Four Of A Kind - Chapter 140: [3.42] A Thing Your Voice Does

Chapter 140: [3.42] A Thing Your Voice Does

“I care about doing my job well.”

“That’s still not what I asked.”

My phone buzzed. Cassidy again. A text this time.

WHERE ARE YOU I’M TIMING THIS

“I have to go,” I said.

“Answer the question first.”

“Which question.”

“Do you care about my sister.”

She was still sitting on the edge of her desk. Still looking at me with those purple eyes that were too smart and saw too much. The late afternoon sun came through the window behind her and turned her wine-red hair into something that looked like it was on fire.

I should have lied. Should have given her the professional answer. The safe answer.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. She works her ass off pretending she doesn’t care about anything. Kind of hard not to respect that.”

“Just respect?”

“Vivienne—”

“Because the way you look at her when she solves a problem correctly doesn’t look like respect. It looks like…” She stopped. Shook her head. “Never mind.”

My phone buzzed again.

ISAIAH I SWEAR TO GOD

“I really have to go.”

“I know.” But she didn’t move. “The PR meeting is tomorrow at eight. Main conference room. Don’t be late.”

“Understood.”

I turned to leave. Made it three steps before she spoke again.

“Isaiah.”

I stopped. Looked back.

She was still sitting on the desk. Still backlit by dying sunlight. Still looking like she wanted to say something that her entire personality and upbringing had trained her not to say.

“That thing I said. About not minding being seen with you.” She was gripping the edge of the desk now. Knuckles white. “I meant it.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Her voice had gone small. Uncertain in a way that Vivienne Valentine was never uncertain about anything.

I could have walked out. Should have walked out. Let the moment die and pretend this conversation never happened.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

Her shoulders dropped. Relief or disappointment. Couldn’t tell which.

“Go. Before Cassidy comes looking for you and finds us having this conversation.”

“Would that be bad?”

“It would be complicated.”

I almost laughed. “Everything about this job is complicated.”

“Then what’s one more complication?”

She said it so quietly I almost missed it. Almost convinced myself I’d imagined the words entirely.

My phone erupted again. This time Cassidy actually called back.

I answered while walking toward the door. Didn’t look back at Vivienne because looking back felt dangerous.

“ISAIAH MARCUS ANGELO WHERE THE HELL—”

“How do you know my middle name?”

“YOUR SISTER TOLD ME. Where are you? You said five minutes. It’s been seven.”

Iris… when I catch you…

“I’m coming down now.”

“Were you with Vivienne? Is that where you were?”

I stepped into the hallway. The door to Vivienne’s study clicked shut behind me.

“Yeah.”

“What were you doing?”

“Talking about the photo. And schedules.”

“For SEVEN MINUTES?”

“She had concerns.”

“About what?” Cassidy’s voice had gone sharp. Suspicious. “About the photo or about something else?”

I walked faster. The library was on the second floor. I could make it in ninety seconds if I didn’t get intercepted by Harlow or ambushed by Sabrina.

“Does it matter?”

“YES IT MATTERS.” She lowered her voice suddenly. “Wait. Did she yell at you? Because if she made you feel bad about helping me I’m going to—”

“She didn’t yell. We just talked.”

“About me?”

“About media training and public appearances and how not to create scandals.”

Silence on the other end. The kind that felt loaded.

“So she IS mad at you.”

“She’s concerned. That’s different.”

“Isaiah.” Cassidy’s voice had gone flat. Dead serious. “If Vivienne tries to fire you over this, I’ll—”

“She’s not firing me.”

“How do you know?”

Because she just told me she wouldn’t mind being seen with me. Because she looked at me like I was something other than an employee for approximately forty-five seconds.

“Because she said so,” I answered. “We’re good.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Your voice does a thing when you lie. Gets quieter. Like you’re hoping I won’t notice.”

I reached the library doors. Pushed through.

Cassidy sat at our usual table with her phone pressed to her ear. She wore her glasses. Her textbook was open. Graph paper spread across the wooden surface like she’d been preparing for war.

When she saw me, her eyes narrowed.

I lowered my phone. “Hi.”

She lowered hers. “That was eight minutes.”

“I got lost.”

“You’ve been here like fifty times. You don’t get lost anymore.”

Fair point.

I crossed to the table. Sat down across from her. Her purple eyes tracked my movement like I was evidence in a crime she was trying to solve.

“What did Vivienne actually say to you?”

“A lot of things about public image and being more careful.”

“And?”

“And she wants me to do media training tomorrow.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Cassidy leaned back in her chair. Studied me. I could practically see the gears turning behind those eyes.

“You’re still lying.”

“I’m really not.”

“Then why do you look weird?”

“I look tired.”

“No. You look like you’re thinking about something.” She tilted her head. “Or someone.”

My brain, which normally excelled at deflection and evasion, chose this moment to completely malfunction. Because all I could think about was Vivienne’s voice going small and asking if I knew she meant it.

And Cassidy’s hands on my jacket when she’d kissed me on the steps.

Except I still didn’t know if it was Cassidy who’d kissed me. Could have been any of them. Could have been—

“There. That face. That’s the weird face.”

“What face.”

“The one you’re making right now. Like you’re trying to solve a math problem in your head.”

“I’m always solving math problems. That’s literally my job.”

“Isaiah.”

She said my name different than her sisters did. Harlow made it sound like a song. Vivienne turned it into a business memo. Sabrina barely said it at all.

Cassidy said it like a weapon. Like she was challenging me to keep lying to her face.

I gave up. Pulled out the photo on my phone. Slid it across the table.

She picked it up. Zoomed in. Made a disgusted sound.

“See? LOOK at this angle. My chin looks huge. And you’re looming over me like some kind of—” She stopped. Squinted at the screen. “Wait. Why were we standing that close?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I was probably yelling at you about something.”

“Probably.”

She kept staring at the photo. Her cheeks had gone pink.

“We look…” She trailed off. Set the phone down face-down. “Whatever. Point is, the photo sucks. So I’m gonna fix it.”

“By creating more photos.”

“BETTER photos. Strategic photos. Where I actually look good and you look like you should be grateful I’m letting you breathe my air.”

I rubbed my face. “That’s still a terrible plan.”

“It’s the ONLY plan. Unless you want them digging into your entire life trying to figure out who you are.”

That stopped me cold.

Because she was right. If the media couldn’t identify me from the photo, they’d start asking around. Hartwell students. Bar customers. Anyone who might know me.

Which meant Iris’s name coming up eventually. Iris’s school. Our address.

Everything I’d been trying to keep private.