Everly sits up straighter as if preparing for the task ahead.
“We’ll have our hands full, that’s for sure.” She passes us their introduction packets with background information and the standard questionnaire.
Everly takes hers and the ring on her finger flashes. Looks like she already found her Mr. Right. Cecil’s comment about getting married echoes in my mind along with Lady Libby the Love Liasson’s quest for me to land a husband and her request that it be Chase.
But I can’t get lost in my thoughts right now. During stressful times, the rule is to remain focused. New students arrive today and I have to be on my toes.
“Ladies, I’ve heard the term, insta-love, but I never experienced insta-hate.”
“Never?” I ask, then give them a quick bio on Marlow.
Cate nods like she’s come across mean girls before. “As I was saying, I have a feeling working with these boys is going to cause widespread insta-hate. Keep your wits about you. Be on alert. They’re pranksters. Don’t let them?—”
“Don’t worry, I can promise we will not be experiencing insta-love.” I shake my head. “Or confusion about crushes.” I’m only twenty minutes into my workday and already lost my brain-mouth connection. I must not have recuperated from the weekend.
“No, ma’am, madam, er, should we call you Miss Berghier, Cateline, or—?” Everly asks as if suddenly nervous.
She organizes a stack of papers. “You can call me Cate.”
“Does anyone call you Cat?” I ask.
“Just my enemies.” The words have force behind them, and I’d venture to say a story too, but that’s for girls’ night, next time Gemma sends her kids to their grandmother’s house.
I finish my pastry, feeling the fog and fluster from earlier clearing at last. I gather the folder containing the new student profile and head to the appointed meeting room.
I’m going to be punctual and prepared. Ordinarily, I’d have had several weeks to review the case file for a new client and prepare a lesson plan from the core curriculum at Blancbourg, but these guys came last minute.
My lists and rules help me stay organized and on track. It isn’t that my mind is cluttered, but I’m easily distracted. Learning about how my mind works has made a world of difference and has the side benefit of realizing that not everyone’s brain is wired the same, so I’m now able to apply that knowledge to my clients when necessary.
I step into the room with clear-headed confidence. Although my glasses are smudged again from my pastry-dusted fingers and everything is slightly blurry. Either that or I need a new prescription.
I’m about to wipe them so I’ll be able to properly see who my new student is when the door at my back creaks open. Too late.
I turn around, a cheerful greeting at the ready, but my words take flight, bringing my thoughts with them.
Mouth silent. Head empty.
Because Chase fills the frame, looking striking in a pair of dark jeans and a Boston Bruiser’s T-shirt. It accentuates the expanse of his broad shoulders. His well-defined chest muscles stretch the cotton.
I blink a few times, wondering if I’m seeing things. I take off the glasses and look toward him. He’s a smudgy outline but remains a familiar figure. It’s definitely still him. I replace my glasses and he comes into focus once more.
My pulse races. “What are you doing here?” I drop my voice a register. “I’m not supposed to have guests when I’m on the clock.”
“I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Then how did you—?” My thoughts fog once again. “I apologize for not replying to your text. There was a situation with Chompy the Swamp King and then I lost one of my contacts. I stopped at the bakery for fortification. I was starved and running late, so I didn’t have a chance to get back to you. But I’m really sorry that my mother was being so insistent. That was embarrassing, to say the least, and I understand if you want to make it clear that nothing?—”
His lips hint with a grin. “Pippa, you’re rambling.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry about anything. I like it.” Chase activates his eye-smolder powers.
“Then why’d you point it out?”
“Because people often ramble when they’re nervous and I don’t want you to feel nervous around me.” Now, it’s his lips that do the smoldering.
I frown. “I can never be sure if you’re going to ruffle my hair and call me kiddo?—”
