by Ellie Hall
The thing was, she stared back and not at all intimidated or tripping over his brawn and fame like so many of his female fans.
“Hey, that’s my phone,” he said, belatedly reaching for it and breaking the impasse.
She held it out of his grasp and turned it off.
He leaned forward and could have easily encircled her with his arms. When he was a kid, he was lanky, rangy. All arms, elbows, and legs. He’d since grown into his six and a half feet, filled out with rock hard muscle, and wasn’t above using it when he had to or when he wanted to. When it came to women that meant flexing and giving them something to drool over.
“Give it back,” he said like a petulant child because that was the response her unrelenting stare and grip on his device prompted.
She inclined her head and her gaze sharpened as though shocked he’d make a demand like that.
“Don’t make me get up,” he said, rising to his feet.
He towered over her.
She had to hinge her head back to meet his eyes.
His lips quirked with a tease, an invitation.
It wasn’t that he wanted to frighten her. He wanted to get closer, to see how she’d react. If she was interested, the month at the school could prove to be pleasant.
He tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and turned up the volume on his swagger by one increment. That was usually all it took for a woman to fall into his arms.
Her nostrils flared. Otherwise, she didn’t move a muscle.
Another moment passed. A stand-off. Both vying for the alpha position. Who was the pack leader?
“Sit down,” she commanded.
She was feisty...
As he gazed hard at her, he held his hand out for her to pass the phone back to him.
Fearlessly, relentlessly, she held his gaze but ignored his wordless request.
When she didn’t return the phone, he brushed his hand along the few days of stubble he sported on his jaw and sat back down.
Wolfe rarely had to negotiate with a woman. In that situation, she held some power considering she could report to his coach that he was being disagreeable. He didn’t dare ruin anything for the other guys. He’d play along for now.
“No phone during lessons.” Her voice was low, smoky, and accented, but he couldn’t identify where she was from. It was almost harsh and guttural to his smooth southern drawl.
“What do I have to do to make you give me back my phone?”
“You may have your phone back at the end of our session.”
“And why is that?”
“My classroom, my rules. The phone is a distraction. When you are in here, your focus is on me and our lessons.”
...And she was angsty.
He liked it.
He didn’t mind the idea of focusing on her too much—at least when she wasn’t being a shrew. He knew the thought made him seem like a jerk—maybe he was—but he was well aware that if he let a woman know he was a nice guy then she’d want more than a good time. Words like relationship and commitment made him squirm. That wasn’t something he was willing to do. Connor was a lone wolf and intended to stay that way.
He kicked his feet up on the table. If he couldn’t have his phone, he may as well be comfortable.
With surprising strength, she swept his feet to the floor.
“Sit up,” she commanded. “You are not a wet noodle.”
He was still slouching and fought against obeying her command—and laughter. She was cute when angry.
“I am your teacher. This is my classroom. You will listen to me and then do as I say.”
“In that case, your job is going to be difficult. My old teachers would tell you that I’m not a very good student.”
“No? You’ve never had me as your teacher. This is a school of etiquette, Mr. Wolfe. You are being evaluated and if I’m not mistaken, your career rides on you successfully completing this program. I recommend you listen and do as you’re told.”
“And if I don’t?” he asked.
A vein appeared on her forehead. She slowly lowered into the chair across from him and smoothed her navy-blue blazer. She blinked her black lashes a few times. Black and blue. Boston Bruisers colors.
“Do you listen to Coach Hammer, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back in the chair.
“Why do you do so?”
He temporarily lost focus as he gazed at her lips while she spoke.
She cleared her throat politely.
“What kind of question is that? Isn’t it obvious? Because I want to win.” And he always did.
“Why do you want to win?”
His eyebrows dipped and his lips twisted as he leaned forward. “Because I like to win.”
“Are you sure it isn’t because you don’t want to lose?” She placed the emphasis on the last four words.
He’d never quite thought of it that way before. She’d given him pause, not something that happened often.
She shook her head slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if she knew something that he didn’t.
“Listen carefully, Mr. Wolfe.” The way she said the word wolf, with a V sound instead of a W made him think of vampire movies he’d watched when he was a kid. Her red-stained lips made him think of blood. Despite his size, strength, and agility, there was something about her that made him shiver, but he brushed it off as he kicked his feet back onto the table.
In one swift motion, she was standing, walked around the table, and removed his feet. “No.” Her gaze held his. “What do you stand to lose if you fail this program?” she asked though it was more like a harsh reminder.
That wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Wolfe was the kind of person who acted first, thought later. Consequences rarely kept him from taking action. Moon-gate, as it had come to be known, the incident involving him, his teammates, and a harmless prank intended for the rookie, was a point of fact.
The word playbook came to mind and grew in volume in the exact tones of Declan’s, Chase’s, and Grey’s voices.
He didn’t want to screw up anything for the guys—or himself. If his father found out he was kicked off the team he could never face himself again. Connor’s success after years of failure meant everything to him. He wanted to win so he could hold his head high and face his father during his annual visit. His success was a gratifying sort of revenge after years of struggling to survive.
Connor sat up and squared his shoulders.
His new teacher returned to her seat. “Now that I have your attention, if it helps you, you may think of me as your personal coach. I am here to guide you, help you overhaul areas of your life, and teach you manners.”
“So no brawls?” he asked, unable to help himself. “No pranks?”
She didn’t say a word as if her silence was enough of a response. “We have an interview now, an evaluation at dinner, and then based on my findings, I will tailor a plan unique to you that we will review and perfect in the coming week. After that, we will be leaving the manor campus for real-life reform school where—”
“Freedom,” he said with a whoop.
“This isn’t a prison sentence so that is hardly the case. As I was saying, off-campus, I will be offering real-time coaching when you will be applying the lessons you learned to your life. You will be evaluated and if I find you have made sufficient progress in the various areas of aptitude, I will give your actual coach and commissioner my final review saying you passed. If not...”
He shrunk back into the chair. That didn’t sound fun at all. He’d rather do drills with his father. No, no he wouldn’t. “You’re all business, huh?”
“What else would I be?” She folded her hands one over the other in the picture of perfect poise.
He shrugged. “I guess I’m not used to women like you.”
“Women like me?” With the posture and grace of a dancer, she turned away as she spoke. If Connor wasn’t mistaken, he detected a faint smile.
He wondered what it
would take to coax another one out of her. Then he checked himself. He wasn’t the kind of guy to get a woman to smile. They’d get accustomed to that rosy-glow-grin and come back for more. He preferred one and done. It was safer and smarter to keep her expression dialed to a stern scowl.
She opened a file, reviewing a few items. After she asked him numerous questions, mostly about his education, career, and lifestyle she closed the folder and stared at him crossly.
It took everything in him not to ask her what her problem was. Connor was used to women flirting and being more than willing to have a good time with him. He met her glower with one of his own.
The moment stretched longer than was comfortable. If he wasn’t mistaken, they’d entered a staring contest. He’d been conditioned for years—as far back as he could remember—to endure. That was what made him so good at football. He was persistent. Relentless. He could outlift, out-press, and out-run any of the other guys—even Grey who was the most focused on the field. The guy could catch a pass with his eyes closed—it was like he and the ball were one. Chase was a faster runner, but Connor had endurance. Also, Declan had the agility of a mountain cat. He was big, strong, and could turn on a dime.
Lost in thoughts about the guys, Connor blinked, losing the contest.
It stung just as it always had any time he was deemed not good enough. His father made the consequences of his inadequacy clear. Perhaps what he’d endured as a kid was all he could take, making him forgo thought of repercussions for misbehaving as an adult.
“What position do you play, Mr. Wolfe?” It was like she’d read his mind, but thankfully not the part about his weakness.
“Safety.”
She cocked one manicured eyebrow. “Explain that to me.”
He leaned his forearms on the table and folded his hands. He could talk game all day. “I run the defense and lead the team in tackles. In other words, no one gets by me.”
“Interesting.”
“Are you a football fan?” Usually, women were more interested in the players than the game.
“Not in the slightest.”
At least she was honest.
Her gaze slid across him, seared him. “I am not a football fan and so far, nor am I a fan of its athletes. I invite you to change my mind.” Her accent was infuriating and alluring at the same time. Or perhaps it was her choice of words.
“Will I still be able to do my workouts while I’m here?” he asked.
Her eyes flitted to his arm muscles, permanently toned. Her gaze lingered a moment too long and she pressed her lips together as though trying to suppress a smile.
Ah ha. Perhaps he discovered her kryptonite. Man muscle. Was she admiring him? Oh, he’d maximize his assets if he had to in order to win at this game. She may not like football or the players, but if he wasn’t mistaken, she wasn’t revolted by him. Perhaps quite the opposite.
“To answer your question, yes, you will still conduct your workouts.” She cleared her throat. “Typically, we will have lessons in the morning and training later in the afternoon. Coach Hammer arranged for the premier trainer in the country to meet with you.” She got to her feet. “Now, I will give you a tour of the school. If you’d follow me please.” She passed him his phone.
He turned it on and a series of dings, beeps, and notifications erupted in an obnoxious symphony of sound. Connor’s ears heated as he awaited her admonishment.
“I expect not to hear that again.”
They entered the hallway and she formally introduced him to the Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia, giving him 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 about ten years ago. “We were looking to expand, but—” She stopped what she was saying. “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.”
His phone pinged as if on cue.
“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 paused in the hallway and her eyes raked over him from head to toe. “Appearance. It matters.”
He wore jeans and a black and blue Boston Bruisers hoodie. Typical day off gear. He wasn’t sure if she liked what she saw or not. He couldn’t read her at all.
They’d reached the end of a hall that had doors on either side for various meetings and classrooms, which she called salons and parlors along with an actual salon for grooming. There was also a gym.
“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.”
The décor consisted of polished antiques, wood, brass, and glass. It was like a museum with displays and paintings that the patrons weren’t allowed to touch. Except there weren’t any signs or velvet ropes to keep people from the valuables. He supposed, since it was a school of etiquette, everyone would know better.
She climbed a set of stairs, putting surprisingly strong muscles on display. He liked what he saw. At the top, she stopped in front of a window and gazed at a panorama of the city, sea, and mountains. It was beautiful.
He turned and his thoughts skipped from the scenery to her as the natural light highlighted her features. A charge vibrated under his skin—and it wasn’t his phone. He’d turned it off as instructed. It was his new teacher. Ordinarily, he didn’t bother to ask a woman her name. He preferred to call them babe—less of a chance to make a mistake or mix them up. He wanted to know but fought against the urge.
A different question came out of his mouth. “Why will I need all of these lessons?”
“The aim of etiquette is to make people feel comfortable in one’s presence, to demonstrate the ability to be relied upon, and to know how to conduct oneself in any given situation.”
“I’m not the kind of guy who goes to high tea very often.” In fact, he was a long way from his humble beginnings in the backwoods of North Carolina.
Had she been any other woman he’d ever met, she would’ve giggled. Instead, she looked him up and down and never had he felt so exposed—like she knew the truth of who he was.
He shifted from foot to foot.
“That is clear, Mr. Wolfe. But when a person knows how to handle themselves with comportment at high tea, at professional engagements, in front of peers and everyone else along the spectrum, it translates to all areas of their lives. They become stronger, they become an influencer, a leader. You said you play safety, yes?”
He nodded.
“When I do my job, I make you feel safe. When you achieve competence in the areas I outlined, you make other people feel safe. Do you understand?”
A dark thought entered Connor’s mind. He’d never felt safe. Not until he’d left home. His father’s anger and pressure kept him on edge. Maybe he still was because she made him feel the opposite of safe. It was like she was bringing everything he’d hidden deep inside to the surface in the form of feelings he’d rarely, if ever, let himself feel.
Her eyes pinched at the corners as though, once again, reading his mind. But that wasn’t possible. Maybe she sensed that he didn’t buy it. He’d already made himself big, strong, and indomitable. He was a star player for the greatest team in the football league’s history. Learning how to drink tea properly wasn’t going to change that.
“What about endorsements, Mr. Wolfe?”
“I have a few.”
“How long is the average career of a football player?” she asked.
“Three years if they get injured. Eight if they stay in good shape. Though Grey is defying all the odds. He’s in his forties.”
“You?”
“For as long as I can keep myself on the fi
eld.”
“What’s your plan after that?”
It was like she’d tossed a rock in a lake with his name on it and he felt a sinking feeling. He’d never thought about a plan for the future. Who was this woman and why did she make him think so much? Anytime he spent time with a woman it was for a good time. No thoughts just action. That’s what Wolf was known for.
“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 mean a lasting impression?” he corrected, wondering if she was having a hard time with English.
“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 will end there if it’s not a good impression.”
Nope. She had full mastery over Connor’s native tongue. Nothing wrong with her English.
“If you want a future and some amount of longevity, I recommend cultivating your character now. Make yourself a polished and professional public image including media, networking, and so on.”
A spike of rebellion shot through him. “What if I don’t want to?”
“It’s your life.”
He stopped himself from flinching. He’d heard those words before. His father had always told him it was his life, he could throw it away or throw down and do better. He’d pushed himself when all he’d wanted to shout back was it’s my life. But he’d never done it. He’d never made that mistake and replied to his father because he knew the consequences. He wanted to hang out with friends, have a girlfriend, and have fun in high school. Instead, he became a shell of an athlete. Same as he was at present.
The memories shook him and he steadied himself on the windowsill.
“Everything quite well, Mr. Wolfe?”
He hadn’t realized it, but she’d opened the door to a suite and gestured for him to enter.
“You can call me Wolf.” He had to get his head back in the game. There was something about her, Concordia, or who-knew-what that threatened to shift something inside of him.
