Fury tightened her stomach again. She could let it give her strength. It had worked an hour ago. She could get over Vivian for real this time. She could…

“So you made it.”

Jules snapped out of her reverie to see Monique Leung standing before her, clad in stunning fuchsia, her hair in an elegant twist.

“Yes.” Jules fought the urge to look down at her drink to see how much was left. She was definitely a little buzzed. She should have had another hors d’oeuvre. “Thanks for inviting me. It’s a beautiful bar. Um…how’s the week going?”

Monique smiled. “It’s going okay. I’m sure you’ve been plastered to Vivian’s side, as per usual.”

Jules’s spine stiffened at the mention of Vivian’s name.

Monique seemed to see this. “You caught hell for coming here, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Jules sighed.

Her smile grew wry. She looked almost knowing—but what was there to know? “That speaks volumes. I’m glad you came in spite of that.”

“Of course. Monique…” She had to ask. After the previous week, and her confrontation with Vivian, Jules’s tolerance for artifice had officially run out. “Why did you invite me?”

Far from being offended, Monique seemed pleased by Jules’s forthrightness. She smiled again. “You’re right—let’s skip the bullshit.”

Jules flushed.

Monique shrugged. “I think your time could be better employed. You’re up to your neck in industry contacts, you’re a decent writer, you know how the sausage is made, and—to be honest—Vivian Carlisle’s pissing me off.”

Jules started in surprise. Decent writer. “You’ve read my work?”

“Of course that’s the part you heard.” Monique chuckled. “I keep up with Salon, yes. Your article wasn’t a work of genius—I think you know that—but it’s good enough, and it shows you have hustle.”

Damning with faint praise. Jules’s industry contacts would obviously be more useful than her talents as a writer. Plus the other thing.

“And Vivian’s pissing you off,” she said wearily.

“It’s not a secret, is it? I wouldn’t poach you just for that, but it’s not a disincentive.”

So Vivian had been right about at least one thing. Jules seemed to have found the one person at Fashion Week who’d find it a plus that she’d alienated Vivian Carlisle.

“Poaching me for what?” she asked. “You already seem to have a good assistant. And I don’t speak any form of Chinese.”

She couldn’t help thinking about what else Vivian had said. Jules wasn’t the only one she’d accused. Vivian thought Monique was trying to seduce her.

Even if Jules wasn’t buzzed, she had a hunch that it wouldn’t hold water. Monique showed not the slightest hint of desire. Jules just must not be an editor in chief’s type.