Definitely dancer legs. Strong. Lean. Beautiful.
If her reaction to my muscles is any indication, she sees the same in me. Though I’m big and brawny. One woman said my arms are like pythons. I test a flex to see if Cateline reacts.
Her throat bobs in her delicate neck when she swallows. “Mr. Wolfe, I will give you a tour of the school. If you’d please follow me.”
At the door, she passes me my phone. I turn it on and a series of dings, beeps, and notifications erupt in an obnoxious symphony of digital sound.
She spins around with lightning-fast reflexes. I half expect her to bear a set of sharp claws. Cat indeed. My ears heat as I await her admonishment.
“I expect not to hear that again.”
Stuffing it in my pocket, I say, “Yes, ma’am.”
We enter the hallway, and she formally introduces me to the Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia at Blancbourg Manor, giving me a brief historical overview.
“It had once served the royals of the country, then was opened as a private finishing school only available to the nation’s citizens before opening its doors to the global population less than ten years ago.”
While she speaks, I get lost in how her accent caresses the words and highlights the passion behind them. This place means something to her and a moment too late, I realize I’m lost in the hallway, having no idea where we are in relation to the meeting room.
“Are you leading me to a dungeon?”
“No, that’s beneath the west wing,” she says without a hint of irony.
I stiffen, then catch her subtle smile. There she goes again, saying something funny that’s at odds with her serious character.
“We were looking to expand our services, but have since had to consolidate, so it is only your team members and their respective coaches that are here at present—” She hesitates as if wanting to detour from that part of the conversation.
I also realize that even though this is a tour of the place where I’ll be living for the next while, she’s also probably evaluating me. Am I holding open doors? Allowing her to enter rooms first?
She seems like the kind of woman to notice everything, including my slight accent. I wasn’t joking, I thought it was among the many things I left behind when Appalachia spat me out. Apparently, I’m drawing out myOO’s and addingR’s where they don’t belong. I had better get that under control. Don’t get me wrong, I love those smoky blue mountains, but not the memories they hold.
Pulling me from my thoughts, Cateline continues, “Here, we offer image consulting, public relations, and social skills commonly known as etiquette. This will include digital etiquette, dining etiquette, social skills, modern manners, and more.”
My phone pings as if on cue.
“Please silence your device, Mr. Wolfe. When in the company of others, it is important to offer your full attention. You do not need the distraction of your latest like, follow, or update. In this program, I will teach you effective communication, leadership, and—” She pauses in the hallway and her eyes rake over me from head to toe. “Appearance. It matters.”
I’m wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. I left my blue Boston Bruisers hoodie with my luggage. Typical day-off gear.
Holding my hands aloft, I say, “I thought you liked what you saw.”
She blinks, as if forcing herself not to glance at my arms, my chest, or any of my muscles.
She turns on her heel and we reach the end of a hall with doors on either side for various meeting rooms and classrooms. She calls themsalonsandparlors,along with an actual salon for grooming.
I tug my long hair into a bun. Arguably, it looks like an eagle landed on my head and built a nest instead of the smooth bun she wears. Women typically praise my hair, but I’ve never been with one who also has a bun.
Cateline pauses outside the gym, outfitted with all the latest equipment and regular free weights on the far wall.
Arms crossed and stance wide, I survey the space. “This will suffice.”
“We also have a pool, recreation room, ballroom, and of course, the dining room. We will be meeting promptly at six p.m. this evening.”
“Like a date?”
From the back, her shoulders rise and fall on an exhale, as if disappointed or exasperated. I can’t tell. She turns around and says, “No, Mr. Wolfe, like a lesson. Dating between coaches and students is strictly prohibited. Moreover, I didn’t think you were the type to date. Rather, to conquer.”
“You know nothing of my conquests.”
