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.