When I catch up, she says, “You may be a star on the field now, but someday that currency will be worthless. Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Your first impression is also your last impression’?”
“Do you meanalasting impression?” I correct, wondering if something was lost in translation.
“No, I mean if you don’t make a good first impression, that will be the one and only you have the opportunity to make. In other words, your first and last impressions are the same because your opportunity, whatever it may be, will end there if you do not make a good impression.”
Nope. She has full mastery over my native tongue. Nothing wrong with her English. Who is this woman and why does she make me think so much?
“If you want a future and some amount of longevity, I recommend cultivating your character now. Create a polished and professional public image, including media, networking, and so on.”
A spike of rebellion shoots through me. “What if I don’t want to?”
“It’s your life.”
I stop myself from flinching. I’ve heard those words before. My father always told me it was my life. I could throw it away or throw down and do better. I pushed myself when all I wanted to shout back was,It is my life and you’re not going to tell me what to do. Yet, here I am anyway, a star player...
The memories shake me and I steady myself on the windowsill.
If Cateline notices, she spares my dignity. Waiting in front of an open door, she gestures for me to enter. “This is where you’ll be staying, Mr. Wolfe.”
“You can call me Wolf.” I have to get my head back in the game. There is something about her, Concordia, or who-knows-what that threatens to shift something inside of me.
“In this setting, I will address you as Mr. Wolfe. Or if you prefer, I can use your given name.”
I muster, summoning all my plays and calling on the alpha inside, the swagger that I effortlessly carry. “I’ve never dated a chick long enough to call me by my first name.”
She snorts. “That’s because you don’t know how to treat a lady.”
“Maybe you could show me.”And I’m back!The flirt. The wolf.
“To be clear, I’m not interested.” She presses her lips into a thin line.
“Maybe I could persuade you.”
Given the strained look across her brow, were she not an etiquette coach, she’d have rolled her eyes or slapped me on the cheek. “No, Mr. Wolfe. I will not be swayed.”
“The name Mr. Wolfe belongs to my father. My friends call me Wolf.”
“My friends call me Cate. You are not myami.”
There she goes with that French again, rattling me from within. “Amour?”
“Non, ami. It means friend.Amouris something else. Something I don’t imagine you are familiar with.”
With her tossing those words around, I glaze over, enchanted. That slap would come in handy right now.
“Catline Burger,” I say, butchering her name...maybe on purpose, because I can’t let myself go down this enchanting, flower-strewn path.
“Berghier,” she corrects.
“Burger. I could go for one right now, grilled rare, juicy.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I preferfilet mignon avec pommes frites.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“Steak and fries. But Mr. Wolfe, I’m what you call a slow cooker.”
“A Crock-Pot?”
