Page 12 of Under Her Protection

Isabella's voice, without preamble, in French. "Are you in your office?”

"Yes."

"I am coming up. Tell them not to stop me."

"They never stop you."

Isabella hung up.

She was there seven minutes later, in burgundy cashmere and a long black coat she did not take off, which was how Vivienne knew this was not a social call. She closed the door behind her and crossed to the chair opposite Vivienne's desk and sat.

"Tell me," she said.

Vivienne told her.

Isabella listened. She did not interrupt. When Vivienne had finished, she reached for the silver water carafe, poured herself a glass, drank it, and set it down on the coaster without looking away from Vivienne's face.

"This is not an accident," Isabella said.

"No."

"This is not a competitor."

"It is a competitor with a hand on their back."

"Yes."

Isabella's mouth tightened. "Vivienne."

"I know what you are going to say."

"I am going to say it anyway. This feels targeted. A targeted attack on a woman in our circle, from someone willing to burn two deals for the privilege, is not a commercial matter. You need to treat it as what it is."

"Which is."

"Personal."

Vivienne held her eye. "I have considered that."

"Have you considered it enough?"

"I have engaged Blackthorn."

Isabella's shoulders, which had been high, dropped a full inch. "Good."

"You approve."

"I approve of you surviving."

"How dramatic."

"Do not play that with me this morning."

Vivienne let a breath out through her nose. It was as close as she was going to come this morning to a laugh. Isabella's face softened a fraction. She reached across the desk and tapped one long fingernail twice against the back of Vivienne's hand, which was the Isabella version of I am here, I am watching, and I will not require you to thank me.

"When does Blackthorn arrive?" Isabella asked.

"I have not accepted."