Jules winced as she looked up at him from her desk. At least Vivian was out. “It’s not your fault. She’s mad at me. I mean, I think that’s it. Unless you did something else.”

“Something else? Other than what?”

“Other than talking to Casey Dukakis for me.”

He glared at her. “You told her?”

“I didn’t know I shouldn’t,” she protested.

He rolled his eyes.

“What? I didn’t! She asked me what I’d been so worked up about for the last few days, and I didn’t see any point in lying.”

“Great.”

“I still don’t know what was so wrong about it. Not everything I do has to be related to Du Jour.” Or Vivian. That had been half the joy of the thing, after all: to do a tiny something that belonged to Jules alone.

“Yes, it does,” Simon said, confirming her worst fears. “Vivian relies on you, Jules, to an extent I’ve never seen before.”

“But—”

“Now she thinks you’re on the hunt for something better. She’s afraid you’ll quit. Which, by the way, if the opportunity arises—do it.”

“Quit?” She glared at him. “I’m not going to quit!”

“More fool you.”

“Oh, come on, Simon. Casey might not even like it. Even if she does, it’s just one article. I’m not going to quit for that.”

“I don’t know for sure it’ll get published,” Simon said, “but I read it. I think you’re in with a chance.”

“You do?”

“Sure. It makes the fashion industry seem out of touch, which Salon readers will eat up.”

Oh shit. Simon and Vivian were the fashion industry. Her article had pointed out that queer rep in fashion primarily came from the nightclub scene and streetwear, not the runway. Had it seemed like she was biting the hand that fed her?

“I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “I wrote about how new queer designers are incorporating more elements of street style and hiring models with different looks and body types. Vivian’s been encouraging that all along, and so have you.”

“I know. I’ve been present for every idea I’ve ever encouraged. Relax. It’s fine that you’re spreading the word. It’s a decent article.”

Jules brightened. “Really? You really think so?”

He pointed at her. “There it is. There’s that glow. I bet you anything Vivian saw it too. And didn’t like it.”

“That’s not fair,” she said weakly. And it wasn’t. It was monstrously unfair, in fact. Did Vivian still not know, did she not understand what Jules would do—had done—for her? Didn’t she even trust her not to quit her job?

“Since when is Vivian fair?” He had a point.

Jules looked down at her desk. “I didn’t know she’d be like that.” Then she smiled bitterly. “I guess I should have.”