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Normally Julie would be making the rounds, figuring out if anyone had heard of something happening that she hadn’t. It was more of a habit than anything else; Julie couldn’t think of a time when she’d been the last to hear about a party. Being at the top of Stiletto’s ladder also meant you were at the top of New York’s social ladder. The girls of the Dating, Love, and Sex department didn’t have to fish for an invitation.
Julie made a detour into the kitchen, where Camille kept a few bottles of champagne stocked for celebrations and promotions.
Today Julie had another need for it—therapy.
If she had to write about taking things to the next level, she at least needed a drink first. And Riley and Grace were always game for a little in-office happy hour.
“Oh, Julie, I’m glad you stopped by.”
Julie made a silent gagging motion at the fridge. Kelli with a freaking i. Julie
should have hit the bottle sooner. Much sooner.
Julie had often marveled that fate had blessed her with a nemesis-free childhood. There was no schoolyard bully, no junior high rival, no high school drama. But all fate had really done was help her preserve her energy to deal with her adult nemesis: Kelli Kearns.
Although Julie and Kelli’s sordid history belonged in the tabloids, for the most part they tried to keep it out of the office and ignore each other at all costs. But every now and then Kelli’s size negative-two body seemed incapable of containing all of its venom, and some spewed out—usually in Julie’s direction.
“What’s up, Kelli?”
“First of all,” Kelli said, holding up a skinny finger, “is that company wine? I was always under the impression that consumption had to be authorized by Camille.”
Julie glanced down at the bottle in sham regret. “A valid point, Kelli. How about this: you go tell Camille my secrets, and I’ll tell her yours. Sound good?”
Kelli’s lips pressed together in disdain, and Julie resisted the urge to gloat. Kelli wouldn’t breathe a peep about the champagne. Not that Camille would care, anyway. All she wanted from her employees was that they meet deadlines and keep their columns sassy and snappy, all while fitting the stylish Stiletto mold. Camille didn’t care if they needed a little wine to get there.
“Was there something else?” Julie asked. “Other than your concern over my liver and company funds?”
“Actually, yes,” Kelli said, flicking her long blond ponytail over one bony shoulder. “I’ve been asked to clean out the fridge—”
“You know that you’d be a lot less on edge if you actually ate the food, right?”
“—and as I was cleaning I noticed this funny-looking sandwich. It has your name on it.”
Julie glanced down at the plastic-wrapped sandwich in Kelli’s hand. “Yup, mine from last week. I ate half and forgot about it.”
Kelli shook her head in condescension. “It’s wasteful, Julie. And I think I speak for the entire office when I say we’re tired of you abusing your power.”
“My power? What is it that I’m out to destroy with a half-eaten turkey sandwich? Thanksgiving?”
Kelli sighed. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”
My ass, you’re not.
“I’m just saying we all have to share a kitchen space, and it would be nice if even the senior columnists could clean up after themselves,” Kelli said.
“Okay,” Julie said, shoving the champagne bottle under her arm and snatching the sandwich from Kelli. She took a half step to the side and dropped it in the garbage. “We good? Is there a coffee mug I didn’t position just right, or a pen I left somewhere?” Maybe up your ass?
Kelli snapped her fingers. “You know, I just thought of something else. I was wondering if maybe you could keep me updated on your notes for August’s article.”
Julie snorted. “And why would I do that?” And why bother asking? We both know you just steal my notes when it suits you.
Kelli’s eyes went wide. “Camille didn’t tell you?”
Julie stilled. “Tell me what?”
“Your assignment for August? The relationship story? Camille’s worried you might not be up for it.”
“And this is your business because …?”
