“Well, call me a sentimental fool, but I knew it was in March, and I figured the timing would work out. I didn’t know it would work out this well, though.”

“Simon…” Jules’s voice wobbled.

He looked contrite. “Now’s not the time for mysteries, is it? Let me make it simple: I’m offering you a new job.”

She just stared at him.

He grinned and then stifled it as if realizing it wasn’t quite appropriate. “That’s what I was going to tell you tonight. A new job. Consider it a birthday gift to you from me, the newly liberated Simon Carvalho.”

“Newly liberated?” Jules managed, shaking her head.

“I’m quitting,” he said as casually as if this weren’t the most shocking thing he’d ever said to her. “I’m leaving Du Jour. It’s over, done, hey presto, fini. I’m gone. And I want you to come with me.”

“What?” Jules rubbed her forehead. “What are you talking about?”

He sighed. “I wish we were at a bar. This sort of thing always goes over better when you have a drink in your hand. But here it is: for months, I’ve been in talks with Georg Schumann at Delton Wright.”

Jules nodded. She’d met Georg at Christmas. And Helga. Couldn’t forget Helga, his heinous hausfrau.

“As it happens, Georg has multiple interests beyond publishing. We got to talking at a party last year, and next thing you know we’re swapping emails about my big idea.”

“Your what? You have ideas?”

He glared.

“Sorry,” Jules said quickly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I meant…you’ve never mentioned any…”

“I couldn’t. Not until everything was finalized. But it’s happening, Jules. I’m starting a new venture that doesn’t depend on Vivian Carlisle for its lifeblood, something that’s going to let me call the shots and create something of my own.”

“Create what?” Jules thought of Monique Leung, someone else who’d offered her a job recently. Maybe it was a new trend. “Are you starting your own fashion line?”

“Oh no. God knows there’s enough of that out there. I don’t want to make my own fashion, I want to shape fashion, change the landscape somehow. I want to…” Simon waved his hand vaguely. He began to pace the office. “Look, we all know about websites for discount designer stuff, right?”

“Sure,” she said, more and more confused. “I use them.”

“Everyone does. They’re not good enough. That experience could be more.” Simon looked at her, his hazel eyes sharp. “Vivian’s trying to update the industry for the youth market. So am I. And they want the latest thing, but they’re buried under student debt and grateful for entry-level jobs.”

“I’m aware.”