Simon rolled his shoulders with a grunt. His pink dress shirt looked crisp, and the navy blazer draped over the back of his chair complemented it perfectly. He had what most people would call above-average looks—tall, broad-shouldered, hazel-eyed. But when you spent every day surrounded by models and actors, above average turned into meh.

Jules often felt it herself. She was cute, not dazzling. This job could be a real blow to the old self-esteem, if you let it.

“You okay?” she asked.

“About Mallory? Eh. Easy come, easy go. I’ll have a hundred applicants for her position.” He gave Jules a hopeful look. “Would you like to go through a hundred job applications for me?”

“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll just swap places with you, and you can do my job all day.”

“At my current salary?”

“Totally.”

“Not enough. We both deserve to make a million bucks a year. Just wait for it. The day will come.” Simon tapped his mouth with one long finger. “Speaking of a million bucks, you look like that today.”

Sweet! Jules had hoped someone would notice the RIXO floral print skirt. She couldn’t resist swaying her hips so the silk crepe swirled around her calves. “Fifty percent off.”

“Don’t be gauche. I do like that line.”

So did she. The RIXO fall collection had been exactly to her tastes: free-flowing and exuberant. Her days might be strictly regimented, but her clothes didn’t have to be.

“Was there anything else from our glorious empress?” Simon asked.

Shoot. Jules had hoped not to mention this part. “She said we have to get it right this time.”

“‘We’ meaning moi. My fault—I sold Mallory’s idea too hard. That’ll be fun to recover from. Do I have new marching orders?”

“You know you do.” She handed him her tablet with the notes.

He skimmed over them. “So much for keeping to the budget. Of course she wants to re-do the whole spread.”

“Fast, too.”

“Naturally.” He read the notes again, looking more attentive. “But…”

“But you like it better than Mallory’s thing, don’t you?” she asked.

“Oh, shut up.” He returned the tablet. “Send this to me ASAP. I’ll make it happen.”

“You always do.” Jules smiled and turned to go.

Simon cleared his throat. “Before you scoot, has Vivian mentioned anything—is there any more news about…”

She waited.

He huffed out an impatient-sounding breath. “You know, her divorce.”

“I doubt I’ve heard anything you haven’t.” Simon was Vivian’s second-in-command. If she trusted anyone implicitly, it was him. Surely, he wouldn’t be less well-informed than Jules. “He dropped the bomb on her, he’s out, and I’ve already scheduled a meeting with her lawyer.”

“I can’t decide which is worse: Vivian’s strategy of having three husbands or mine of not having any.” He looked morose. “This industry is hell on relationships.”