“Oh yes. Vivian’s shadow.” Monique held out a hand. She wore a fabulous blue sapphire cocktail ring. “Julia, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied, doubly stunned as she remembered who this was: Monique Leung, editor in chief of Du Jour China. She was a rising star within Koening, known for tapping into her country’s increasingly voracious appetite for luxury goods. She was also responsible for introducing many new Asian designers to Western markets.

And she was openly gay, having appeared publicly with female partners. She didn’t have one with her tonight, however. Jules vaguely remembered something about a recent breakup with a society heiress. Leave it to Jules to fall for the straight Du Jour editor in chief by mistake.

Monique Leung remembered Jules?

“I saw you a lot at Paris Fashion Week last fall. You were all over the place taking care of everything.” Monique laughed. “I remember wishing my own assistants were as capable. Although I suppose jet lag coming from Beijing is pretty brutal. I should be more charitable to them.”

Jules was pretty sure the words I should be more charitable had never left Vivian Carlisle’s mouth. She also should not be thinking about Vivian Carlisle’s mouth.

“I’m glad I made a good impression,” she managed. “I’d love to see Shanghai Fashion Week sometime.”

“Would you,” Vivian said at the same time Monique said, “You would?”

“Oh yes. I’ve never been anywhere in Asia. I’ve always wanted to go.” Why had Vivian’s mouth moved from a smile to a pinch?

“Huh.” Monique put her hands on her slender hips and darted another smile Vivian’s way. “I know Vivian doesn’t keep assistants around if they don’t have other talents.”

“Other talents,” Vivian said slowly.

“Of course. Well, Julia, when you get the okay to step up the ladder and if you’re sick of New York, give the Beijing office a call. I mean that.”

Holy shit. Even as floored as she was, Jules knew that was an incredible offer. “That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!”

“Not at all.” Monique turned toward Vivian, whose face had frozen into a block of ice. “Vivian, I know it’s a party, but I wonder if I might bend your ear about something Mark Tavio asked me. He said—”

“I’m sorry, but not tonight.” Vivian set her full champagne flute on a nearby pedestal. “We were just about to leave.”

Monique’s expression reflected Jules’s surprise. “Oh. You’re not staying for the dinner? Alaine Ducasse is the chef.”

“I know.” Vivian’s tone was just this side of curt. Gone was the relative friendliness she’d exhibited before. “Feel free to email me about Mark. So nice to see you.”

Monique’s smile had faded. Her own tone became cool. “It’s always a pleasure.”

“Good night.” Vivian whirled and stalked off without another word, presenting Jules with her perfect shoulders.