“Not Alyson, not Clare Waight Keller, not even God himself.” It was as if Jules hadn’t spoken. “I asked Lucia to bring me a representative sample of what’s on offer at Givenchy. A lot is on offer at Givenchy. But when I return, there’ll be five photographs laid out on my desk, all of which are what Alyson would ‘like to see’ on our website and social media.”

I sure screwed up this one. She had to do better next time, if there was a next time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But are my notes helpful at all? Like—if you sent me out again, what’s the sort of thing you’d want me to write about?”

Vivian flipped through the notes again. “They’re not awful,” she said after a moment, and Jules trembled with relief. “Anyway, now you know.”

What? Know what? Was that supposed to have been helpful advice? But Jules didn’t dare ask. If Vivian did send her out again to spy on people, she’d just try to…read Vivian’s mind and do what she secretly wanted. Like always.

They arrived at the office. “Finally,” Vivian said, looking up at Koening like a traveler might regard home after a long absence. “I can actually get some real work done today. Julia, I want you to sit in on the editorial meeting at two.”

“And take notes?” Jules asked.

Vivian gave her the what-do-you-think-you-idiot look and got out of the car.

Fair enough. Jules had earned that one. But it seemed like somehow, some way, she’d earned Vivian’s trust too.

Don’t rely on it, she warned herself. She’s your boss, not your friend. Vivian doesn’t have friends. You’re an—an asset. That’s it.

Unbidden, she remembered Vivian’s hand touching hers over a water bottle, Vivian’s weary face on the phone.

That’s it, Jules reminded herself. That’s it.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jules left the editorial meeting feeling almost confident in the notes she’d taken: not skimpy, not voluminous, and she’d definitely attached names to decisions. She sort of felt like she should be in the Du Jour version of the CIA—except that everybody else at the meeting obviously knew she was there to be Vivian’s eyes and ears, so she didn’t have a cover. Too bad.

She trotted into Vivian’s office, her stomach clenching when she saw her poised over the glass table in the corner, looking over large glossy photographs from Givenchy. She’d been right: there were only six photos. Did Alyson think she could slip anything by Vivian? Why would she even want to try?

Jules put her notes on Vivian’s desk and turned, hoping to sneak out without being noticed.

Without even looking around, Vivian said, “Julia, come here.”

Rats. Jules bit her lip and approached the table.