Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Vivienne
Mia's voice cut through the coffee shop's background noise, drilling straight into my eardrums.
"Wait, wait, wait—" She set down her latte and pinched my wrist with two fingers. "You're telling me someone sent you a card?"
"Keep it down." I glanced around, making sure no one at the neighboring tables was eavesdropping, then lowered my voice again. "Yeah, yesterday morning. A man in a black suit was waiting for me downstairs. Said my 'ex-boyfriend's friend' asked him to deliver it. There's 'compensation' in the card."
"Compensation." Mia rolled the word around in her mouth, her expression cycling through several stages before landing somewhere between disbelief and about to explode. "Vivienne Cole, tell me you didn't take it."
I said nothing.
"You took it."
"I didn't deposit it—"
"But you didn't give the card back."
"Mia, my mom's medical bills are due next month. What's left in my account can't even—"
"I know, I know." She released my wrist and sighed, cradling her cup. "But Vivienne, this isn't about the money. Derek paying you off—it's like you're some waitress he hired, tossing you a tip to call it even. It's humiliating."
I stared at the table.
Every word she said, I understood. Understood so well she didn't even need to say it.
The moment that card landed in my hands, I felt it—that cold, priced-out-from-head-to-toe feeling, the same texture as three years ago when Derek first critiqued me with that "you'd look better if you lost ten pounds" tone.
My mother's nursing home bill was due next week. The doctor said her nervous breakdown had worsened again. She needed a more expensive imported medication. I'd planned to use the money we'd saved for the wedding balance to cover it, but that wasn't even close to enough.
I really needed this money.
"I know it's insulting." I looked up, my throat dry, but I tried to sound lighter than I felt. "So I'm gonna spend it having the time of my life, then send back the empty card with a Post-it that says 'Thanks, worth every penny.'"
Mia went silent for two seconds, then reached over and rapped her knuckles against my forehead. "You idiot."
"Ow!"
"You deserve it." She pushed her latte toward me.
"This money solves your immediate problem.
You earned it. Consider it emotional damages.
" Mia made the decision with her usual decisiveness.
"But the origin of this card is too weird.
That Sasha guy is definitely not some legit errand boy.
I'm getting fitted for tonight's charity gala dress later.
I'll take the card, have my brother's people dig into where this money came from, make sure it's clean and won't bring you trouble. You good with that?"
I nodded, looking at her gratefully. "Thank you, Mia. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Save the sentimentality. I'm the female lead for your future bestseller.
" Mia stood, straightening her haute couture coat, slipping on her sunglasses, resuming her full-force heiress persona.
"Get your ass back to that trashy magazine.
Don't let that greasy, balding editor catch you slipping again.
And remember, whatever happens, you better call me after work tonight and check in. "
"Yes, ma'am." I forced a smile and waved.
After watching Mia click away in her red-bottomed heels, I sat alone in the coffee shop for a while, draining what was left of my iced Americano. The bitter cold slid down my throat into my stomach, jolting my foggy brain completely awake.
Vivienne Cole, you can't fall apart. You've got a job to keep, medical bills to pay, and a serialized novel waiting for you to write.
I stood, smoothed out my thrift-store blazer—already faded from too many washes—took a deep breath, pushed through the coffee shop door, and plunged headfirst into Washington's blinding sunlight and brutal reality.
Back at Urban Style magazine's office, that familiar suffocating oppression hit me instantly.
I was officially an "assistant editor" at this third-rate fashion rag, but in reality, I was the office's free nanny and errand girl.
"Vivienne! Finally decided to come back?
" The moment I stepped through the glass door, Lily from reception rushed over in her heels and shoved a thick stack of files into my arms. "Copier three's jammed again—go fix it!
And Jessica's latte—absolutely no whole milk, she's cutting carbs. Go downstairs and get her a new one!"
"Jammed copiers are maintenance's problem, and I'm not a delivery service." I tried to sidestep her.
But reality taught me my place fast. Lily crossed her arms and rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Oh, please, who jetted off to Vegas to party and dumped all her work on everyone else?
The editor said the second you're back, go straight to his office.
He doesn't look happy. Better pray you've still got a job. "
I froze.
The editor. Gary Henderson.
Just thinking about that man made my stomach turn with visceral disgust. Gary was a fortyish, balding, pot-bellied sleaze whose expensive shirts couldn't hide his gut.
He was always using "mentoring young talent" as cover, eyeing the office's young female employees with a sticky, deeply uncomfortable gaze.
And thanks to my attention-grabbing curves, I'd become his long-term target of choice. If it weren't for the meager paycheck that barely kept my mother and me afloat, I swear I would've thrown scalding coffee in his greasy face long ago.
I took a deep breath, forced on an impeccable corporate smile, and walked toward the spacious office at the end of the hall, files in hand.
Knock knock.
"Come in." Gary's nasal, sticky voice penetrated the door.
I pushed it open, keeping near the entrance—safe escape distance.
"You wanted to see me, sir."
Gary sat behind his massive mahogany desk. He looked up, and those murky eyes immediately locked onto my chest, straining against my fitted blouse like a radar, before slowly crawling up to my face.
"Ah, Vivienne, my dear girl. You're finally back." Gary stood, rounded the desk, and waddled toward me on his stubby legs. The stench that surrounded him—overnight coffee, cheap mints, and bottom-shelf cologne—made me want to hold my breath.
"Heard you had fun in Vegas?" He stopped in front of me, closer than normal social distance allowed.
"I was just gathering material. Research for my novel." I instinctively stepped back, my voice tight.
Gary let out a grating chuckle, full of dismissive contempt. "Novel? Vivienne, I keep telling you, focus on real work. What can those internet fantasy romances do for you? Stick with me, build a career in this industry—that's how you get ahead."
As he spoke, he reached out his sweaty, liver-spotted hand and patted my shoulder without warning. His hand didn't leave immediately. Instead, it lingered with nauseating stickiness for several seconds.
Every hair on my body stood on end. My muscles tensed to the breaking point, and a voice in my brain screamed. Throw him! Stomp his ribs with your heels!
But I clenched my jaw, swallowed the nausea churning in my stomach, and stiffly turned, shaking off his hand.
"Sir, what's the assignment?" I asked coldly, my gaze sharp.
Gary seemed annoyed I'd evaded his touch. He withdrew his hand, rubbed his fingers together, then walked to his desk and picked up a gold-embossed, luxurious heavy envelope, holding it out to me.
"I've been thinking about you, Vivienne.
Always looking to give you the best opportunities, groom you for chief editor.
" Gary put on his magnanimous facade, like some generous philanthropist. "So I pulled every string I had to get you this.
This is next week's hottest event in all of Washington—hell, all of high society. "
I frowned and took the envelope, looking down.
On it, in ornate script, two names.
Derek Volkov & Chloe Vanguard
Derek Volkov and Chloe Vanguard's wedding invitation.
Who?
The moment I saw that name, my brain went blank.
"The Volkov heir marrying an international supermodel!
Talk about traffic gold!" Gary salivated beside me, lost in fantasy.
"Every top media outlet's killing for an invite.
I'm giving you this frontline coverage opportunity—you'll attend as our special assistant reporter. This is a plum assignment."
Gary leaned in again, his heavy breathing hitting the side of my face.
He lowered his voice to an oily, suggestive tone.
"Perform well, Vivienne. Get me exclusive inside coverage, and I'll never forget your 'hard work' and 'dedication.
' I promise, once this story drops, that chief editor position is yours. "
I stared at Derek's name on the invitation.
Attend my scumbag ex's wedding? The ex who posted bed photos to humiliate me just last night? Watch him parade around with that stick-figure supermodel mistress in front of every socialite, then play the fool with a recorder asking them, "Are you happy newlyweds"?
This was the world's most vicious, cruel punishment!
I didn't want this goddamn chief editor position! I definitely didn't want to owe this old creep any favors!
"I'm not going." I snapped my head up and threw the invitation back onto Gary's desk, my voice ice-cold. "I can't handle this assignment. Send Jessica or Lily. They're better at socializing."
Gary's smile vanished instantly. His already ugly face darkened, revealing his petty, tyrannical nature.
"This isn't a request, Vivienne! It's an order!
" Gary jabbed his finger at me. "I gave you an opportunity, you take it!
Who the hell do you think you are? Some minimum-wage, chronically late assistant!
If I wasn't covering for you, you'd be gone already!
Don't want to go? Fine! March to accounting, collect your final check, and get out!
And while you're at it, figure out how you'll pay next month's bills for your crazy mother! "
He'd hit my fatal weak spot.