Mallory should have known better than to take this as encouragement. Vivian didn’t do encouragement. “Well, sure. Fashion’s about pushing the boundaries, right?”

“I assume that question is rhetorical.”

Mallory gulped. “And you know anxiety can be a part of that, right? So…that’s what I was doing. It was on purpose. Kind of edgy.”

“Edgy.” Vivian picked up the spread proof and held it at arm’s length. She was probably trying to get the whole picture, but it looked more as if she were holding out a piece of particularly smelly garbage. “Let’s see this copy. ‘Romantic Winter: Get cozy in style with the latest trends to help you look your best as you snuggle in front of a fireplace.’”

Jules repressed a snort.

Mallory squirmed as Vivian glanced at her again.

“Edgy,” Vivian repeated.

“Um, I guess I can see how it’d look—”

“This is pathetic.”

Mallory snapped her mouth shut.

“It’s one thing to make a bad choice. I would think you’d know not to associate the color yellow with snow, but I would obviously be wrong.”

“I—”

“But that isn’t your problem, Mallory. Your problem is that you don’t listen, that you refuse to admit your mistakes, and that you’re convinced of your own genius for reasons that completely escape me.”

Oof. This was painful. Next up: Vivian would put Mallory on notice.

Mallory threw her shoulders back. “When Simon hired me—”

“When Simon hired you, he made a mistake. But unlike you, he’ll own up to it.”

Mallory went even paler.

“Pack up your desk and be gone by lunch,” Vivian said.

Yikes. So much for strike three—Mallory was already off the team. Jules looked at the wall and kept her best poker face. Didn’t see that coming.

Nobody argued with that tone of voice. Mallory swallowed thickly, turned, and walked out of the office.

Jules slowly released a breath. She didn’t like Mallory, but that hadn’t been any fun to watch.

“Julia,” Vivian said.

Jules pressed her lips together and looked back at her boss.

Vivian Carlisle was a striking woman. With her famous platinum blonde hair, shattered pixie haircut, eyes that bordered on electric blue, and bone structure that belonged in a makeup ad, she grabbed unwary mortals’ attention right away. Her Greek nose would have earned her a place of honor in ancient statuary. She was rail thin and pretty tall—a few inches taller than Jules, who was five foot six. She still wore four-inch heels every day as if she wanted to take up all the space she could. Vivian wasn’t Hollywood gorgeous, but models and celebrities paled in her shadow.

Arresting. That’s what she was.

“Tell Simon to replace Mallory,” Vivian said.

Jules clutched her tablet to her chest and nodded.

“And remind him of the budget when advertising the salary,” Vivian added, sounding annoyed about it.