4

I shake my head to come to my senses.

Looking at Dan, I'm sure. It is not him. They may have the same perfume but he wears it much less well. He has a silly look and his voice is not the same. Less serious, charismatic and seductive...

Why do I have to compare them both?

It's just obvious that the mysterious millionaire isn't Dan. Their scent and turquoise eyes are the only things they have in common. In other words, characteristics that are shared by at least 20% of men in this country.

I find my mother in the kitchen doing the dishes.

If his tasks could only be limited to the management of the manor, everything would be much simpler. But she has the art of perfection and won't bear to give up something that is out of place...

"Sofia!" How did your evening go? she asks when she sees me.

I roll up my sleeves and join her. It continues to lather as I rinse the porcelain in perfect rhythm.

- There were a lot of people but we provided for the service. If you had seen the reception hall, it was splendid. It didn't match the whimsy and extravagance of Billy Butchkavitz, but it was elegantly distinguished and almost perfect.

- Almost ? she resumes, laughing.

'Between us, they haven't delved into the theme enough. Each year, this event brings together more billions per square meter than the whole country could contain. You realize ? They all forget their transactions and their affairs for an evening. It's as if the Earth stopped spinning along with the global economy. The conflicts between them no longer exist and I think the symbolism could have been much stronger thanks to the masks.

A laugh escapes her and she turns to me with a hint of admiration.

- If there is a person made to succeed in what she undertakes, it is you my dear.

His compliment touches me so deeply that the blush rises to my cheeks.

- It's good that you have found this work for tonight. The money will be used to finance your school, she continues, resuming her task.

- Yes.

As she bends down to grab a utensil, I see her fingers tighten around the sink. She wobbles noticeably before recovering.

"Mom, you shouldn't be standing this long. You know what the doctor said about your blood pressure.

- It's good sweetie. I have to work, it will pass.

You see ? No matter how much you say, you can't live happily without money. It is a fact.

- I'll finish, you should go.

- You worked all evening Sofia, it is you who should rest.

“You all day, Mom. I won't let you touch one more plate, I retort, snatching the sponge from his hands.

“You are a lovely girl, you know that?

She leans over to gently kiss my forehead.

- I know. Now go before I hunt you!

"I'll wait for you at home," she finally gave up.

She takes off her apron and leaves the room hesitantly. A second later, I hear a noise near the door. I turn to tell him to leave but I find Dan approaching.

"Is your mother gone?" he asks questioned.

“She felt bad.

I finish rinsing the last dishes while he resumes:

“She should ask my father for time off, or for extra staff if needed. I'm sure he'll understand, he's just been away so often he doesn't have time to notice his condition.

- I also suggested but she flatly refuses. She can be so stubborn at times...

- I see. I'll say a word to him, he finally said.

“Thank you, Dan.

- Please, you know that I like your mother very much. She was always there for me when we were young.

He grabs the glasses on the edge of the sink and begins to wipe them to put them away. I give him a grateful smile.

- How was your service? he asks, meeting my gaze.

“Exhausting,” I sigh.

I wouldn't venture to give more details since I was busy elsewhere...

- A masked ball. I have never seen a cornier theme, they have outdone themselves this year.

His comment makes me laugh. That's pure Dan.

- I grant you, it's pretty cliché. But it's fun not knowing someone's identity when they're right in front of you...

“It's more stupid than funny. Why wouldn't you wanna know who's standing in front of you?

- I do not know, the mystery I guess. It's the same suspense that keeps us spellbound in front of a work by Hitchcock.

- You really detect art wherever it is, he whispers.

I smile appreciating his reply as the most beautiful of compliments.

In reality, it is not complicated. Open your eyes carefully and look around you. Where you see luxury, you will find art. Because something luxurious doesn't have to be useful to exist, it just has to be beautiful.

Isn't that the definition of art? The expression of an aesthetic ideal, however subjective it may be?

And yes my dear friends, you will have understood it: luxury alone is enough to elevate an object to the rank of masterpiece, monument or jewel...

We finish tidying up together and I finally leave the place about ten minutes later.

I reach the house annexed to the Harris estate and guess my mother's presence by the light in the living room. Home is actually a big word. We are approaching above all a small T3 with a living room, a kitchen bar and two bedrooms. Mine also serves as a sewing workshop during my free time.

I find my outfit for the evening and take a photo to put it up for sale.

In a few minutes, I already receive the notification of an interested person. I'm going to be able to pay that money back pretty quickly in the end. Entering a world of wealth is quite a big investment, believe me.

I get up and go back to my bag to look for the number of the mysterious CEO. I take out the invitation card. It's time to contact my dear stranger.

Hmm... We'll call him Mr. M for Mr. Millionaire, so I don't have to use all the synonyms for the word “mysterious”.

How to initiate the conversation?

I opt instead for a message so as not to disturb him, and then he does not yet know my number on his side. He seems to like my guarantor, so I'll avoid boat phrases.

Which ends up giving:

- Good evening, I'm the stylist who passed the job interview on the roof.

Don't judge me, I'm really not good at initiating conversations. Usually I always manage to not have to say the first word.

A few seconds pass when a short ringtone sounds from my phone.

— Rarely have I had such pleasant interviews.

"You had a good postulant," I said.

- Are you available next Wednesday?

I lied a lot less during this reception than you might think: I'm going to my brand new fashion school this year. The program doesn't start for two months, which leaves me precisely eight weeks to complete my plan.

Too short you say?

Think again, it's perfect. In this sphere, we do not get over time what they are not ready to give us immediately.

In three words:

- I'm free.

- Perfect. I will send you the address the day before.

Everything seems to be going perfectly. I may finally discover the mysterious identity of my Mr. M.

At the same time, being her stylist will give me access to a certain amount of information that may also prove useful. I just have to find the best way to slip from a strictly professional relationship to an intimate relationship.

A new notification concerns me. It comes this time from my Instagram, the fake of course.

My thread embodies perfection in the superficial world of social networking. Cheerfully retouched photos of landscapes or clothes, without showing my face once, of English monuments...

And now Tiffany has just been added to my list of subscribers. It's as if my popularity had just been propelled with the help of a particle cannon.

When I open the app, I see a private message from him:

- How about a brunch together?

The mere fact that she remembered my name and took the time to find me on the internet surprised me, but there it was a miracle. What a wonderful idea I had by creating this fake account.

- I would be delighted.

- GOOD. Tuesday 10 am, we will meet at the Plaza.

When she says Plaza, she means Plaza Athénée, renowned for its gourmet and balanced gastronomy, "Healthy" and "Home made" as customs require today. By the way, a simple basket of croissants brings them fifty fucking euros.

Another detail: Tiffany has taste.

It will be useless to put counterfeit or ready-to-wear chain. You can't fool an eye that isn't blinded by the brilliance of a sapphire: the seams, the fabric, the pattern... everything will betray you.

Do you see where I'm coming from?

A good old afternoon of shopping, of course.

The majority of luxury boutiques practice the “satisfied or reimbursed” approach, which is a godsend for me. The money earned during this evening will be useful to me much faster than expected after all. Then, it will be enough to hide the label well!