Four Of A Kind

Chapter 34: [2.7] This Meeting Has Been Hijacked

The walk to Vivienne’s study took me through seventeen hallways, past twelve paintings of dead ancestors, and cost me approximately fourteen percent of my remaining dignity.

My sneakers made this sound. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

Water from the shower incident had soaked through everything. My uniform now lived in a plastic bag I’d borrowed and was dripping condensation like a crime scene evidence bag.

The only dry clothes I owned on campus were my gym clothes. Grey t-shirt. Navy athletic shorts. White socks that were losing their battle against moisture.

Every step announced my presence like a rubber duck convention.

Professional, I told myself. I am a professional. I will not mention the shower. I will not mention the ambush. There was a mishap with the sprinkler system.

The mental rehearsal wasn’t working.

My brain kept replaying the way Cassidy had pressed against me in that shower stall. The heat of her skin. The way her fingers had curled against my chest.

She’d played me. Completely.

And now I was walking through a mansion worth more than my entire bloodline would ever accumulate, dressed like I’d just escaped a YMCA that was being condemned by the health department.

I found Vivienne’s study on the second floor of the east wing. The door was dark wood with gold hardware. A small brass plaque read “V. VALENTINE – PRIVATE.”

I knocked twice.

“Enter.”

I opened the door.

Vivienne Valentine sat behind a glass desk. Her tablet glowed in front of her. She wore her school blazer despite being home, because apparently professionalism was a twenty-four-hour commitment in this family.

Her wine-red hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her posture belonged in a textbook about spinal alignment.

She looked up.

Her purple eyes tracked from my damp hair, down my grey gym shirt, past my athletic shorts, and landed directly on my shoes.

“Dare I ask?”

“Mishap with the sprinkler system on the sports field.”

Vivienne stared at me.

I stared back.

The standoff lasted maybe five seconds. Then she sighed.

“I see.” She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

I sat. My shoes squelched one final time in protest.

Vivienne turned her tablet to face me. A color-coded schedule filled the screen. Tomorrow’s date was highlighted in gold.

“I received somewhat alarming reports about your ’business lunch’ with Harlow today.”

My stomach dropped. Here we go. She’s going to tell me that hugging is against company policy and I’m fired for inappropriate contact with a client.

“While I appreciate your initiative with her calendar,” Vivienne continued, “we need to establish clearer public boundaries. Harlow is affectionate. Aggressively so. You are permitted to maintain professional distance when necessary.”

Wait.

She wasn’t mad about the hug. She was giving me permission to enforce boundaries.

This was the least terrible conversation I’d anticipated having today.

“Understood,” I said.

Vivienne tapped her tablet. The schedule shifted.

“Tomorrow after classes, I have a fitting at the V-Girl offices at four. Following that, a meeting with a potential brand partner at five-thirty. Then a brief stop at Maison Valentine’s flagship store to review the new fall collection.” She looked at me. “Your primary duty tomorrow is logistics. You will drive me. You will ensure I am where I need to be, on time, without incident. Can you manage that?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

She swiped again. Cassidy’s name appeared on the screen next to a red exclamation point. The universal symbol for “problem child.”

“You can tutor Cassidy here at the estate in the evenings. The library is available.” A flicker of something passed through her eyes. Weariness maybe. “Do try to ensure she actually attends.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said.

She studied my face for a moment. Like she was trying to figure out if I was lying or stupid or both.

Vivienne opened her mouth to continue.

A soft knock interrupted her.

The door opened. Silently. Like it had been oiled by someone who specialized in stealth operations.

Sabrina Valentine glided into the room.

Her long wine-red hair fell straight down her back. Her school uniform was perfect. Her expression was completely blank.

She didn’t acknowledge Vivienne. Didn’t acknowledge the meeting in progress.

She just looked at me with those purple eyes that saw everything and revealed nothing.

“You.”

I waited.

“When you go out,” she said, “I require boba tea. Taro. Less sugar. Extra pearls.” She paused. “And a packet of Buldak ramen. The 2x spicy variety.”

I blinked.

Before I could respond, the door that Sabrina had left open burst inward with the force of a small explosion.

Harlow.

She bounced into the room like someone had injected pure caffeine directly into her nervous system. Her twin tails swayed with each movement. Her smile could’ve powered a small city.

“Did someone say boba?!” She turned to me. “Isaiah! Can you get me boba too? Strawberry milk tea! With extra boba! And those little jelly things that are chewy!”

Vivienne’s hand moved to her face. She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

“This,” she said slowly, “is a professional meeting.”

Harlow ignored her completely. She pulled out her phone and started scrolling.

“Ooh! And can you get me some Pocky? The chocolate kind! No wait, the strawberry kind! Actually both!”

Sabrina remained still by the door. Her expression hadn’t changed. She just stood there like a beautiful statue waiting for someone to confirm her ramen order.

Vivienne sighed. “All that sugar and sodium.” She looked at Sabrina. “You’re going to ruin your figure.”

Sabrina’s gaze dropped. She looked down at herself. At her uniform. At the body underneath.

Then she looked back at Vivienne.

Her expression remained completely neutral.

“It will simply relocate to my chest as it always does.”

She turned.

Walked out.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

I sat there.

Harlow giggled. “Sabrina’s so funny when she’s deadpan!” She blew a kiss in my direction. “Thanks, Assistant-kun! You’re the best!”

She bounced out after her sister.

The door closed again.

Silence filled the study.

Vivienne stared at the empty doorway. Her jaw was slightly slack. Like her brain was still processing what had just happened.

I understood the feeling.

Did she really just… did that conversation actually occur? Am I hallucinating from hypothermia?

Vivienne recovered first. She straightened. Cleared her throat.

“Where were we?” She tapped her tablet like nothing had happened. “Ah. Yes. One more thing.”

Her eyes traveled over me again.

This time it felt different. More critical. Like she was evaluating a piece of furniture that didn’t match the room’s aesthetic.

She studied my gym clothes. My slightly-too-long hair that was drying in an unruly wave pattern. My cheap sneakers that had survived two years of daily abuse.

“You represent this family now, Mr. Angelo. Your current aesthetic is insufficient.”

I raised an eyebrow. “My aesthetic.”

“On Thursdays half-day, you will go shopping. For professional attire. Clothes befitting someone in your position.” She opened a desk drawer. Pulled out a black credit card. Slid it across the glass surface toward me.

The card gleamed under the study lights. Matte black. No visible numbers. Just a small Valentine company logo in the corner.

“This is the household account,” she said. “Additionally, you will get a haircut. Something modern. Presentable. I have a reputation to maintain.”

I looked at the card.

Then at her.

Then back at the card.

“Are you saying you want to give me a makeover?”

Her cheeks flushed. Just slightly. “I am saying I require my staff to meet a certain standard. Don’t be vulgar.”

I picked up the credit card. “Understood. Boba first. Then world domination.”

Vivienne’s eye twitched. Just once.

“Dismissed.”

I walked to the door. Grabbed the handle.

“Mr. Angelo.”

I paused. Looked back.

She was watching me. Her expression was unreadable.

“Don’t disappoint me.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was worse.

It was a test I hadn’t studied for.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

I left.

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.

I stood in the hallway. Alone. My shoes still squelched when I shifted my weight.

In my pocket: a credit card attached to a bank account with more zeros than I’d seen in my entire life.

In my head: a shopping list. Taro boba with less sugar and extra pearls. Strawberry milk tea with extra boba and jelly. Buldak ramen, 2x spicy. Pocky, chocolate and strawberry.

And a mandate to buy clothes and get a haircut.

They’re not just paying me, I realized. They’re remaking me.

The thought sat in my stomach like lead.

I’d accepted this job because I needed money.

But money always came with strings.

I just hadn’t expected the strings to come with a personal stylist and a credit card that probably had a higher limit than my apartment’s property value.

My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

Don’t forget my ramen. I know where you sleep. – S

Sabrina.

Another buzz.

Assistant-kun! When you get the boba can you take a photo of it? For my Insta! Thanks! 💖 – Harlow