Page 112 of Invisible Bars
“Yeah. Can I pay y’all not to ask me dumb shit?”
The man laughed nervously. “I—uh—I’ll let her know to keep it professional.”
Just as I exhaled and took my seat, the door opened… and in she came.
Giselle Kors.
She floated into the room in a flowy white linen jumpsuit cinched at the waist with a gold belt. Her shoulders were bare under a cropped lemon-yellow blazer,and her oversized sunglasses didn’t move an inch as she scanned the space like royalty. Strappy gold heels clicked against the floor, and her skin glowed like she hadn’t aged a day in twenty years. And in her damn hands? A giant stack of laminated flashcards.
I stared at her like she had just walked in carrying a purse full of secrets.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming.” That was my greeting to her.
No Hey, Ma. No hug. No fake smile. Just facts.
Giselle gasped dramatically, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Well,helloto you too, son! Goodness gracious! Sometimes Iswear you have a twin, becausesurelythis level of rudeness didn’t come from the child I raised!”
She flipped her hair over one shoulder; her Bvlgariearrings catching the light.
“But to answer yourcuriosity, I wasn’t coming. But I was able to rearrange my schedule.Of courseI had to… this interview is important.”
Imagine that.
Giselle leaned in and placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder, the scent of her perfume blooming like it had something to prove.
“Relax, I’m only here to help you breathe easier.”
“Trysuffocating,” I replied, without a shred of warmth.
Giselle pursed her lips, then nodded like she was taking it on the chin.
“Okay. I deserve that.”
Then, with a quick scan of the room to make sure no one else was listening, her voice softened. “But it’s only because I believe in you, and I want the world to see whatIsee… a handsome, intelligent, wealthy young man I’m proud to call my son.”
Giselle smiled like she was laying out a compliment, not a carefully scripted commercial.
Here she goes again—packaging pressure as praise and calling it love. Same script, new wardrobe.
“If you won’t do it foryourself, then do it for the company… for thebrand,” she continued. “Every smile, every handshake, every tailored suit—it all says Kors Luxe Development is power, precision and perfection. As I always tell you and as you should know, you’re the face of this family, Imanio… a walking billboard. People invest in what they admire, and no one admires someone who looks like he hates being admired!”
Giselle paused, tilting her head just enough to show off her earrings—like the moment itself was a photoshoot.
“You think it’s about being honest?” she spoke in a hushed tone. “It’s not! It’s about beingpalatable! Digestible! You have ten, maybe fifteen minutes to convince millions that you’re the man they should trust with their dreams! So no frowns! No flat energy! No truth if it doesn’t come gift-wrapped!”
She then tapped my chest lightly with her index finger, her red nail sharp like a warning.
“If you won’t do it for the company’simage, then at least do it for themoney,” she added, glancing around like someone might overhear her greed leaking out, even though we both knew money was her favorite love language.
But honestly? When it came to money, that was the one area we saw eye to eye.
“Seriously,” she continued, her voice syrupy sweet, trying to straighten my suit jacket like I was a damn mannequin in a boutique window. “I’m simply here forsilentsupport. No speeches, no interruptions. Ipromise.”
“Then what’s with the kindergarten poster boards?”
“Oh… those!” she waved off, dismissively sporting an innocent, wide grin. “They’re just… visual encouragement. Smile triggers. Talking points. Things you forget when your attitude starts flaring.”
“Giselle—”
