Page 4 of Everything About You

But this is the opposite of pomp and circumstance.

And even as I recall my expectations, I realize it was a bit pie-in-the-sky to imagine a bunch of chic and prestigious Parisians

fawning over an American eighteen-year-old guy who can’t even speak their language.

We are let out of the stairwell onto the third floor. I’ve seen these bustling and glamorous offices in a couple of documentaries

now, so walking by the bright white reception desk, in front of the wall with the black serif Maison Dauphine Paris logo,

feels like walking through a movie set. It’s unreal.

“Bonjour.” The receptionist greets Rhodes specifically, but her eyes do dart to meet mine for a split second.

“ Bonjour ,” Rhodes and I say at the same time. His is more elegant than mine, and his voice goes up at the end more casually than mine,

so while I’m embarrassed, I’m slightly grateful that it masked my own weak French.

Fuck, Milo. You can’t even say bonjour right .

We take a left down a long hallway of offices behind floor-to-ceiling glass panels. Runway photos are printed and pinned to

boards. In some offices, fabrics are stacked on lacquer desks, and in others, various products like perfume bottles and compacts

are lined on cabinets and shelves.

All the employees, mostly in all black or dark gray, have their eyes on Rhodes as we make our way down the corridor.

The glamour of this place distracts me from the fact that nobody cares I’m here.

I’m walking the same hallway as the founder, Renard Florin.

Or the famous Three Ps—the last three creative directors of Maison Dauphine, Philippa, Pierre, and Pascal.

Pascal currently acts as the genius behind the brand.

Honestly, I can’t even begin to imagine the absolute legendary greatness that has graced this hallway.

We push through a pair of double doors at the end of the corridor, and when Yvette pulls them open, we’re welcomed into a

square room fully lined with built-in closets. Fabrics of all sorts are tucked in so tightly, it’s almost a surprise there

aren’t cracks in the foundation. Taffeta, silk, satin, tweed, sequins, sparkles, tulle—it’s like an explosion of seasons and

seasons of Maison Dauphine. Thanks to my hours of research, a quick scan tells me these garments are all sorted in order,

by show and by look.

Above the garments, there are bags and sunglasses and random stacks of jewelry, while shoes are displayed below the garments.

It’s a mix of perfect organization and some clear improvisation: Some of the shoes are paired neatly together, some are in

plastic, some are in dust bags. It’s not quite clear how this chaos is controlled, but it seems carefully maintained.

In the middle of the room, there are two wooden Parsons tables, connected to form one long desk, with Macs and expensive-looking

cups full of expensive-looking pens. There are, of course, less expensive-looking highlighters and pencils and measuring tools

scattered about on the ends of the desks, atop printouts and magazines.

“This is our main PR closet,” Yvette says. “These are the sample garments. Mostly used for magazines or editorial shoots—sometimes for display at events or even to be loaned out for our VIPs for red carpets, things of that nature. These garments must be kept in pristine condition.”

I want to say something, to try and earn a smile or even a tiny, minimal nod of approval, but I don’t. I stay quiet, studying

the room.

Yvette opens a closet door on the far-left side of the room. “Here are supplies. We use only Maison Dauphine garment bags

or our premium shopping totes to send accessories. Magazines and agencies should know to never send back samples in their

own bags, but if they do, let us know quickly. We like to keep a standard.

“Most of the time they will send a representative to pick up garments,” she adds. “We do not like them to use messenger services.

Regardless of season or demand, no Maison Dauphine is any less exclusive in the eyes of the house. All pieces should be treated

as if they are”—she eyes me—“the Mona Lisa .”

I straighten up. I think that was a slight dig at me because I’m an American and she thinks that’s the only way I could understand.

I nod.

Yvette shuts the closet door and takes a step toward the desk. “And this is where you’ll be working. Milo, your computer is

on the right, and Rhodes, yours is on the left.”

We nod.

“I hire good people, so I let them do their jobs. Meaning I’d rather not micromanage. I will let you determine how you divide

tasks, unless it becomes an issue, which I trust it will not.”

Rhodes smiles. “Of course not.”

I agree. “No issues.”

“Any other questions?” Yvette sighs, passing us and heading back toward the double doors.

I rack my brain. “Well, I was just wondering... do you think we will have any opportunities to network or share ideas or...?”

Yvette raises a brow. “To network ? Or share ideas? Milo, it’s day one. Let’s just make sure our external requests are all handled, first and foremost. Once

you two are proficient, we could perhaps begin to assess opportunities for growth. I will be as forward as possible about

this, however... Maison Dauphine has the highest of standards, and we expect all representatives of the house to maintain

and progress those standards. Simply doing your job will be the bare minimum expectation.”

Rhodes doesn’t look intimidated by this at all, but the severity in her tone kind of makes me want to hurl my grapefruit juice

all over the closet.

I told Celeste I wouldn’t go in guns blazing, and I already have annoyed Yvette.

“We are in the final stages of preparation for our resort show, which I’m sure you know takes place in three weeks. It’s a

bit later than in previous years, but this has only seemed to drum up excitement.”

The resort show is one of the things I’m looking forward to the most. In addition to the spring/summer and fall/winter shows

every year, many big designers show a cruise or resort line. Resort wear is a huge trend in the market for competitors like

Dior, Chanel, and Saint Laurent, and Maison Dauphine always makes a splash.

“So, until then,” Yvette says, “there will be absolutely no time for ‘networking’ or ‘sharing ideas.’ I must insist that you do not attempt to distract any employees in the meantime. Is this understood?”

I nod. “Of course. I would never want to distract anyone. I know how important the resort collection is.”

Our computers make a dinging noise, and Yvette gestures toward them. “That’ll be your email. Seems the day has begun, boys.”