of particular interest to them. You began in the vineyard and worked your way to the hospitality arm of the business, according to your resumé.’
My highly inflated resumé that I know Amber and Byron (and their HR team) will help me pull off. I picked grapes, waited tables, and worked the cellar door. None of it was groundbreaking career stuff, but I’m not about to admit so now.
‘Ah, yes, well. The Phillips team believe that in order to understand the wine, you have to have an understanding of the land. They take a . . . holistic approach to education and employment.’
Please don’t ask me what that means.
‘I believe you also worked as a trainee manager in a motel chain after graduating college.’ She says “motel” as I imagine she would say “used condom”.
‘Yes, I did. Well, a mid-priced hotel chain, actually.’ Slave labour by any other name is just the same.
‘And now you work in hospitality as a waitress, I believe.’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’ If you look at it through cataracts. I might have also fudged my resumé a little here by listing the name of the holding company that owns the club, rather than the club itself. I also didn’t include their details under the reference section.
But really, who is going to admit to working in a strip joint while looking for a corporate position?
Yes, I was vice president of the booty shorts, and my boobs are boner-fide marketing materials.
‘Wonderful. Well, when can you come in and sign the paperwork for your visa and such?’
‘Visa?’
‘You did say you were willing to relocate for a position.’
‘Well, yeah but, as I understood, you deal with employment here in the States.’
‘Goodness, no. ESR is an American subsidiary of a worldwide company. In fact, our headquarters are in France.’
‘France?’
‘Yes, which is exactly where the position is.’
My stomach twists. This cannot be another of Remy’s gifts.
‘But I don’t speak French.’
‘Knowledge of the language isn’t necessary for the role. You’ll be working with an English-speaking team and taking care of the needs of the English-speaking guests, on the whole. After all, English is the language of business there.’
‘English is the business language in France?’ Horseshit. I may not know much, but I do know the French speak French in their own country!
‘No, in the Principality of Monaco. You’ll be residing in France, on the Côte d’Azure, in fact, but you’ll spend a large portion of your working time in Monaco.’
Ooh la la!
9
Rose
June
Monaco. Visions of Grace Kelly and her European prince. Of casinos and Daniel Craig’s James Bond. Of endless sunny days, azure skies, of sand like sugar and a Mediterranean Sea.
Those were my impressions of Monaco without even seeing it. Not that I needed to see the place to agree to work there. I just needed to keep thinking of the zeros on the contract I’d signed in the offices of ESR the very next day. I can only imagine that the agent was promised a sizeable percentage of the finder’s fee because she actually sent a car to collect me, while also trying not to imagine what sort of a company would want to hire someone with an interview video like mine. But anything has got to be better than being poor and working at the Pussy Cat.
I gave notice on my apartment, gladly told Shaun, the shitty shift manager he could stick his job where the sun don’t shine, grabbed my ticket the agency couriered to me, and got on a plane to France. To the Côte d’Azure!
I’ll be working for Industries du Loup who, amongst other things, run a chain of hotels that cater to the rich and gorgeous. And let me tell you, Monaco is a place built for the demographic. Or maybe those demographics. As far as I can tell there are:
Those who are both rich and gorgeous; those blessed in looks and wealth.
Those who are rich and not so gorgeous; more often than not, rich and old.
Those who are just gorgeous; usually draped over the category above.
The city state is a tax haven for the super wealthy, a home for their multi-million-dollar real estate, their super yachts, and their model skinny wives and girlfriends. I’m sure there are uber-wealthy women out here, juggling their money and gigolo men friends, but these are not so visible, as far as I can tell.
Only the super-rich live in Monaco, along with a handful of Monegasques, or Monaco locals. The rest of the people who work there bus, drive, or train in over