It was like a grown-up girl's version of the best toy shop in the world. I scrolled through page after page checking out images of sexy guys-no wonder the agency called itself Adonis. I looked at the rates. Okay, $1,000 an hour was pretty steep, but I was blowing a grand on my dress, and with the bonus I'd just received, I could afford it.

I narrowed my choices down to a final three. There was Marlon, a gorgeous black model with cheekbones that could cut glass, whose photo was from an ad campaign I'd seen in magazines. I turned him down, though; if I recognized him from his modeling work, maybe others would, too. Next came Paul, a dirty-blond surfer type who was a fireman four days a week. Physically, he was more my type than anyone else on the site, but, as higher education was missing from his CV, I'm afraid the snob in me turned him down. The company ball is an event demanding a gentleman who can talk confidently about books, art, and culture. And then there was Olivier, a French-born, Manhattan-living PhD student who, his blurb said, worked as an escort so he could enjoy a good standard of living and still follow his academic pursuit of archeology. His underwear shot showed that he had beauty as well as brains: his body was lean but muscular, and his black hair brushed his collarbone. As I looked at his picture I could just imagine what that hair would look like falling into his eyes. Yes, Olivier, I thought, zooming in to get a close-up of his impressive-looking manhood, you're the one.

I dialed the number on the screen and was put right through to an operator. I told her who had recommended me. "Ah, Jane, one of our best customers!" she said brightly. "Do say hello to her from me, and let her know we've got some great new guys she might want to meet." I heard her fingers click on the keyboard as she checked Olivier's availability for the next Friday night. "You're in luck," she said. "He's free for a booking. Would you like to proceed?"