Day one with Neomi Winters nearly broke me."You walk like a peasant," she snapped, watching me cross the living room for the twentieth time. "Lead with your hips, not your shoulders. And for God's sake, stop looking at your feet."I’ll punch her face, I thought after the twentieth time. But I didn’t.I tried again, wobbling in the four-inch heels she'd forced me into at seven in the morning."Better. Marginally." She made a note on her tablet. "Again."By day three, my feet were covered in blisters and my back ached from holding perfect posture for eight hours straight. Neomi was relentless, drilling me on which fork to use for salad versus fish, how to hold a wine glass, the proper way to greet someone based on their social standing.Turner was always there, a silent presence in the corner of whatever room we were working in. At first, his constant surveillance made me nervous. But after Neomi made me practice introducing myself to imaginary dignitaries for two hours straight, I sta
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