Vivian gave him a half shrug. “No, thank you, Preston.”

With the air of a man who had received a brief reprieve, he left.

She hefted her bag onto her lap. It was a python drawstring from Michael Kors. Jules wasn’t sure that today was a good day for Vivian to appear snakelike, all things considered.

Rummaging inside, she came up with a bottle of Tylenol. She shook it, and it gave a hollow rattle. “Almost out,” she muttered. “Get me some more when we’re done.”

“Okay. There’s also some in your car, in the box below the driver’s seat. Just for future reference.”

The box had been Jules’s idea. She privately called it the Vivian care kit. It also had travel-sized hairspray, hand lotion, and sample sizes of Vivian’s favorite makeup products, all nicked from the beauty department with Simon’s permission. There were also Band-Aids, a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer, and a couple of little foam pads you could stick into your shoes. Whenever they were out, Jules had all these things at hand since Vivian invariably needed at least one of them.

Vivian never appeared to question where they came from, but at least Jules could pride herself on being the first assistant to think of it. She made a mental note to add some anti-nausea medication.

“Hmm.” Vivian glanced at the sideboard where a pitcher of ice water and glasses sat. Jules took the hint, hurried over, and poured her some before sitting down. Maybe she could get away with slipping off her shoes under the table. She’d give it a few minutes.

Vivian took two tablets, chased them down with the water, and rubbed her forehead.

“I’m not looking forward to this,” she muttered.

Neither was Jules, so she tried to appear sympathetic. Then it occurred to her that she ought to know something, and she cleared her throat.

“Uh,” Jules said, “does Preston know? I mean, have you told him about, you know, on the phone…” She waved her hand vaguely.

Vivian raised her eyebrows as if she had no idea what Jules was talking about when she totally did.

Fine. “You know, the baby.”

“It’s not a baby,” Vivian said dangerously. “It’s an embryo. A thing. And unless I decide otherwise, that’s all it is.”

Chagrined, Jules nodded.

“And, no, Preston doesn’t know. Yet.” Vivian drummed her fingers on the table and looked away again. “No one does.”

Except the doctor, of course, who didn’t really count, and…Jules.

She felt the knowledge like a blow to the stomach. Jesus. The idea that Jules was in on this before Vivian’s husband or, hell, even her lawyer… That was weird. And wrong. And weird.

Time to distract herself. She looked at a clock on the wall: nine thirty-five. She had time to make a few calls.

Before she could, Vivian said, “I see you tried the high-waisted pants.”