The Valentine Manor's main living room was designed to intimidate.
Thirty-foot ceilings. Crystal chandeliers that cost more than most people's houses. Furniture that looked beautiful and felt like sitting on disappointment. The kind of room where important people made important decisions about important things.
Today, four teenage girls were using it to argue about hiring help.
"This is stupid."
Cassidy Valentine sprawled across a chaise lounge that probably belonged in a museum, her school uniform already disheveled despite it being barely 4 PM. Her blazer was somewhere on the floor. Her tie had been repurposed as a headband. Her skirt was hiked up to a length that would give their mother's PR team collective heart failure.
"You've said that six times in the last ten minutes." Vivienne sat in an armchair across the room, posture perfect, uniform immaculate, patience visibly thinning. "We're all aware of your position."
"Then why are we still doing this?"
"Because Mother said so."
"Mother can kiss my—"
"Cassidy." Sabrina's voice was quiet. She hadn't moved from her spot by the window, book in hand, barely acknowledging the conversation. But that single word carried weight.
Cassidy shut up.
For about three seconds.
"I'm just SAYING. We don't need another assistant. The last seven were useless anyway."
"The last seven quit because you terrorized them." Vivienne's eye twitched. "You set Gerald's briefcase on fire."
"That was an accident."
"You called Margaret a 'corporate bootlicker' to her face."
"That was accurate."
"You made Thomas cry. TWICE."
"He was weak."
"He was a former Navy SEAL."
Cassidy shrugged. "Weak."
Harlow, who had been suspiciously quiet during this exchange, finally looked up from her phone. She was curled up on a loveseat, wearing her uniform with approximately twelve accessories that definitely violated dress code.
"I liked Thomas. He gave me candy."
"You like everyone who gives you candy."
"That's not true! I also like people who give me compliments. And hugs. And attention." She paused. "Okay, I like most people."
"We know." Cassidy rolled her eyes. "Little Miss Sunshine over here making friends with the help."
"They're PEOPLE, Cass. With feelings. And families. And dreams."
"They're STAFF. Their dream should be not getting fired."
"That's so mean!"
"Life is mean. Get used to it."
The double doors to the living room opened. All four sisters turned.
A woman in her early thirties entered. Severe bun. Designer suit. The expression of someone who had long ago accepted that her job involved herding cats, except the cats were billionaire teenagers.
Miranda Graves. Personal assistant to Camille Valentine. Professional babysitter to her daughters. Frequently questioning her life choices.
"Ladies."
"Miranda!" Harlow bounced up from the loveseat. "Did you bring the files? Is that the list? Can I see?"
"One moment, Miss Harlow." Miranda crossed to the coffee table, setting down a leather folder. "Your mother has reviewed the applications and selected five candidates for your consideration."
"Our consideration?" Vivienne leaned forward. "She's letting us choose?"
"Given the... turnover rate... of previous assistants, Mrs. Valentine believes you might have better luck with someone you've personally vetted."
Translation: Camille was tired of paying severance to traumatized employees.
"What's the catch?" Cassidy hadn't moved from her sprawl. "There's always a catch."
"No catch. Simply choose from the candidates, conduct interviews if you wish, and inform me of your decision by the end of the week."
"And if we don't want ANY of them?"
"Then your mother will choose for you." Miranda's smile was pleasant in the way that shark teeth were pleasant. "I'm sure you'd prefer to have input."
The threat hung in the air. Camille Valentine choosing meant someone hand-picked to report every infraction, every rebellion, every moment of un-Valentine-like behavior directly back to headquarters.
Even Cassidy knew when to fold.
"Fine. Whatever. Let's see the victims."
Miranda opened the folder. Five profiles. Five photos. Five unfortunate souls who had volunteered for what was essentially a suicide mission.
"The selection this time skews younger. Your mother believes candidates closer to your own age might... integrate more smoothly."
"You mean they'll be easier to manipulate." Vivienne accepted the first profile. "College students?"
"Three college students. Two high school students."
"High school?" Cassidy sat up for the first time. "Seriously?"
"From reputable institutions. One from Columbia Prep. One from..." Miranda checked her notes. "Hartwell Academy."
The room went very quiet.
Sabrina set down her book.
This was noteworthy. Sabrina never set down her book during family discussions. She observed from a distance, occasionally offered cryptic commentary, and generally behaved as though the proceedings were beneath her notice.
Setting down the book meant something had caught her attention.
"Show me the profiles."
Vivienne passed them over without comment. The four sisters gathered around the coffee table. Even Cassidy abandoned her lounging position to peer at the papers.
Candidate One: Marcus Webb
Age: 21. Junior at NYU. Business major. Previous experience as a personal assistant for a law firm partner. References: excellent. Photo: clean-cut, professional, the kind of face that said "I iron my underwear."
"He looks boring." Cassidy wrinkled her nose.
"He looks competent." Vivienne studied his resume. "Organized. Professional."
"Boring and professional are the same thing."
"They really aren't."
"He'd last a week." Cassidy leaned back. "Two if he's lucky."
Candidate Two: Jennifer Park
Age: 20. Sophomore at Columbia. Communications major. Instagram following of 50,000. Previous experience as a social media coordinator. References: glowing. Photo: pretty, polished, clearly knew her angles.
"Ooh, she's cute!" Harlow grabbed the profile. "And she does social media! We could collaborate!"
"She wants to use us for clout." Sabrina's voice was flat. "Look at her followers. Look at her engagement rate. She's not interested in assisting. She's interested in access."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Harlow's enthusiasm dimmed. When Sabrina said she knew something, she usually did.
Candidate Three: David Chen
Age: 22. Senior at Fordham. Accounting major. Previous experience managing his family's restaurant. References: solid. Photo: friendly smile, slightly nervous eyes.
"No relation to Miranda, I assume?" Vivienne glanced at the assistant.
"None." Miranda's expression gave nothing away.
"He looks nice!" Harlow studied the photo. "He has kind eyes."
"Kind eyes don't survive a week here." Cassidy was already bored. "Next."
Candidate Four: Rosé Santos
Age: 17. Junior at Columbia Prep. Daughter of a diplomat. Fluent in four languages. Previous experience: volunteer coordinator for various charity events. References: impeccable. Photo: serious expression, expensive haircut, the look of someone who'd never been told "no" in her life.
"She's our age." Vivienne's tone was thoughtful. "That could work."
"Or it could be a disaster." Cassidy grabbed the profile. "Look at her. She's basically a younger you. You really want TWO Viviennes running around?"
"What's wrong with two of me?"
"Do you want the alphabetized list or the color-coded chart?"
"Cassidy."
"I'm just saying. We'd never stop hearing about schedules and proper etiquette and 'that's not how a Valentine behaves.'" She adopted a mocking falsetto. "The world would end."
Vivienne's eye twitched. "I don't sound like that."
"You absolutely sound like that."
"I do NOT—"
"Last candidate." Sabrina's voice cut through the argument. She was holding the fifth profile. Her expression was unreadable.
Which, for Sabrina, was different from her usual unreadable expression.
This was the "something interesting" unreadable expression.
Candidate Five: Isaiah Angelo