiss?”
Vivian rolled her eyes. But she kissed Jules anyway.
* * *
Jules hadn’t really meant to honor Vivian’s request. She’d intended to go home, listen to lovey-dovey music, have a glass of wine, and revel in her memories of the weekend. There would be plenty of time for solemn reflection later.
Solemn reflection showed up anyway when she sat on her couch and reread Carter Mathson’s email.
The feeling returned, the one she couldn’t name, the feeling that said, This is kinda sketchy.
Sure, on the outside, Jules could see how it might look bad. Her lover, who just happened to be her boss, was connecting her to influential people in a way Jules couldn’t manage on her own. An ancient story.
But when Jules thought of other people who did that—the gross men Vivian was so determined not to become—it seemed different. With them it looked like the more powerful partner took sex as the price of entry for the other person who wanted favors. Tit for tat.
Vivian wasn’t doing that. She was giving Jules a gift, and she didn’t expect anything in return.
Jules began to pace her apartment in front of the mosaic-painted wall, the overstuffed ottoman, the poster from a special exhibit at the Pitti Palace. Nothing in here was Vivian’s style, although it was well put together. This was Jules’s space, where she was in control and had room to think.
Simon had done her a favor by putting her in touch with Salon. That had obviously been okay. Of course she owed him now and he’d be sure to collect, but that was also okay.
She remembered Vivian’s troubled expression. Her worries about crossing personal boundaries with professional ones. Jules was starting, finally, to put a name to the feeling that had been plaguing her since she’d seen Carter’s email: Vivian is right.
Ugh. That was always the worst feeling ever, no matter who was right when you were wrong. The question was, what was Jules going to do about it?
Deep down, she was afraid she already knew the answer.