“Not romance,” Vivian continued. “Loneliness. Winter’s not just a time or place but a state of mind. Everybody’s locked up at home, trying to keep warm. We’re not going to depress readers,” she added just as Jules was starting to feel really depressed. “We’re going to surprise them. The spread’s going to be about connection instead of isolation. We can show the harshness of winter while also showing that it doesn’t defeat us. Stylishly, of course.”

Jules’s mind began running like a hamster on a wheel. Where would you shoot something like this? A lonely city block? Behind an abandoned warehouse? You could easily find those locations in New York, and the cost didn’t have to be…

“A desert,” Vivian said.

Jules’s hand paused over her notes.

“What do people think of when they think of deserts?” Vivian continued. “It’s the opposite of a snuggling before a hearth. It’s primal. No water, no sustenance. You against the elements.”

“And we think of heat, but it’s really cold at night,” Jules said eagerly. “So that’s the unexpected part. I camped in the Sonoran once, and—”

“We’ll shoot it at sunrise. Have the models start out in layers. That lets us feature sweaters and jackets. They’ll huddle together for warmth—fighting that sense of loneliness that winter can bring. We should also see their breath in the air. Then, as the photo spread goes on, they lose the layers and you see the outfits underneath. Their body language becomes more open as they adapt to the environment, to the contradiction.”

Jules scribbled frantically. Good grief. Mallory had probably worked on her concept for weeks, and Vivian had pulled this one out of thin air in moments? It was enough to make you dizzy. “Adapt. Contradiction. Okay.”

“The Mojave will do.” Vivian frowned. “It’s a shame there’s no time to go international. Snow in the Sahara is incredibly striking.”

“It snows in the Sahara?”

“Every once in a while. They had a snowfall a few years ago. That was in January, though.” Vivian’s frown deepened as if in disapproval of the irregular schedule.

Jules couldn’t help imagining Vivian standing atop a Saharan dune, ordering the skies to dump a bunch of snow onto the sand in October. And the skies obeying her.

“We’ll dial up the cool tones in editing,” Vivian said. “Take this to Simon and tell him to get it right this time. I don’t want to have to deal with this again.”

Now she had been dismissed. Feeling as if she’d just staggered out of a whirlwind, she nodded and turned to go.

“University of Pennsylvania, wasn’t it?”

Jules played Freeze again. Then she slowly pivoted back to face Vivian.

“You did a double major in communication and English,” Vivian added. “Or something like that.”