What? What the hell? He wasn’t supposed to be here. At least Jules hadn’t heard that he would be. Not that Mr. Oppenheimer’s schedule was even remotely in her purview. But surely Vivian had known he was coming and hadn’t mentioned it.

Why should she? Vivian wasn’t accountable to Jules for her movements. If she didn’t need her to schedule something, then Jules had nothing to do with any of it. They had gotten together in the evenings, after all, and Jules had never heard a word about it until Mr. Oppenheimer himself had called.

There was a flurry of attention by the door, and Jules knew Vivian had arrived. She always made an entrance: people got out of her way, cleared a path for her, watched her with equal parts envy and admiration, murmured to each other as they watched her pass.

Stan Oppenheimer was watching too. He looked approving.

Jules wondered how many punches it would take before his face actually caved in.

Deep breath. Deep breath. Charlotte’s seat was free now, and Jules thanked the staging director as she took her seat in the second row behind Vivian, who didn’t seem to notice the momentary glitch.

Then she tried to pay attention to the models on the catwalk and the clothes they wore instead of on the ridiculously rich, handsome, and available man across the way.

Thankfully, Mr. Oppenheimer didn’t attempt to speak to Vivian after the show. And there were two more shows before a late dinner, so Jules was able to keep busy and try not to think about him. Then there was the dinner itself, and Jules definitely wasn’t sitting at Vivian’s table this time. Even Simon wasn’t.

The editor in chief of Du Jour UK was, though. Vivian also sat with a Booker Prize winning novelist, the star of the latest West End hit, a publishing magnate or two, and Monique Leung.

Every time Jules managed a peek, Vivian and Monique were either not talking to each other or were exchanging frosty looks. Awkward.

It got even more awkward after dinner when Jules returned to Vivian’s side. Monique stood only a few feet away and in front of Vivian. She smiled and waved at Jules. “I thought I’d see you around this week.”

She managed a smile in return. “Wouldn’t miss it. Did you have a good trip here?” That had to be a conversational gambit even Vivian couldn’t get annoyed at.

“Well—” Monique began.

“So sorry to cut this important conversation short, but we need to get moving,” Vivian said curtly. “It was good to see you, Monique. Julia, call the car. We’re going home.”

Did Monique seem curious at “We’re going home”? Or maybe it was well-deserved annoyance at Vivian being a jerk for no reason at all. Again.