Four Of A Kind - Chapter 177: [3.79] The Wrong Family
Chapter 177: [3.79] The Wrong Family
They reached the Lumière display. The partnership Vivienne had spent six weeks negotiating. Her crowning achievement as interim brand manager.
The CEO greeted them warmly. Discussion turned to launch timelines. Spring campaigns. Asian market expansion.
Isaiah stood beside her. Listening. Occasionally asking smart questions that made the CEO look at him twice.
When they finally extracted themselves twenty minutes later, Vivienne’s face hurt from performing.
“You’re good at this,” Isaiah said.
“At what?”
“Being on.” He gestured vaguely. “The whole. Business thing.”
“It’s my job.”
“Still.” He looked at her. Really looked. “Must be exhausting.”
Something in her chest twisted.
“I’m used to it.”
They passed a group of young heirs. Trust fund kids in designer suits playing at business.
Rebecca Harrington stood among them. Blonde hair. Perfect teeth. Her father owned half of SoHo.
She spotted Vivienne. Waved.
Vivienne couldn’t avoid her without being rude.
“Vivienne!” Rebecca air-kissed both cheeks. European style. “You look amazing. And who’s this?”
“Isaiah Angelo. Isaiah, Rebecca Harrington.”
Rebecca’s eyes went sharp. Hungry.
“Angelo.” She extended her hand. “What a fascinating name. Italian?”
“My grandfather was.” Isaiah shook.
“And what do you do?”
“Student.”
“At Hartwell?”
“Yeah.”
“How wonderful.” Rebecca smiled. All teeth. “We should get coffee sometime. Compare notes about. School things.”
Her hand was still holding his.
Vivienne’s fingers moved without conscious thought. She reached out. Grabbed Isaiah’s tie.
“Your tie’s crooked,” she said.
It wasn’t.
But she adjusted it anyway. Right there. In front of Rebecca. In front of the cameras that had swiveled toward them.
Her hands smoothed down the silk. Once. Twice.
Isaiah stood very still. His eyes on her face.
“There,” she said. “Better.”
She didn’t let go.
Her palms rested against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the shirt.
Fast. Getting faster.
Rebecca’s smile went plastic. “Well. I’ll let you two get back to. Whatever you’re doing.”
She disappeared into the crowd.
Vivienne’s hands were still on Isaiah’s chest.
“My tie was fine,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then why.”
“She was touching you.”
The words came out before her brain could stop them.
Isaiah’s expression did something complicated. “Vivienne.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
“Your ears are pink.”
“They are not.”
“They definitely are.”
She stepped back. Finally dropped her hands.
Smoothed her dress. Unnecessary. It was already perfect.
“We should. The speeches are starting soon.”
“Right.”
He offered his arm this time.
She took it.
They walked toward the main hall together. Her hand curled around his elbow. His warmth seeping through the jacket.
She’d been having a good time.
Actually enjoying herself at an event she’d planned for eight weeks.
That should have been her first warning.
The main hall had been transformed. Tables arranged in perfect formation. The Lumière display at the center. Mood lighting. String quartet in the corner.
Vivienne’s seating chart had been executed perfectly. Every name at the right table. Every conflict carefully managed.
She found her assigned seat at table one. The head table. Reserved for family and key partners.
Isaiah pulled out her chair.
She sat.
He moved to take the seat beside her.
“Vivienne.”
The voice came from the entrance.
Cold. Precise. Carrying across the hall despite barely rising above conversational volume.
Every conversation stopped.
People turned.
Camille Valentine stood in the doorway.
She wore black. Severe. Elegant. Her platinum blonde hair pulled back so tight it must hurt.
Her purple eyes swept the room. Found Vivienne.
Found Isaiah.
Narrowed.
Vivienne’s stomach dropped approximately forty floors.
“Mother.” She stood. Automatic. Years of training. “I didn’t know you were attending.”
“Clearly.” Camille walked forward. Her heels struck marble like a countdown. “We need to talk.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Camille’s eyes flicked to Isaiah. Once. Dismissive.
“Alone.”
Vivienne’s throat closed. She looked at Isaiah.
He gave her a small nod. “I’ll be here.”
“Come, Vivienne.” Camille was already walking toward the private gallery. “Don’t make me wait.”
Vivienne followed.
Behind her, the hall erupted into whispers.
She didn’t look back.
The private gallery was empty. Paintings worth millions on the walls. Security cameras in every corner.
Camille closed the door.
Turned.
“Explain.”
“I. We. He’s.”
“Complete sentences, Vivienne.”
She straightened. Found her spine. “Isaiah is my date tonight.”
“Your date.”
“Yes.”
“The boy we hired.”
“Yes.”
“The scholarship student from Philadelphia.”
“Yes.”
Camille walked closer. Her expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” The honesty surprised even Vivienne. “I just. Wanted.”
“Wanted.” The word came out sharp. “Vivienne Adrienne Valentine. You don’t make decisions based on wants. You make decisions based on strategy. On brand alignment. On what’s best for the company.”
“I know.”
“Then why is that boy wearing your father’s cufflinks?”
Vivienne’s chest constricted. “How did you.”
“I notice everything.” Camille’s voice dropped. Dangerous. “Those cufflinks were Richard’s. The ones I gave him on our anniversary. And you gave them to some random boy you hired last month?”
“He’s not random.”
“Then what is he?”
The question hung between them.
Vivienne’s hands twisted together. “He’s. Someone who sees me.”
“Sees you.”
“As Vivienne. Not as. The heir. Not as the perfect daughter. Just. Me.”
Camille’s expression didn’t change. “And that’s worth embarrassing yourself? Worth every photographer out there speculating about whether my daughter is sleeping with the help?”
The words landed like a slap.
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Camille stepped closer. “I built this company from the ground up after your father died. I work eighteen hours a day. I travel three weeks a month. I sacrifice everything for this brand. For you. For your sisters. And you repay me by bringing some boy to the most important launch party of the year and holding his hand like a lovesick teenager?”
“I’m seventeen.”
“Exactly. Too young to make these choices. Too young to understand consequences.”
Vivienne’s anger sparked. Sudden. Hot.
“Too young?” Her voice rose. “I run student council. I manage partnerships worth millions. I sit in board meetings and make decisions that affect hundreds of employees. But I’m too young to choose who I spend time with?”
“When it affects the brand? Yes.”
“Everything affects the brand!” The words exploded out. “Everything I do. Everything I wear. Everyone I talk to. I can’t breathe without considering how it looks. Whether it’s on-brand. Whether it makes you proud.”
Camille’s expression flickered. Something almost like hurt.
“I expect excellence from you because you’re capable of it.”
“And what if I don’t want to be excellent?” Vivienne’s hands were shaking. “What if I just want to be. A person. For one night.”
“Then you picked the wrong family.”
The silence after was so complete Vivienne could hear her own heartbeat.
Camille’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it. Her expression tightened.
“The speeches start in ten minutes.” Her voice returned to business temperature. “Fix your lipstick. Your mascara is smudged. And that boy. Isaiah. Whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely. “End it. Tonight. Before this becomes a real problem.”
She walked toward the door.
Stopped with her hand on the handle.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Vivienne. I’m trying to protect you. There’s a difference.”
Then she was gone.
Vivienne stood alone among million-dollar paintings.
Her hands shook.
Her eyes burned.
She was not going to cry.
Valentines don’t cry.
