Four Of A Kind

Chapter 70: [2.43] The Abduction of Assistant-kun

My phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. Then started vibrating continuously like it was having a seizure.

Iris had discovered that I hadn’t responded in over thirty minutes.

Iris: HELLO????

Iris: ARE YOU DEAD

Iris: DID THE RICH PEOPLE EAT YOU

Iris: ZAY I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DONT ANSWER

Iris: I’m calling the police

Iris: Actually I’m calling Mrs. Delgado first because she’s scarier than the police

Iris: ISAIAH MARCUS ANGELO

Iris: That’s it I’m filing a missing persons report

Iris: Wait you’re typing

Iris: FINALLY

Iris: I need photos

Iris: Of the rich people habitat

Iris: I need to show Sarah

Iris: She doesn’t believe me that you work for the Valentine family

Iris: She said I’m lying

Iris: Prove her wrong

Iris: ZAY

Iris: THE PHOTOS

Iris: NOW

I stood up from the bed and walked to the bathroom, snapping a photo that captured the massive tub, the rain shower, and the heated towel racks in one frame. I sent it to Iris with a simple caption.

Isaiah: This is bigger than your bedroom.

The response was immediate.

Iris: WHAT

Iris: NO

Iris: THATS A BATHROOM???

Iris:

I COULD FIT MY ENTIRE ROOM IN THAT TUB

Iris: Actually I could fit my entire LIFE in that tub

Iris: Is that a WATERFALL????

Isaiah: Apparently.

Iris: I hate you

Iris: Send more

I took a few more photos. The bedroom with its ridiculous bed. The sitting area with the fireplace. The mini-fridge contents. Each image prompted a new explosion of messages from my sister, ranging from jealous outrage to demands that I adopt her so she could live there too.

Isaiah: You realize I don’t actually live here, right? This is just for the weekend.

Iris: DON’T RUIN THIS FOR ME

Iris: Let me have my fantasies

A knock at the door saved me from having to navigate that particular minefield.

“Come in,” I called, assuming it was Mrs. Tanaka with some additional instructions or schedule updates.

The door burst open like a SWAT team making entry.

Harlow Valentine stood in the doorway, her twin tails replaced by a messy bun held together with what looked like a chopstick. She wore an oversized t-shirt featuring a magical girl anime character I vaguely recognized, the hem falling to mid-thigh over a pair of tiny shorts that were barely visible beneath the fabric. Pink fuzzy socks covered her feet, each one with a different cartoon cat face on the toe.

This was not the Valentine heiress the public saw in magazines and Instagram posts. This was Harlow in her natural habitat. Full gremlin mode.

“Assistant-kun!” She bounced into the room without waiting for an invitation, her eyes scanning every surface like a detective arriving at a crime scene. “Wow, Vivi gave you the good guest room! This is where we put people we actually like!”

“As opposed to?”

“The west wing guest rooms. Those are for business people and distant relatives we’re obligated to host. Much smaller. No fireplace.” She made a face. “Also haunted.”

“Haunted.”

“Probably. I heard weird noises coming from there once.” She dismissed this apparently serious concern with a wave of her hand. “Anyway! I’m here to collect you for dinner but we have like fifteen minutes so I wanted to see your room first!”

She spun in a circle, taking in the full suite with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever encountering a new park. Her gaze lingered on the bathroom doorway, and she gasped.

“Is that the tub with the waterfall? I keep asking Mom if we can get one but she says it’s unnecessary because we have the onsen.” She pouted. “The onsen is OUTDOORS though. Sometimes I just want to soak without getting rained on, you know?”

I did not know. I had never considered outdoor versus indoor soaking tub preferences to be a meaningful life concern.

Harlow continued her investigation, opening closet doors and peering inside drawers. I didn’t stop her because, honestly, what was I going to do? Tell the billionaire heiress to stop touching things in her own family’s house?

Her exploration brought her to the luggage stand where my overnight bag sat, now deflated and sad after I’d unpacked its meager contents.

Harlow’s hand reached toward it, then froze.

“Wait.”

She picked up the empty canvas duffel and turned to face me, her purple eyes wide with confusion.

“This is ALL you brought? For the whole weekend?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Three shirts, two pants. Everything I need.”

Her expression shifted. The bubbly enthusiasm drained away, replaced by something I could only describe as horrified determination. It was the face of someone who had just witnessed a grievous wrong and had decided, in that very moment, to dedicate their life to correcting it.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is unacceptable.”

“It’s fine, Harlow. I don’t need much.”

She set the bag down with more force than necessary. “You’re staying in OUR house. As OUR guest. OUR employee. And you packed like you’re going to a funeral you don’t want to attend.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Isaiah.” She planted herself directly in front of me, hands on her hips, chin tilted up so she could meet my eyes. This close, I could smell strawberries and something sweeter. “You have one duffel bag. ONE. I brought more luggage than that to summer camp when I was twelve. For a WEEK. And half of it was stuffed animals.”

“I’m not twelve. And I don’t have stuffed animals.”

Her eyes widened further. “You don’t have ANY stuffed animals?”

“Why would I have stuffed animals?”

“For COMFORT! For HUGGING when you’re sad! For sitting on your bed looking cute!” She threw her hands up. “What kind of life are you living over there in Philadelphia?”

A tired one. A poor one. One where stuffed animals ranked approximately seven hundred positions below food and rent on the priority list.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Harlow grabbed my wrist before I could form a response. Her hand was warm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who spent her days designing costumes and taking Instagram photos.

“We’re fixing this. Right now.”

“Fixing what? It’s almost dinner time.”

“Dinner can wait! Your tragic lack of weekend supplies cannot!”

She yanked me toward the door with the force of a small hurricane. I stumbled after her, my brain still processing the fact that I was being abducted by a girl wearing cat socks.

“Harlow, I really don’t need—”

“You need MANY things, Assistant-kun. And I’m going to make sure you get ALL of them.”