She dragged herself into her bedroom, shut the door, and got ready for bed. Her alarm was set to go off at six, and it was ten thirty now. Her body’s clock was completely screwed up again.

Just like her sense of self-preservation.

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

For the next four nights, Jules dreamed about work.

She dreamed about shows and clothes and people in fancy dress. In her dreams, she was always scrambling to make the next appointment, always running late, always trying to catch up. Always letting everybody down.

Daytime wasn’t as bad. In spite of trying to train Allie at the same time, Jules had done her London legwork well, and except for the snafu at Ashish, everything she’d scheduled had gone off without a hitch. So far. She’d had practice at a couple other fashion weeks by now, which made this a little easier.

The whole Du Jour delegation seemed grateful for Jules’s attention to detail. Keisha, Lucia’s replacement, told Jules up front, “Hey, thanks for working so hard. You’re making it easier for us.”

“Thanks,” Jules said and meant it. But Vivian had no such kind words. She hardly had any words at all. The most she did was ask every day about how Allie was handling things back at Du Jour, always in a faintly accusatory tone, as if it were Jules’s fault that she’d had little time to train her before they’d left.

Jules called Allie every night and made sure her intern told her about every single message, every little detail, no matter how insignificant Allie might think it. The girl might not be bright, but she was good at doing what she was told. Besides, with Vivian and half the staff out of the office, there wasn’t much to do.

Every evening, Jules was able to say, “Sounds like everything’s going okay, Vivian.” Then she’d pass along anything important that Allie had told her, which usually wasn’t much. Sometimes Vivian would have her call Allie back with additional instructions; most often, she gave her a curt nod and sent her off on some other errand. Then, at the end of the day, they’d return to the townhouse and continue not to talk.

It was awful. And weird. They were staying in the same house, and Vivian was speaking to Jules less than ever. No more talk about the doctors, no more growling about the media, and certainly no more inquiries about Jules’s parents or life or anything insignificant like that. Just silence.

Vivian was busy. She had a lot going on, and she wasn’t being mean or anything. She was just doing her job, same as Jules. They weren’t friends.