Chapter 11 Maggie #2
Granted, Declan is as sweet (and salty) as can be.
We have a friendship that involves teasing and the occasional prank.
He’s never been anything other than a gentleman to me, but I can only imagine the torment he’s caused his teammates, never mind the women he dates.
Then again, they line up to be with him, so perhaps there’s another side to Declan Printz that I don’t know.
The notion causes me to stagger back onto the firm silk sofa.
Casting those silly notions aside, Take two.
A book titled A Guide to Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette, along with a white card outlining my schedule for the week, sits on the coffee table.
I flip through the book first, learning more about my role, appropriate attire, and tips for dealing with various personalities.
The book also explains each of the lessons I’m to conduct, starting with Dinner Table Dynamics tonight.
Thank goodness, because otherwise, I’d have no idea where to begin, other than with Declan cleaning up his beard.
Cinderella’s bluebirds could build a nest in there.
I consult the personality test we did earlier and match it with the key in the book, which offers strategies for dealing with and appealing to Declan’s type: alpha male.
Be direct
Show no fear
Don’t tolerate man-trums
Challenge him to work toward a goal
Calmly and clearly communicate
The takeaway? Remain best friends and nothing more, while pretending that we’re not friends and don’t know each other. Cue hysterical hyena laughter, because that is turning out to be easier said than done.
I hang his tailored jacket on a chair and shower, then dress.
Most of my clothing is better suited to the Florida heat and humidity than Concordia’s relatively mild weather.
I don’t have the funds to go shopping and buy a new wardrobe.
A pair of simple black pants from when I waited tables and a white blouse with pink polka dots will have to suffice.
Giselle had given it to me when I had to go to an event at my old job.
Never mind a clothes horse, the woman is a clothes elephant.
I slide on a pair of black patent leather heels to complete the look.
Declan’s comment about cooling off reminds me of what the creepy kid said when he pulled me into the fountain.
At first, embarrassment crushes me because there’s no doubt Declan saw the viral video.
He lives for that stuff. He’s probably already hatching a plan to capitalize on it because we’re the kind of friends who poke fun at each other.
Back in high school, he perpetually had pillow creases on his face when he’d come to first period and I’d tease him about it.
I didn’t come away unscathed because he’d comment about my cow eyes.
He claimed it’s because they’re big. I don’t know about in Ireland, but telling a girl she has a cow-anything isn’t too kind.
But then the embarrassment reverses, blazing through me and lighting me up with determination.
I’ve cooled off, alright. After the shock of reuniting with him and the fear that he’ll recognize me from the viral video, my demeanor bordered on frosty. But that’s what I need to do to keep our friendship from interfering with this job.
After getting ready, I take a cue from Cateline, and march into the hall, ready for war.
I follow a raucous round of laughter coming from somewhere in the vast building, hoping it will lead me to the Seaview dining room where I’m supposed to meet Declan. I take a few wrong turns but eventually find my way with a minute to spare.
A long table with enough space to seat at least twelve people spans the center of the room.
A fireplace is on one wall with a massive oil painting over the mantle, depicting an old-fashioned man—or is it a woman?
I can’t tell with the big curly wig and waistcoat.
Windows fill the other wall. In the distance, the sun has nearly set over the sea, painting the room in muted golden light.
I’ve only seen a bit of Concordia so far, but love it. It has everything from mountains to ocean, a city, towns, villages, and the countryside.
The grandfather clock chimes. Candles flicker. My thoughts carry from the romance of this setting to why I’m here. I have a job to do, and Declan is late. Not surprising given his grand entrance.
I have to compartmentalize the Declan I knew and the rich and famous, entitled guy he’s likely become. I imagine the first big paycheck he got came with the stipulation that he value his time above that of other people. Typical. My parents are like that, too.
A server brings me water and then hangs back, the picture of a wallflower. Much like I’ve been most of my life. But isn’t that what I want? Not to be noticed? Then again, I don’t particularly want to be lonely or invisible either...and certainly not stood up for the first official lesson.
I study the place settings, reviewing what I’ll need to teach this jock when, at last, the door swings open.
Declan enters as raucous cheering fills the room like at a football game.
There is a pause, then it sounds a second time and I think I hear them chanting his last name. Printz, Printz, Printz.
This is a new level of ego mania, even for him.
Declan pauses, pulls his phone from his pocket, and clicks it off. We have the same plain black protective phone case—the kind people have who frequently break their phone or can’t afford to replace it if it breaks.
But there is a notable difference to bring to his attention. “Your ringtone is the sound of a cheering crowd?”
“Good evening to you, too,” he says with a wry smile.
I catch my blunder. No way can I successfully coach him in etiquette if the first thing out of my mouth are words of criticism.
I square my shoulders. “Good evening, Mr. Printz. Thank you for taking the time to join me for dinner. In the future, please be punctual.”
Declan drops heavily into the chair. “Ah, yes, dinner at seven and dash out the door before twelve so no one risks turning into a pumpkin. Got it.”
Once again, his phone erupts with raucous cheering. I glance down at mine as it vibrates. When I see the name scroll across the screen, I hurry from the room.