Cateline starts down the hall, motioning for me to follow.
Note to self: pay attention and keep up with this woman.
“At the moment, we’re short-staffed, so you got lucky and will have a larger suite than what we normally offer new teachers.”
We make several turns down various halls and up flights of stairs. The building has a classic, palace-like feel with lots of rooms and accessways. I lose whatever remains of my sense of direction. At last, we stop in front of a door with a brass plaque that readsRegency Suite.
“Here we are.” Cateline opens the door. Late morning light floods the space. She gives me a second and appraising look in question now that we’re not in the dim hallway. “I take it you understand the importance of appearance at Blancbourg. I deduce that what we have here,” she gestures up and down my body, “is a result of you meeting your new client. Not surprising, given the bad-boy football players’ reputations. I want a full report on him. He may try to charm you or convince you not to be forthcoming in your evaluations, but I want every detail.” The glare of warning she gives could sever heads.
I clear my throat. “Sure thing. He was a beast of a man-child, but I have no doubt Blancbourg’s methods will get him in shipshape.” My voice cracks because my fib telling could use some work. Also, man-child, shipshape, who uses those terms? Oh, right, me. Little Miss Liar McLie-y Pants, who never met her client until today.
Cateline’s eyes flash. “Let me guess, a bucket of water over the door? Water pistols?”
I give a sheepish nod, feeling scrutinized and like I might get a scolding by association. I don’t want Declan to get into worse trouble, especially if Cateline is reporting to the commissioner.
“I’ve seen it all and will be keeping an eye on Mr. Printz. Please report to me if you need anything or if his behavior gets worse.” She practically growls.
“Of course. This is a lovely school and I’m honored to be here,” I say as if reading from Emily Post’s script of polite conversation. “Thank you.”
“It’s our pleasure and you have my apologies for not offering a formal orientation.” The grandfather clock chimes from downstairs. “I am running late, but I’ll quickly sum it up. You will start with coaching, practice, and then the application of our lessons. Since we’re dealing with football players, I recommend game-ifying it. While you want Mr. Printz to be a civilized human being and not a caveman, you want him to win. But remember, you are always playing offense. You want to be several steps ahead and plan preemptively.”
I would not want to see what this woman would do if I lose. “Oh, and most importantly, our lessons will culminate in The First Annual Boston Bruisers Charity Ball, where we will get these boys out of their sweats and into three-piece tuxes.” Cateline’s voice drops and turns breathy. “Have you ever seen a man of stature in a tuxedo? It’s a sight to behold.”
“I know—I can imagine.” I correct, because I recall Declan wearing a black and white suit with a bowtie at our private school’s prom. We didn’t go as friends but had other dates. Strangely, we ended up together that night anyway and went out for pizza, all dressed up, and in the rain. Then again, he’s certainly filled out with racks and racks of muscle since those days.
If I’m not mistaken, her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink. Mine too.
Strange, because it’s drafty here in the hallway outside the regency suite.
“That said, personal interactions with pupils are not tolerated and result in immediate termination. As for The First Annual Boston Bruisers Charity Ball, you might say it’s the big one. A Super Bowl of sorts. Details to come.”
I tread water, trying to keep up with all this information.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Byrne. Best wishes in the coming weeks. If you’ll excuse me, my new client is tardy. This shall be interesting,” she says, turning on her heel and storming down the hall as though preparing to go into battle.
Given the water guns and how confusion about Declan drenches me, I better gear up for a fight too.
11
MAGGIE
Ipush open the door to the Regency Suite to a furnished space with hardwood floors, woven rugs, and polished antiques.
I set my purse and Declan’s file on a table by the door. It tips off the side and the contents spill out. I gather all the papers and then take a moment and read the article before fastening Declan’s photo under the paperclip. I trace my finger along the bruise on his nose. Looks like a mug shot or like Cateline dragged him out of a cave, kicking and screaming.
“Once a Bruiser, always a Bruiser,” I mutter, referring to his team.
As I skim the rest of the file, which includes instructions for our meetings, I realize I have my work cut out for me. Not only as a teacher here at the academy, but in trying to keep up the façade that Declan and I don’t know each other. I almost slipped up back there in the hallway when I thought about Declan at prom.
We were truly just friends. There wasn’t a flicker of interest, even though I’ll admit, he looked—how should I put it? Declan wasdashingthat night. His date was lucky, but stupid when she ditched him to dance with Hugh Kennedy. Meanwhile, JasonWindover left me in the lurch to play poker and drink with his buddies. I have to admit, I had a better time with my best friend than during the boring dinner with Jason when he repeatedly checked his phone.
Cateline had a point about old George Washington.
“Oh, Declan, how on earth did we both end up here, together again?” I whisper.
How am I going to keep up this ruse of not knowing him, while trying to do a job that’s completely foreign, in another country, no less?
I slouch down and take in my surroundings. In addition to the living area, a small bedroom with a single bed and a tiny bathroom are on one side of the suite. It’s smaller than my apartment in Florida, but so far, no palmetto bugs and the climate control is pleasant.
