Four Of A Kind

Chapter 43: [2.16] Blink Twice if Vivi Killed You

The private dressing suite turned out to be a room larger than my apartment’s living room. Velvet curtains. A three-way mirror that probably cost more than the Lexus. A small sitting area with furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum.

Vivienne disappeared behind a curtain with a garment bag.

I stood in the sitting area. Checked my phone. Harlow had sent seventeen new messages in the past two hours.

ISAIAH

did u get vivs text

she said ur driving her around

is she being scary

shes probably being scary

tell her to stop being scary

actually dont tell her i said that

she’ll know i said that

ISAIAH

respond

pls

im bored

cassidy wont stop brooding

I typed a quick response. Busy. Will text later.

“Isaiah.”

Her voice. From behind the curtain.

“Yes?”

“I need assistance.”

“…What kind of assistance?”

“The zipper.” A pause. “It’s stuck.”

Of course it is.

Because why would anything in my life ever be simple.

“Can’t one of the staff help with that?”

“They’re adjusting the lighting on the second floor. You’re here. Stop wasting time.”

I stared at the curtain. The velvet fabric was thick enough that I couldn’t see anything through it. Which was probably intentional. Rich people thought of everything.

“Isaiah. Now.”

Ten thousand dollars a month.

Ten thousand dollars a month.

Ten thousand dollars a month.

I pushed through the curtain.

Vivienne stood with her back to me. The burgundy evening gown clung to her frame. It fell in waves of silk that caught the light like liquid fire. The design was architectural. Structured shoulders that swept down into an open back.

The zipper was stuck halfway up her spine.

A strip of pale skin was visible above it. The curve of her shoulder blades. The delicate knobs of her vertebrae.

She was holding her hair up with one hand. The motion exposed the nape of her neck. A few loose strands curled against her skin.

“The mechanism appears to be jammed. Pull firmly but carefully. This piece is one of three in existence.”

“No pressure.”

“Correct. No pressure.” She didn’t turn around. “Simply don’t destroy irreplaceable haute couture.”

I stepped closer.

The room suddenly felt very small.

My fingers found the zipper. The metal was warm. Body heat transferred through the mechanism. I could feel her breathing. The slight expansion of her ribcage. The tension in her shoulders.

Professional. Professional. Professional.

I worked the zipper. Felt the teeth catch on something. Applied pressure. Not too much.

“You’re taking a long time.”

“Quality over speed.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

The zipper resisted. I adjusted my grip. Found the point where the teeth had misaligned. Applied steady pressure at a different angle.

“If you ruin this dress—”

“Then I’ll work for free until I’ve paid it off. Which, based on what I’m seeing, would be approximately seven years.”

“Five.” Her voice was quieter now. “The piece is valued at approximately five hundred thousand dollars.”

Five hundred thousand dollars.

For a dress.

That’s not a dress. That’s a small house.

The zipper gave.

It slid upward smoothly. The gown closed. The strip of exposed skin disappeared beneath burgundy silk.

I stepped back immediately. Professional distance restored. Three feet minimum.

Vivienne turned.

The gown fit her perfectly. The color complemented her wine-red hair. The structure emphasized her figure without being obvious about it. She looked like she’d stepped out of a painting. The kind that hung in museums with armed guards and climate control.

She examined herself in the three-way mirror. Her purple eyes moved across every detail. Every angle.

“Adequate.”

“High praise.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Her reflection met my eyes in the mirror. There was a faint flush on her cheeks. Pink against porcelain.

I pretended not to notice.

She pretended I wasn’t pretending.

We both pretended the room wasn’t approximately fifteen degrees warmer than it had been five minutes ago.

“The fit requires minor adjustments.” She was back to business. “I’ll send notes to alterations tomorrow. We’re finished here.”

“Should I wait outside while you change?”

“Obviously.”

I pushed back through the curtain. Found the sitting area. Sat down on furniture that probably cost more than my car.

My phone buzzed.

Harlow again.

ISAIAH

y arent u responding

did vivi kill u

blink twice if vivi killed u

I typed back: Still alive. Zipper emergency. Don’t ask.

The response was immediate.

ZIPPER EMERGENCY???

WHAT ZIPPER

WHOSE ZIPPER

ISAIAH

ISAIAH ANGELO

U CANT JUST SAY ZIPPER EMERGENCY AND NOT EXPLAIN

I put my phone on silent.

Behind the curtain, I heard the rustle of fabric. Vivienne changing back into her normal clothes. The dress presumably being returned to its garment bag. To its temperature-controlled storage. To whatever vault housed items worth more than most people’s annual salaries.

My life had gotten very strange very quickly.

I thought about the shower incident with Cassidy. Sabrina feeding me boba tea in her bedroom. Harlow inviting me to play the Pocky game in front of her friends.

And now Vivienne. The zipper. The flush on her cheeks that she’d tried so hard to hide.

Seven assistants quit.

Seven.

And I’m starting to understand why.

The curtain rustled. Vivienne emerged. School uniform back in place. Hair perfectly arranged. Expression completely neutral.

If there had been any flush on her cheeks before, it was gone now.

“We’re done.” She walked past me toward the door. “I’ve sent the inspection report to the store manager. They have forty-eight hours to implement corrections.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I return.” She paused at the door. Looked back at me. “And they won’t enjoy that.”

I believed her.

We walked back through the store. Staff parted before us like the Red Sea had nothing on Vivienne Valentine. Margaret appeared with final notes. Vivienne dismissed her with a single nod.

Outside, the evening air was cool. Fifth Avenue glowed with city lights. Taxis and town cars moved past in an endless stream.

I opened the door for Vivienne. She slid into the back seat. I circled around to the driver’s side.

“Home.” She was already on her tablet. “I have work to review before tomorrow.”

“Yes, Vivienne.”