“Simon, I don’t know why—”

“I think you do.” Simon’s tone brooked no bullshit. “We’ve talked about this.”

Maybe she panics when you’re more than ten feet away. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? If that’s all it was, Vivian wouldn’t have let Jules order Christmas dinner. Wanting companionship wasn’t the same thing as panicking.

Vivian Carlisle had probably never panicked in her life.

Jules couldn’t explain any of this to Simon. He’d never get it. “It’s been fine.”

“Okay. Look, I don’t have time—okay. I’ll email Vivian about those candidates.” He ended the call.

She pocketed her phone and gave a gusty sigh. He hadn’t sounded mad, exactly. At least not at Jules. Well, why should he be? Simon of all people knew what Vivian’s whims were like.

“Julia?” Vivian called from downstairs.

Jules jumped and hurried toward the stairs. “I’m here. Simon says he’ll email you in a few minutes…”

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The red jumpsuit was starting to look intimidating.

Jules had been staring at it for ten minutes while it lay on her bed. The New Year’s ball was tonight, and she had to get ready to go. She’d already made a start. Her hair was in a half updo. A smoky eye and a glossy neutral lip took care of makeup.

Vivian didn’t have to do anything so pedestrian. Her personal stylist had arrived, entered her bedroom, and departed two hours later. Vivian no doubt was getting dressed now. Her hair and makeup would be good enough that they could feature on the cover of Du Jour itself.

Meanwhile, Jules had smooshed and taped her breasts to hell and back, squeezed into shapewear for her ass, and all that was left was the jumpsuit.

You can do it, she pep talked herself. It looked great before. Sexy as hell.

Not that Jules needed to look sexy tonight. No need for that at all.

With a few wiggles and curses, Jules slid into the garment. Once she had it on, she tugged, fiddled, and adjusted until her boobs looked good but weren’t popping out. No mean feat, but she had to admit the end result was worthwhile. And when she added the jewelry and the shoes, she couldn’t stop a proud smile.

Hell yes. She might just be an assistant, but she was a hot one tonight. Hot in a classy, elegant way. Even Vivian couldn’t look down her nose too much at this.

Beaded clutch in hand, she hurried downstairs. In spite of herself, she felt the build of enthusiasm. At least tonight would be something different. She’d adapted to the routine of making phone calls, sending messages, and venturing out on the occasional errand. She’d adapted to…well, living with Vivian.