“Well, yeah,” she said. “It’s on my London contact list.” Along with Vivian’s physician, her housekeeping service, her hairdresser, her favorite florist, and, of course, the main office of Du Jour UK, plus a few others. When it came to Vivian, you could never, ever be too prepared. You could never be fully prepared at all, in fact.

“Oh. That’s…good,” Vivian said.

They blinked at each other. Jules felt herself turning red from both pleasure and embarrassment, and she could have sworn that, beneath her makeup, Vivian’s cheeks had gone faintly pink.

Just yesterday, Jules had imagined her wearing a skimpy—

At that moment, the Keurig beeped. Jules immediately poured the decaf, ordered herself to stop blushing, and brewed some regular for herself.

“Tonight is dinner at the Chislehursts. Before then, you’re going to the London Du Jour office to get your outfit for New Year’s,” Vivian said, her tone far more businesslike.

“I remember.” She sat down and took the second piece of toast, careful not to get crumbs everywhere.

“Try to wear something interesting. Something more challenging than your usual boho-whatever-it-is.”

Jules almost choked on her toast, unable to believe what she was hearing. Boho-whatever? That was ridiculous! She pushed the fashion boundaries plenty. She’d even tried those high-waisted Hepburn pants, and both her outfits yesterday had been almost conservative. She wasn’t stuck in a rut. Was she?

“You don’t like my clothes?” she asked.

“That’s not what I said.” Vivian gave her a level glare. “I said to be challenging.”

Jules glared right back. It was too early in the morning, and she hadn’t finished enough of her coffee to take this shit. “I think I can handle that just fine, Vivian.”

Dammit. Vivian looked pleased.

* * *

Everyone at Du Jour UK was remarkably accommodating. Jules didn’t try to speak to any bigwigs but rather reached out to her fellow assistants, all of whom were sympathetic to the demands of people like Vivian—and surprised that Jules got to go to the New Year’s ball.

“I’d kill for an invitation,” said a tall, skinny young woman named Georgie.

“Imagine all the people you’ll hobnob with,” added another tall, skinny young woman named Janys.

“She wants me to be more challenging.” Jules brushed down her corduroy Tach pants, which until this morning she’d thought were fine. But apparently fine was a dirty word to Vivian. This could be just a mood swing. Hormones or something. “She thinks my clothes are too predictable.”