“It was just in a pile of stuff,” Jules protested. “She said I could take something from it. I just happened to pick this. She didn’t say anything about it.”

“I have to admit, it suits you,” he mused.

A snake suited her? That didn’t sound like a compliment. Jules glared at him; he merely returned his most benign smile.

“Careful,” she said, “or I’ll tell the flight attendants that you have a medical condition and can’t be given alcohol on an airplane.”

“Meow, darling.” Simon patted her shoulder. “Just calm down, drink your coffee, and enjoy your eight-thousand-dollar token of Vivian’s appreciation.”

Jules very narrowly avoided spilling her coffee everywhere. Simon was a sneaky bastard. “E-eight—”

“That’s what you get with eighteen karats and a big name. Oh, Paul,” Simon called over his shoulder, “I need to bend your ear about June’s accent feature.”

Eighteen karats, not gold plating. Jules sat on the nearest available surface, trying not to hyperventilate. It isn’t a big deal. In this business? Eight thousand was a drop in the bucket. Practically nothing. Holy crap, Vivian probably wore fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of clothes, jewelry, shoes, accessories, and beauty products every day.

She self-consciously tugged at her jacket so that it covered the brooch. Wouldn’t want other people to see it and get the wrong idea.

She glanced at Vivian, who was frowning at Charlotte garbling her way through some kind of explanation or plea. Fifteen thousand dollars had never looked so good.

Vivian tossed her head in irritation, Charlotte shrank back, and Jules’s stomach flopped pleasantly before she remembered herself and looked away again.

She wondered how much better Vivian would look in zero dollars’ worth of clothing. Wondered when—or if—she’d ever find out.

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

The Koening Building had not burned to the ground in their absence. Allie had made no unforgivable mistakes (although she’d managed several forgivable ones that Jules could conceal from Vivian). Within one day of the Du Jour group’s return to New York, it was like they’d never left.

“Did you get lots of pretty clothes?” Allie asked wistfully as Jules went through a whole notebook of phone messages to see if anything had been screwed up too badly. “And did you meet all kinds of cool people?”

“Not as many as I wanted, and yes.” Jules pointed at a name in the notebook. “There’s no note for this one. Do you remember what Bernard said when he called yesterday afternoon?”

Allie pondered. “I think I remember him. He’s the one who sounded like he had floppy hair.”

“I, um—” Jules said, then, “Okay. Let’s try this again…”