Emily sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a small pile of clothes.
A few months ago, she had moved from a rural town to the city, but she still hadn’t adjusted to the fast-paced, metropolitan lifestyle. Life in her hometown was different—quiet, simple, with straightforward people and a calm, steady rhythm. The city was a world apart.
Emily was born into a modest, working-class family. Her father, a stern but fair man, would give his last dime to make his daughter happy. Her mother was reserved but practical.
From a young age, Emily dreamed of a glamorous life. She excelled in school, and after graduating, she was determined to move to the city. There were more opportunities there, and perhaps a chance to marry well. Her parents were initially opposed, but Emily made it clear she wouldn’t back down. Reluctantly, they let her go. The whole village saw her off. She had enough money for the trip and to get by initially. All she needed was to establish herself in the city and make the right connections. Soon enough, she did. Emily was accepted into a prestigious university, where she met Sophie, a girl a year older who had also come from the provinces but had quickly adapted, building a network and thriving like a fish in water.
— You’re lucky you met me. I don’t usually help anyone, — Sophie winked at Emily, rifling through her wardrobe. — Sweetie, you absolutely cannot wear these rags anywhere. I’ll pick out some of my things for you, — she said, returning with a few stylish dresses.
Sophie was practical. She taught Emily how to navigate city society—how to eat, walk, and talk.
— I think the dress is pretty, but it’s too tight. And short. I don’t wear stuff like this, — Emily said, tugging the hem down.
— I’ll say this once, and I won’t repeat it. If you want to snag a rich guy, listen to me.
Sophie considered herself an expert in the art of seduction. With her attractive looks, sharp mind, and knack for playing naive when it suited her, she had caught the eye of James, the son of an influential businessman. James was quiet—according to Sophie, he hadn’t spoken since a childhood trauma.
— But it’s for the best. Some guys talk more than girls. Mine’s silent as a fish, — Sophie joked.
James was tall and broad. Next to him, the petite Sophie looked almost doll-like. He carried her effortlessly in his arms. Emily watched them, a twinge of envy stirring within her. Maybe one day she’d find someone to sweep her off her feet. With a heavy sigh, she pondered this.
— Why the sigh? Have you checked the time? Let’s go. The rich don’t wait, — Sophie commanded, touching up Emily’s makeup.
Moments later, James pulled up. He waved to the girls, and they hopped in. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he tapped it loudly with his knuckle. When the girls looked at him, he clenched his fist and playfully shook it at Sophie, as if to say, “Behave.”
— Yes, yes, I get it. I’ll be good, — Emily said, rolling her eyes.
They soon arrived at a trendy restaurant. Sophie gave James a quick kiss goodbye and led Emily inside. Sophie wasn’t trying to play matchmaker. She had met her silent giant by chance when his car backed into her while she was distracted on her phone. They’d been together ever since. But when it came to finding a “sponsor” for Emily, Sophie was meticulous, claiming she had a knack for it.
— Listen more, nod, and don’t talk too much. Only speak when directly asked, and keep it short and vague. If you don’t know something, smoothly change the subject, — Sophie instructed.
— What if I mess up or freeze?
— Improvise. I’ve got your back.
They approached a table where three young men were eating, talking, and laughing loudly. Seeing the girls, they fell silent.
— Good evening! This is Paul, and this is Emily. I told you about her, — Sophie chirped, waving Emily forward before slipping away.
Paul was a tall, broad-shouldered man, not conventionally handsome. His cunning, deep-set eyes scanned Emily from head to toe in a way that made her uneasy. Licking his dry lips, he gestured for her to sit beside him. Throughout the evening, he discussed business with the other men—arranging shipments, negotiating purchases—dominating the conversation. Emily grew bored and uncomfortable. At one point, Paul pulled her closer, draping an arm around her shoulders, as if she were a prop. When he began signing documents, he casually asked her to fetch more French sauce for his fish from the kitchen.
— What manners.10. I’m not a waitress, — Emily muttered, weaving through a narrow corridor toward the kitchen.
Waiters darted around her, and she nearly collided with one. Further in, she spotted the head chef, skillfully chopping vegetables while humming and swaying to a tune. The handsome young man was engrossed in his work and didn’t notice her at first.
— Paul asked me to get more sauce for his fish, — Emily said, stepping closer.
She didn’t see a small puddle of oil on the floor, slipped, and nearly fell. The chef’s strong hands caught her, saving her from a tumble.
— Careful, ma chérie, — he said with a smile, gently guiding her to a safer spot. — Ah, Paul’s new protégé? He’s always had excellent taste in women. Here, this is the sauce he needs, — he said, handing her a sauceboat with another warm smile.
Emily took it and walked back down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder at the young chef. When she returned to the table, Paul was laughing heartily and shaking hands with his associates. At the evening’s end, he bid farewell to his partners, took Emily’s arm, and strode importantly to his car. On the way to her dorm, he only asked for her address and availability the next day.
— Tomorrow, meet me at the same restaurant at 8 p.m. Take Sophie shopping. You need something striking. Here’s my card. I’ve briefed Sophie—she’ll explain, — he said, handing her a credit card before dropping her off and driving away.
— So? Spill! How’d it go? — Sophie pounced with questions.
— Honestly, I don’t get it. He sat next to me, put his arm around me, but talked to his friends the whole time. I felt like a piece of furniture. He didn’t ask me anything. At the end, he gave me money for a new dress and expects me there tomorrow at 8, — Emily shrugged.
— That’s great! It worked. He’ll take you everywhere now. It’s called escorting. Plus, he’s not asking for anything else. Just go where he tells you, and you’re set. You’ll have money and new clothes. Paul’s very wealthy and influential.
— I don’t know. It feels… off.
— Don’t overthink it. Tomorrow, we’re hitting the shops, — Sophie said, patting her shoulder before leaving the room.
From the next day, Emily began accompanying Paul to various events. His meetings varied, requiring her to change outfits multiple times in an evening. Her workload soon increased, forcing her to skip classes to attend parties, receptions, or meetings with the affluent businessman. When her schedule became overwhelming, she switched to part-time study. Emily didn’t love the job. She still felt like an object, though she appreciated that Paul treated her with relative respect, without hinting at intimacy. Beyond escorting, she monitored his alcohol intake, as rumors suggested he’d had issues in the past. Once, she had to practically drag him to a taxi. At times, she had to learn quickly—like memorizing Italian phrases to drop into conversations at specific moments. She even felt like the heroine of *Pretty Woman* when she had to master table etiquette.
— Tomorrow, I’m meeting a French delegation. You can’t embarrass me, — Paul told her one afternoon, inviting her to his favorite restaurant.
— What do I need to do?
— Nothing special. Sit beside me, nod, smile. We’re having a fancy dinner. I’ve noticed you’re not great with table etiquette. You mix up knives and forks sometimes, — he said with a wink, then called out, — Michel, take care of it.
— Bonjour, mademoiselle.
The familiar young chef approached with a smile. Waiters brought cutlery, plates, and more. Michel sat Emily at a table and began showing her various utensils, naming each one.
— Michel, did you live in France?
— Yes, for a few years.
It was evident, not just in his name but in his habit of sprinkling French phrases into conversation.
— Hungry? — he asked, satisfied she’d learned the lesson.
They’d spent hours on etiquette, and Emily’s stomach growled audibly. They both laughed.
— Come here, I’ve got something for you, — Michel said, leading her to a beautiful terrace and handing her a plate with toast and poached eggs. Emily climbed onto a soft pouf and ate. They sat in silence for a while. When the plate was empty, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked at him gratefully.
— Thank you. I feel full and happy.
— Weren’t you happy before? You came from a small town, I know, — Michel said, squinting. — Now you’re making connections. If you’re lucky, you’ll meet someone influential who’ll want to be your patron. Sounds like what you need.
Emily was struck by his insight.
— That’s not really what I want. Sorry, — she said, hurrying off the terrace. Michel’s words made her question whether she was on the right path. She mulled it over for the rest of the day.
The next day, she aced her etiquette test. Paul was pleased but seemed troubled. His French guests were smiling, having just closed a lucrative deal, prompting Paul to continue the discussion in a more private setting. They moved to another venue, where waiters brought drinks to their table. That evening, Paul was different. He drank more than usual, brushing off Emily’s attempts to slow him down. Soon, he was heavily intoxicated. At one point, he grabbed her and dragged her to dance. Swaying unsteadily, he clumsily led her around. During one turn, he accidentally knocked a ring off her finger, which rolled away. Emily moved to retrieve it, but he stopped her, instead beckoning a singer entertaining the crowd.
— Hey, you, come here. Pick it up, — he pointed at the ring near his feet.
Emily started to protest, but Paul shouted that he paid the “poser,” so he’d do whatever Paul wanted.
— Want him to kneel before me? On your knees! — Paul yelled as the singer handed him the ring.
— Stop, Paul, you’re drunk. Enough, — Emily pleaded, seeing the singer about to comply. She begged him not to, but he knelt anyway. It was humiliating.
— Know your place, nobody. You too, get down there. What makes you different? I pay you. On your knees, — Paul barked at Emily.
— Wealth brings out the basest instincts, and you forget humanity. You’re just a pathetic, rich animal trying to feel big by humiliating others. I quit, — Emily said, pushing past him and storming toward the exit.
She was about to hail a ride when a car honked. The tinted window rolled down, revealing Michel’s face.
— Hop in, ma chérie, I’ll drive you.
Without hesitation, Emily got in, and they drove off.
— Saw your grand exit. Well done. My father probably won’t remember the details, but he definitely won’t hire you back, — Michel said, smiling.
— Paul’s your father? — Emily asked, stunned.
— Yes. Don’t be too hard on him, s’il vous plaît. He does and says foolish things when drunk. He shouldn’t drink.
— I know. I usually kept him in check, but this time… — Emily trailed off.
Michel revealed that his father was seriously ill, focused lately on securing an heir. He’d been pushing Michel to marry and have children, but Michel resisted, burned by a past relationship with a woman who only wanted money.
— You’re different. I’ve watched you for a while. I like that you’re not obsessed with money.
Emily disagreed, explaining she’d left her village for a better life, encouraged by Sophie to find a sponsor to solve her problems.
— That’s how I ended up with your father. But I recently realized this isn’t me. It won’t make me happy.
— Merci for your honesty. Would this make you happy? — Michel asked, opening a small box with a light French dessert of whipped cream and sugar.
— For a moment.
— But it’s a beautiful start, — Michel said, placing his hand over Emily’s…
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