As usual, when Ben let Vivian into the car, Vivian was already talking. “Good morning, Julia. Contact Alexandra Nataf as soon as we get to the office. I want to collaborate with her on a shoot for summer and see if we can get some audience crossover with her magazine. And then I’ll want coffee.” She looked up just in time to see Jules beam at her, and she blinked in evident curiosity.

But Jules just said “Of course, Vivian.” She began making notes of everything. There was yet another busy day ahead, and an even busier night. She had to focus her brainstorming into something coherent that might be worth reading.

It could be done. That was why Vivian had hired her, right? Because she could get stuff done against the odds.

She made it through the day. By the time she got home, it seemed impossible to push her brain any further. Then she opened her laptop, checked out her notes, and got a second wind.

Come on, Jules, she told herself. You can do it. He said ASAP, so do it ASAP.

Right. She took a deep breath and dove in.

* * *

She didn’t make it to bed until two thirty. The next morning, all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes.

When Vivian got into the car, she rattled off the usual instructions without missing a beat. But for a second, she seemed to look at Jules with concern.

“Julia, are you…”

Jules lifted her chin and tried to look alert. “Yes?”

After a pause, she shook her head. “Nothing. Don’t forget my ten thirty meeting.”

“Of course. Am I coming with you?”

Vivian considered it for a moment. “No. Not this time.”

That sounded cryptic, but Jules was too tired to wonder about it for long. Vivian had her secrets, and that was that.

At midmorning, after Vivian had left for her mysterious meeting, Simon stopped by Jules’s desk. “You look bushed. Success?”

She sat back in her chair with a deep exhale. “I’ve got a rough draft. Fifteen hundred words about how queer representation in fashion shows up mostly in street style. They’re all terrible.”

“I can’t submit fifteen hundred terrible words to a friend, whether they’re queer or not. Would you consider upgrading them to mediocre?”

She glared at him.

His smirk turned kind. “I don’t mean to be harsh. There’s a light in your eyes that isn’t there when you’re scheduling meetings or getting coffee. You’re doing what you love. I like that—it becomes you.”

Her heart softened. He wasn’t wrong; it was satisfying to do her job well, and she loved looking after Vivian because…she just did, that was all. But this was different. She was following her passion at last.