Four Of A Kind

Chapter 83: [2.58] Time is Currency, and My Fingers are Brushing Yours

The red lights on the cameras illuminated, and Madison turned on her mega-watt smile.

“Welcome back, everyone! I’m thrilled to be joined by Vivienne Valentine, youngest Vice President in the history of Valentine Holdings and the creative force behind their stunning new fall collection. Vivienne, thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for having me, Madison.” Vivienne’s voice carried none of the sharp edges I’d heard in the green room. This version was smooth, warm even. “It’s a pleasure to be on your show.”

Madison leaned forward slightly, her smile brightening. “Now, at just seventeen years old, you’re already making waves in the fashion industry. Tell us about the inspiration behind the fall collection.”

I watched as something shifted in Vivienne’s posture. The change was subtle but unmistakable. The controlled, critical teenager who’d been grilling me about proper interview etiquette vanished. In her place sat a polished business executive who looked completely at home under the studio lights.

She began speaking about color palettes, fabric innovations, the emotional resonance of autumn tones. Her hands moved gracefully as she talked, emphasizing points without looking rehearsed.

Each smile came at precisely the right moment. Every talking point from that list she’d been drilling into the car ride over flowed naturally into the conversation, as if she were simply chatting with an old friend about her favorite subject.

As I watched her charm Madison and the cameras pointed at her face—cameras that would broadcast this to millions of viewers—I realized I was seeing yet another version of Vivienne Valentine.

Not the bossy older sister from the manor.

Not the critical perfectionist from school who looked at everyone like they’d disappointed her before they’d even spoken.

This was the heir to a billion-dollar empire, someone who’d been training for this exact moment since before she could probably walk.

The weird part? She was good at it. Really good.

“You mentioned sustainable luxury,” Madison said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “How does Valentine balance exclusivity with accessibility in today’s market? That seems like a difficult tightrope to walk.”

Vivienne smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. She launched into an explanation of sustainable practices, ethical sourcing, and the company’s commitment to reducing waste—all while making it sound like the most natural thing in the world for a luxury brand to care about environmental impact.

I found myself impressed despite my initial skepticism. She genuinely seemed to care about these initiatives, speaking with an authenticity that hadn’t been present when she discussed the collection’s color story.

When the interview concluded twenty minutes later, Madison thanked Vivienne profusely and promised to showcase the collection in an upcoming fashion segment. The cameras’ red lights turned off, and the studio erupted into activity again as staff prepared for the next segment.

Vivienne stood, shook Madison’s hand, and walked toward me with the same perfect posture she’d maintained throughout the interview.

“How was it?” she asked quietly when she reached me, that camera-perfect smile softening to something more genuine.

“You were amazing,” I said honestly. “You made luxury fashion sound like it’s saving the world.”

Her lips quirked upward. “Perhaps not saving it, but at least not actively destroying it. That’s the best we can hope for in the luxury sector.”

Before I could respond, Tracy appeared at Vivienne’s elbow with a tablet, her expression bright with the kind of excitement that usually meant more work was about to land in my lap. “Miss Valentine! The segment has already generated significant social media buzz. Would you be willing to stay for a few quick reactions from our digital team? It would only take about fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”

Vivienne glanced at me, and I recognized the question in her eyes before she even had to voice it: Do we have time?

I checked my watch, running through our schedule in my head. We weren’t due for the dinner until six, and Vivienne didn’t have any other appointments scheduled for the afternoon. The only thing on our agenda was returning to the manor, which could easily be pushed back.

I gave her a slight nod.

“I’d be happy to,” Vivienne told Tracy, her attention shifting back to the producer with that same polished grace she’d shown throughout the interview. “Isaiah will coordinate the details with your team.”

And just like that, I found myself arranging for Vivienne to meet with the digital content team while she was escorted back to the dressing room to have her makeup refreshed. Tracy handed me her contact information, and I entered it into my phone while mentally reorganizing our schedule to accommodate this extension.

It was strange how quickly I’d adapted to this role—rearranging schedules, carrying portfolios, standing just out of frame while Vivienne dazzled interviewers. Stranger still was how natural it felt, like I’d been doing this for years instead of days.

When Vivienne emerged from the dressing room, she walked directly to me.

“I have Madison’s assistant’s contact information,” I told her, keeping my voice low. “She’d like to feature the collection in their October segment on fall fashion. And the digital team is ready whenever you are.”

“Good,” she said. “And then I’d like to stop somewhere before we return to the manor.”

“Where?”

Her purple eyes locked on mine. “I believe I owe you lunch,” she said. “Your performance today has been… exemplary.”

I blinked.

Wait.

Did Vivienne Valentine just—

“That sounds suspiciously like a compliment,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her tone was flat, but there was no edge to it. No ice. “It’s simply an acknowledgment of adequate service.”

Right. Of course.

“In that case,” I said, “I accept your acknowledgment. And lunch.”

For just a second—maybe less—something shifted in her expression. The mask slipped. Not much. Just enough to let me see something underneath that wasn’t composed or calculated or carefully controlled.

Something soft.

Then it was gone.

“Good,” she said, all business again. “Let’s not keep the digital team waiting. Time is currency, Isaiah.” She adjusted the portfolio in my hands, her fingers brushing mine for half a heartbeat. “And I do not appreciate wasting either.”