“So,” Vivian said, “my associate accessories editor meets not with Clare Waight Keller but with one of her lieutenants, lets this lieutenant run the meeting, allows photos and sample pieces to be selected for her based on what the lieutenant—possibly not even Clare herself—would ‘like to see’ featured in Du Jour.”

“Um—”

“You have an interesting definition of ‘fine,’ Julia.”

“I thought she already knew what you wanted,” she faltered. “I mean, she’s been doing this for—”

“Too long.” Vivian held out a brisk, impatient hand. “Give me your notes on the meeting.”

Jules wasted no time in handing over her tablet.

She immediately became absorbed, which gave Jules an opportunity to take care of one important detail. She fished around in her bag, pulled out the card Dr. Latchley had given her a couple of days before, and dialed the number.

“Dr. Sita Viswanathan’s office,” a pleasant female voice said.

“Hi,” Jules said. “My name is Jules Moretti. I work for Vivian Carlisle. I believe your office was told to expect our call?”

“Oh, that’s right,” the woman said, her voice warming at once. “Sandra Latchley’s office said you’d be calling soon. I’m Mary.”

Jules grinned. “And I’m supposed to ask how your dogs are doing.”

At this, Vivian raised her head and looked over sharply.

Jules swallowed. “So, do you have any openings available?”

“My dogs are great,” Mary said, “and we can clear a space for you tomorrow evening after our office normally closes—say, seven?”

“Let me check.” She covered the phone’s mic. “Seven tomorrow night?” she asked.

Vivian, who had nothing on her schedule between five and nine, when she was going to a party, frowned, obviously running through her own mental checklist, and nodded.

“That’s fine,” Jules told Mary with relief. “How long will it take?”

“No more than one hour. I’ve got her in the system. We’ll see you then!” she chirped, sounding so downright perky that Jules was thankful Vivian wasn’t dealing with her directly. Perky people never came off well in encounters with Vivian. It was like watching a hawk swoop down on an adorable field mouse.

Jules ended the call. “Shouldn’t take longer than an hour, so there’s plenty of time to get you to the party afterward.”

Vivian picked up where she had left off earlier. “Nobody dictates what goes in Du Jour, Julia. Nobody but me.”

Jules could almost hear the screech as her brain applied the brakes and then tried to take off in a different direction. “Oh,” she said. “Of course.”