“Oh.” Jules blinked at her reflection. It was weird to feel disappointed. “I mean, sure.”

“You have the Givenchy notes?”

“Yes, on my tablet,” Jules said, as if Vivian needed to know exactly where the notes were at any given moment.

“Good. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”

“Right. Wait! Do you want breakfast too?”

“Did I ask for breakfast?” Vivian disconnected.

So much for things being different. Jules stuck her tongue out at her phone.

She didn’t make it to the law office on time. The subway was crammed full. She had to wait to get in and out and switch cars. Then, on top of everything else, she waited in line at a crowded La Colombe Coffee Roasters.

For once, she didn’t care. She was in a foul mood, and Vivian could wait.

As she’d reflected the night before, this job was getting more difficult than she’d thought possible. Well, Jules could walk away if she wanted to. She could. That was important. She controlled her own destiny. Sure, Vivian could fire her. Jules would get along somehow. She wasn’t like Vivian, no matter what her mom said, and Vivian could go to—

“There you are,” Vivian said as Jules hurried through the revolving door, jumping in spite of herself. Vivian was not in Preston’s office, but had been waiting by the door, evidently in a fever of impatience. She all but snatched the coffee from Jules’s hands. “Come along.”

Jules checked out the reception desk. The rude receptionist wasn’t there today.

Her newfound feeling of independence shriveled up a little bit as she followed Vivian into the elevator. To her surprise, Vivian pressed the button for the third floor instead of the ninth, and they exited into the cafeteria.

Vivian seated herself at a table and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips before sipping at her coffee.

Jules squirmed. “Yogurt?”

Vivian nodded. “Get yourself something and put it on our expense account.”

Jules blinked. Vivian had never invited Jules to eat in front of her before. She preferred to think that nobody who worked for her ate anything at all—you weren’t even allowed to have food on your desk at Du Jour.

As she bought yogurt for Vivian and coffee and a fruit cup for herself, Jules realized that this was Vivian’s way of saying—what? Sorry? Thank you? Something, anyway.

Vivian took the yogurt without a word and pretended not to pay attention while Jules pretended not to eat.

When she was done, Jules dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, sipped her coffee, and said, “When are we supposed to see Preston?”

Vivian looked at her watch. “In twenty minutes.”

It was seven forty. Jules tried to cover a yawn.

Vivian was regarding her through hooded eyes. Something about her gaze unnerved Jules. More than usual, anyway. She cleared her throat. “So,” she said, “you look, er, well today.”