Judy smiled. She looked strained, though, Sophie thought. Despite her promotion, and the salary increase that had accompanied it, Judy had a brittle quality to her—tiredness around the eyes that the best makeup couldn’t conceal and a taut, tense way of holding herself that made her seem uneasy, out of place.

Her clothes were pitch-perfect, but Sophie thought they too contributed to the impression the younger woman gave. Judy Dean always looked as though she’d marched straight off the pages of Elle, but that was the problem; it was like she was trying too hard.

Everything about Judy was always of the moment. She would carry the latest bag, wear the hot shoes of the month, and the result was she looked like she’d been dressed by a stylist. There was so much effort in it, Sophie thought.

Today Judy was wearing a BCBG Max Azria dress in silk georgette, purple with little cap sleeves; it had a lilac lining and a pink trim. Very summery and flirty, but Judy had carefully teamed it with lilac pumps and a sweet little bag—this summer’s pale blue from Coach—and she wore a large, heart-shaped amethyst drop down the vee of the neckline. Her earrings were dangling bezel-set blue topaz, a stone cheap enough for Judy to wear in a decent size; she had rose blusher, white pencil to brighten up her eyes, everything coordinated. She looked like a model on a photo shoot. It was Identi-Kit dressing, far too matchy-matchy.

When Sophie looked at her, she wondered if the girl ever relaxed.

I’ll bet her underwear is matched and a shade of either pale lilac or blush pink, Sophie thought—

“I’m wondering what’s going on,” Judy said, brightly.

Sophie blushed a little at her train of thought. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you had me call Herr and Frau Brandt.”

Their designers. Sophie nodded.

“And we’ve issued no press statements for the last month, but now you’ve summoned the whole department.” Judy tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’d like to get a jump on whatever you’re going to announce.”

“I’m sorry, I’m kind of flying by the seat of my pants,” Sophie said, trying out an Americanism on Judy.

“You sure are,” she said. “You don’t mind if I offer some constructive criticism?”

“That’s what I’m paying you for,” Sophie said, easily. “Nobody has to be afraid to speak their mind around me.”

Judy tried, and failed, not to stiffen. “Then I gotta tell you, you need to come clean. We fired all those guys, and that’s good, but you’ve been holed up with the lawyers, the stores are closed, designers are getting commissions . . . I can’t stave off the press forever. And the rest of the staff needs to know what’s up. Morale is nonexistent.”