“I didn’t have a big breakfast,” she said. “You sure you want me to show up at the office after one of these?”

“Drink every drop,” Vivian said firmly and watched with envious eyes as Jules gulped down the rest of it. Thankfully, she allowed her to chase it down with water and even eat a few pretzels so she wouldn’t arrive too tipsy at the office.

Well, there were worse ways to start a day.

* * *

By ten thirty a.m., after another glass of water, some coffee, and two trips to the bathroom, Jules was sober again. She kind of missed the buzz, though, since you could cut the office tension with a knife. The news of Vivian’s pregnancy had spread, and today Du Jour’s employees were more like groundhogs, hiding in their cubicles as much as they could.

Jules had no such luxury and was glad when the Audi whisked her and Vivian away from the office at the end of the day. The heated seats felt good as she watched New Yorkers hurrying down the sidewalks, their breath puffing clouds into the evening air. What a day it had been.

But it wasn’t over yet. When Ben stopped in front of Vivian’s house, she said, “Julia, come with me. Ben, she’ll only be a moment.”

Only months’ worth of practice let Jules keep the shock off her face. She’d run plenty of personal errands for Vivian, but she’d never actually been in her home before.

Unlike many wealthy Upper West Siders, Vivian didn’t live in a townhouse. She’d chosen a carriage house with a shorter, wider profile than its more traditional neighbors. The imposing entrance was gray stone topped with brown brick and two floors’ worth of arched windows. Carriage houses in the heart of the city had formerly served as stables for Gilded Age magnates. There was nothing humble about them, though, and now they were some of the most desirable real estate in New York. Of course Vivian had been able to nab one.

Jules followed her up the stairs on shaky knees she could no longer blame on booze. It doesn’t have to be weird, she told herself. You practically lived with her in London for a while. But this felt different. Vivian’s London townhouse was basically her hotel. This was her home.

Jules shut the door behind herself as Vivian said, “Wait here.”

She looked around after Vivian left the foyer. She knew from Simon that when Vivian had bought this place, she’d hired one of the most prestigious architectural firms to gut and redesign it.