Four Of A Kind

Chapter 110: [3.12] This Late-Night Business Meeting is Definitely No Longer About Business

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head firmly. “It’s unprofessional and potentially embarrassing. The Valentine name—”

“Will be just fine,” I interrupted, earning a glare that could have frozen lava. “Look, Harlow is excited about designing the costumes, and Cassidy is actually engaging with a school activity without being forced.”

“Those are not sufficient reasons to allow my sisters to parade around in maid outfits serving commoners.”

I suppressed a smile at her unintentional elitism. “The festival is about fun and school spirit, not maintaining the Valentine empire’s dignity. Besides, it’s Halloween. Everyone will be in costume.”

“Our family has an image to maintain,” Vivienne insisted, but I could hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“Your mother isn’t here,” I pointed out. “This is your call. And frankly, you’re overthinking it.”

She stared at me for a long moment, those purple eyes running through some internal calculation I couldn’t read. The silence stretched out between us, long enough that I started to think she was going to double down and deliver another lecture about brand integrity and the Valentine legacy and whatever else lived in that rotating playlist of reasons she used to avoid doing anything remotely human.

Then she sighed. “Fine. But I want approval rights on the costume designs. Nothing too…” She made a vague, circular gesture with one hand, the kind that probably meant she couldn’t bring herself to say the actual word. “Revealing.”

“I’ll pass that along.” I kept my expression neutral, which took more effort than I’d like to admit.

Because this was not the Vivienne I’d come to know over these past weeks. The Vivienne I knew would have argued until sunrise. She would have itemised every possible reputational risk, cited three historical precedents, and then delivered some devastating closing remark about how sentiment was the enemy of strategy. She would have died on this particular hill, planted her flag in it, and commissioned a plaque.

The fact that she hadn’t unsettled me more than I expected.

An awkward silence fell between us. Vivienne seemed to suddenly remember her state of undress, tugging at the collar of her pajama top.

“I should change,” she murmured. “This is hardly appropriate attire for a business discussion.”

“It’s nearly ten o’clock,” I said reasonably. “I think business hours ended a while ago.”

“A Valentine is always representing the brand.” She recited this like a mantra, but without conviction.

“Even in your own home? That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s what’s expected.” She stood and walked to the window, her back to me. The moonlight filtered through, casting her in a silver glow that softened her edges. “Mother says appearance is everything.”

“And what do you say?”

Vivienne turned to face me, surprise evident in her features. “What?”

“What do you think? Not your mother, not the Valentine brand. You.”

She looked genuinely confused by the question, as if no one had ever bothered to ask her opinion separate from her family legacy.

“I…” She hesitated, tucking a strand of wine-red hair behind her ear. “I think… consistency matters. Standards matter.”

“But?”

She gave me a sharp look. “What makes you think there’s a ’but’?”

“There’s always a ’but’ when someone sounds like they’re reciting a company handbook rather than expressing a genuine belief.”

For a moment, I thought she might order me out of her study for my impertinence. Instead, she laughed – a small, surprised sound that seemed to startle her as much as me.

“You’re alarmingly perceptive when you want to be, Isaiah Angelo.”

The use of my full name sent a strange current through me. Especially given the events of last night. Could she have been the one?

“The ’but,’” she continued, returning to her desk but not sitting, “is that it’s tiring. Maintaining perfect standards at all times. Never faltering. Never just… being.”

She gestured at her silk pajamas. “This is actually an act of rebellion. Small, perhaps even pathetic, but still mine.”

“I don’t think it’s pathetic,” I said quietly.

Vivienne looked at me. “You don’t?”

“No. I think it’s human.”

She swallowed, her composure slipping just slightly. “Mother would disagree.”

“Your mother isn’t here.”

“No,” she murmured. “She’s not.”

Another silence fell, this one charged with something I couldn’t quite name. Vivienne stood close enough that I could smell her perfume – something expensive and subtle, like rain on warm stone.

“May I ask you a personal question?” she said suddenly.

My heart rate kicked up. Was this it? Was she going to mention the kiss?

“Sure,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“Do you think I’m…” She paused, seeming to search for the right word. “Cold?”

This was not what I expected. “Cold?”

“Cassidy says I’m an ice queen. Harlow says I need to ’loosen up.’ Even Sabrina comments on my rigidity.” She wasn’t looking at me now, her focus somewhere on the wall behind my head.

“I wondered what you thought.”

I considered my answer carefully. “I think you’re controlled, not cold.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Cold implies a lack of feeling. Controlled implies feeling managed with intention.” I shrugged. “You’re not emotionless, Vivienne. You’re disciplined.”

Her eyes found mine again, searching for something. “That’s… a generous interpretation.”

“Or an accurate one.”

She stepped closer, near enough now that I could see the faint freckles across her nose – freckles I’d never noticed before, probably covered daily by makeup.

“Why are you being kind to me?” she asked softly. “I haven’t been particularly kind to you.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “You’ve been fair. Demanding, yes, but fair.”

“Fair,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. “I suppose that’s better than cold.”

“Much better,” I agreed.

I became acutely aware of how alone we were, how late it was getting, how inappropriate this conversation might appear to an outsider. To her mother. To my sister. To anyone with common sense.

“I should probably go,” I said, breaking the moment. “It’s late, and you mentioned needing to review those files by morning.”

“Yes,” Vivienne said, taking a small step back. “Of course. Thank you for your assistance with the seating chart.”

“Anytime.”

I stood and headed for the door, feeling her eyes on me the whole way. With my hand on the doorknob, I paused.

“For what it’s worth,” I said without turning around, “I think you should wear your hair down more often. It suits you.”

I heard her small intake of breath but didn’t wait for a response, slipping out into the hallway and closing the door behind me.