Four Of A Kind

Chapter 82: [2.57] I am a Human Accessory

I followed her outside to the circular driveway where a sleek black town car idled. The driver opened the door as we approached, and Vivienne slid in. I followed, settling onto the leather seat beside her.

“So what exactly are we doing today?” I asked as the car pulled away.

“We,” she said, emphasizing the word with a slight edge, “are appearing on ’Morning with Madison,’ a daytime talk show with approximately 2.3 million daily viewers. Madison is interviewing me about the new Valentine fall collection and our recent partnership with Lumière Cosmetics.”

“And I’m coming because…?”

“You’re coming because I require materials, notes, and someone to manage the flow of various individuals who will attempt to approach me.” She pulled out her tablet and began swiping through what looked like presentation slides. “Additionally, your presence lends an air of professionalism.”

“Ah, so I’m your human accessory.”

Her lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “Your words, not mine.”

The car made its way through the gates of Valentine Manor and turned onto the main road. Vivienne continued reviewing her notes while occasionally making small adjustments to my appearance—straightening my collar, brushing invisible lint from my shoulder.

“You performed well with Cassidy today,” she said without looking up from her tablet.

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation.”

“Right.”

A brief silence filled the car, interrupted only by the soft tapping of her fingers on the tablet screen.

“Your methods are unorthodox,” she continued. “The poker chips, the competition format. I would not have chosen such an approach.”

“That’s why you hired me. The orthodox methods weren’t working.”

She glanced up, her purple eyes meeting mine directly. “That is true.”

Forty minutes later, we arrived at a tall glass building in Midtown. Vivienne exited the car with the poise of someone who had been doing this her entire life, which, I supposed, she had been. I followed, carrying her tablet, a leather portfolio, and a small bag containing what she called “emergency cosmetics.”

The security desk waved us through immediately upon recognizing Vivienne. We were escorted to an elevator that took us to the twenty-third floor, where the doors opened onto a bustling television studio. Staff members rushed in every direction, carrying clipboards, coffee cups, and various pieces of equipment.

“Miss Valentine!” A woman with a headset and clipboard approached us. “We’re so glad you could join us today. I’m Tracy, Madison’s producer.”

“Thank you for having me,” Vivienne replied with practiced warmth that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “This is my assistant, Isaiah.”

“Of course, of course.” Tracy barely glanced at me. “We’ll need you in hair and makeup right away. You’re on in forty minutes.”

Vivienne nodded and followed Tracy down a hallway, gesturing for me to stay close. We were shown into a dressing room with bright lights and mirrors covering one wall. A makeup artist and hairstylist waited inside, their stations prepared with an array of products and tools.

“I’ll send someone with water and coffee,” Tracy said before disappearing back into the hallway chaos.

Vivienne turned to me. “Wait here. I’ll need you to review my talking points while they do my makeup.”

She sat in the styling chair, and immediately the makeup artist and hairstylist descended upon her, discussing undertones and camera lighting like they were planning a military operation.

I stood awkwardly in the corner, holding her things and watching the transformation. Not that Vivienne needed much transformation—at seventeen, she already looked like she belonged in the pages of a fashion magazine. But they added subtle contours to her cheekbones, defined her eyes with liner, and touched up her already-perfect hair.

“The talking points,” she reminded me without moving her head as the hairstylist worked on her ponytail.

“Right.” I opened the leather portfolio and found a neatly typed sheet with bullet points about the fall collection, the Lumière partnership, and something called “sustainable luxury initiatives.”

I read them aloud while Vivienne closed her eyes, seemingly committing each point to memory. By the third read-through, she was reciting them back to me word for word.

“Sustainable luxury seems like an oxymoron,” I commented, scanning the description of ethically sourced fabrics that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

“It’s not,” Vivienne replied, her eyes still closed as the makeup artist worked on her eyeshadow. “It’s a deliberate choice to create quality pieces that last generations rather than disposable fast fashion that ends up in landfills after three wears.”

“But at prices only the one percent can afford.”

“Quality has a cost. But we’re developing a diffusion line that will bring similar principles to a mid-range market.” She opened one eye to look at me. “Not everything is about maintaining exclusivity, Isaiah.”

Before I could respond, Tracy reappeared in the doorway.

“Ten minutes, Miss Valentine. Madison would like to meet you before you go on.”

The makeup artist and hairstylist stepped back, apparently finished with their work. Vivienne stood and smoothed her dress, checking her reflection with a critical eye.

“You look perfect,” I said.

She turned to me, something flickering across her face that I couldn’t quite read.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Then, more briskly, “Bring the portfolio. And fix your pocket square again.”

I adjusted the silk triangle in my pocket and followed her out to meet Madison Chen, host of “Morning with Madison” and apparently a big deal in the daytime television world.

Madison was a tall woman in her forties with a sleek black bob and an impressively white smile. She greeted Vivienne with air kisses and compliments about her dress.

“And who’s this handsome young man?” Madison asked, turning her thousand-watt smile on me.

“My assistant, Isaiah,” Vivienne said. “He’ll be just off-stage during the interview.”

Madison’s eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary. “Of course. Well, we’re delighted to have you both here. We’ll start with some questions about the fall collection, then move into the Lumière partnership, and finish with those sustainability initiatives your PR team mentioned.”

Vivienne nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

A production assistant approached with a small microphone, which he attached to Vivienne’s dress. Another handed Madison a stack of blue cards, presumably containing her interview questions.

“Two minutes!” someone called from across the studio.

Madison turned to me. “You can wait just over there, behind the cameras. If she needs anything during the break, just signal Tracy.”

I nodded and moved to the indicated position, still carrying Vivienne’s portfolio. From this angle, I could see both Vivienne and the multiple cameras pointed at the interview set, which consisted of two plush armchairs and a coffee table with perfectly arranged flowers.

“Thirty seconds!”

Vivienne caught my eye from her seat and raised one eyebrow slightly. I gave her a small thumbs up, which earned me the briefest hint of a smile before her face settled into its camera-ready mask of poised professionalism.

“And we’re back with Madison!” an announcer’s voice boomed. “Today’s special guest: Vivienne Valentine of Valentine Cosmetics & Fashion House!”