Chapter Text
"Look, I don't care how bad you want them - no! They're one of my top stylists and the best damn trainer I've got." Velvette's loud and pissed voice carries across the studio. Models standing shock still and their stylists fitting clothes with shaky hands as Vox replies with a chuckle.
"Velvette! It's just for one project, and besides - I can't think of anyone in this tower more qualified to handle him than that star of yours. Well, besides us of course, but we're busy! You're busy." He reaches for her shoulders, but she swats his hands away.
"And I'll be even more busy when you take one of my most efficient workers away from me. The answer is no, Vox." She turns to you, and you don't even hide your stare. You knew they were talking about you. Hell, the whole studio did. 'Best trainer' and you've got a gaggle of five fresh interns trailing behind you right now. Velvette makes eye contact for just a moment before giving you a shooing motion.
Back to work, and you'll never know which bigshot client is big enough for Vox himself to be asking Velvette for favours. Except the conversation continues, and you're immediately pulled back in. Telling the trainees information on autopilot while you know damn well they're not listening and neither are you.
"Fine, but we need to send someone his way. Every stylist he hires himself he ends up fucking or killing or both."
Wait, who?
"Ugh, damnit Vox I don't have time for this. What kind of porno needs a full-time stylist anyway? He's had no issue just hiring out one of mine on contract before." Velvette cocks her head and crosses her arms, clearly irritated, but you're not thinking about that.
Porno? In association with the vees?
Your stomach sinks as you realize who they're talking about. Please no. God no, satan no, anyone no!
"The kind that's using several of his top stars in one. He's aiming for a collectors item this time, and he'll need a stylist for their event outfits as well. Everything from filming to the release party to hell knows what else." Vox dramatically rolls his eyes before saying the dreaded name. The confirmation. Unavoidable truth.
"Look, Vel, do you have any other stylist that can handle Valentino?"
She's thinking, and you've long since trailed off in your explanation of the in-studio fabric sorting system. You can't be sent to work with Valentino. It's a death sentence. Vox is right, every stylist sent over there meets one of three fates - and you're interested in none of them.
"I'll see what I can do, there's gotta be someone here who can handle his temper."
"And doesn't want to fuck him. That's important, I'm not dealing with another messy conflict of interest."
Now it's Velvettes turn to roll her eyes, and their conversation is quickly concluded. You stopped listening because all you can think of is a mental list of your coworkers. Who could handle Valentino? Sam could, but they'd be in bed together before the first night was over. Belle might, but she's a pushover which would be bad. Kiri? Her temper is just as bad as Valentinos. Myles? He breaks down when Velvette looks at him wrong, who knows what would happen when faced with one of Valentino's fits.
Back to walking the new trainees around on autopilot, you keep digging through coworkers. Pat? Lily? Dara? No, no, and no. No matter how many you think of you can't imagine any of them both being able to handle Valentino's emotions and not be horny for the few months it would take to do the project.
You get it, sort of. The guy is gorgeous, and he knows it, clearly. But sex? Not really your thing - and Velvette knows that. Apparently Vox does too. Great.
You get called to Velvette's office two days later. Great.
There are only four other people. Great.
You silently pray one of them is better at this than you.