Operation: Make Him a Gentleman

CHAPTER 6: First Lesson: Walk And Posture

Cathy pulled out a legal pad. "The board of directors wants to hear about the future of Sterling. You need to give a five-minute address. I’ve drafted a beginning. Ladies and gentlemen, the legacy of my grandfather is not just in the steel we use, but the communities we build..."

"I'm not saying that," Casper interrupted. He picked up a strawberry and looked at it as if it were an alien heart. "It’s a lie. We don't build communities. We build tax havens. We build glass boxes where people go to forget they’re dying."

Cathy paused, her pen hovering over the paper. "That’s a very cynical view for a twenty-one-year-old."

"It’s a realistic view," Casper said. He finally bit into the strawberry. For a second, his expression softened. The sweetness seemed to catch him off guard.

"If I stand up there and talk about legacy, they’ll know I’m faking. Do they want a Sterling? Fine. But they aren't getting a puppet."

"Then tell them the truth," Cathy challenged. "Tell them you want to change what the company builds. Tell them you want to build libraries, or theaters, or... whatever it is you actually care about."

Casper laughed, a bitter, sharp sound.

"They don't want change. They want a face they can put on a brochure. If I tell them I want to build a museum for occult history, they’ll have me committed to a sanitarium before the appetizers are served."

He leaned forward, the yellow light of the table reflecting in his grey pupils.

"Why do you care, Cathy? Is it just the five hundred dollars? Or do you actually think you can save the lost boy?"

"I don't believe in saving people," Cathy said, meeting his gaze.

"I believe in people paying their rent. But I also believe that you’re too smart to let your aunt and a bunch of suits win just because you're too moody to put on a tie."

Cathy stood up and walked around the table. "Stand up."

Casper groaned. "I’m eating. This is real food, remember?"

"Stand up, Casper. Lesson one: The Handshake. You have the posture of a question mark. We need to turn you into an exclamation point."

Reluctantly, Casper stood. He was nearly a foot taller than her, a lanky, awkward height that he didn't seem to know how to manage.

"Hand out," Cathy commanded.

He extended his hand. It was cold, his fingers long and skeletal.

"No," Cathy said, swatting it away. "That’s a dead fish. You’re trying to tell them I am the heir to a billion-dollar empire, not I just touched something slimy.' Grip my hand. Firm. Look me in the eye. Don't look at the floor, don't look at my shoulder. My eyes."

Casper took a deep breath. He reached out again. This time, his grip was too firm. He squeezed her hand, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that felt like a challenge.

"Better," Cathy whispered, though her heart had skipped a beat.

"Now, say Good evening, I'm Casper Sterling.'"

Casper leaned in, his face inches from hers, mimicking the way she had stood her ground the day before.

"Good evening," he whispered, his voice low and vibrating with a strange energy. "I'm Casper Sterling. And I think you’re in over your head."

The air in the room seemed to thicken. For a moment, the lamps flickered. But Cathy didn't look away.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Sterling," Cathy said, her voice unshaken.

She pulled her hand back, a faint tingle still lingering where his cold fingers had gripped hers.

"Now, let’s talk about your walk. You don't drift into a ballroom. You march. You project confidence. Imagine you’re walking into a room full of people who are desperate for your approval, not avoiding a pack of angry wolves."

Casper groaned, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "But I am avoiding a pack of angry wolves. They’re called shareholders and board members, and they all smell faintly of desperation and stale cologne."

"Humor me," Cathy insisted, gesturing to the expanse of the dining room.

"Walk from the door to the head of the table. Head up. Shoulders back. Imagine a string pulling you from the crown of your head."

Casper sighed dramatically, a theatrical sound that echoed in the brightly lit room. He shuffled back to the door, his posture still a question mark. He took a deep, visible breath, as if bracing himself for a dive into icy water. Then, he began to walk.

It was less a march and more a reluctant shuffle. His shoulders remained hunched, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor, as if he expected a trap door to open at any moment. He moved like a puppet with tangled strings, his long limbs appearing disconnected and unwieldy. He reached the table and slumped against it, looking utterly miserable.

"No," Cathy said, shaking her head.

"That was... the walk of a man expecting to be arrested. Try again. This time, imagine you’re wearing a suit that costs more than my car. You own the room. You own the company. You are Casper Sterling, and you are here to take what is yours," Casper scoffed.

"I don't want what is mine. I want to be left alone."

"Then pretend," Cathy countered, her voice sharp.

"Pretend you want it so badly you can taste it. This is acting, Casper. You're an actor playing the part of a business person."

He slowly, reluctantly, straightened his spine. He took another breath, this one less dramatic, more controlled. He began to walk again. This time, his steps were more deliberate, his head held slightly higher. There was still a stiffness, a reluctance, but a flicker of something new, a faint echo of authority. He reached the table, and this time, he didn't slump. He stood, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"Better," Cathy conceded, a small spark of hope igniting within her.

"Much better. Now, introduce yourself to the imaginary board members."

Casper looked at the empty chairs, his eyes still narrowed against the unfamiliar brightness. He took a deep breath, and then, in a voice that was still raspy but held a surprising resonance, he said, "Good morning. I am Casper Sterling. And I intend to revolutionize this company."

Cathy felt a jolt. The words weren't what she had suggested, but the delivery the conviction in his voice was undeniable. This wasn't the moody goth kid; this was a glimpse of the fierce, intelligent young man hidden beneath the layers of rebellion.

"Excellent!" Cathy exclaimed.

"See? You can do it."

Casper’s stern facade cracked just for a second, a fleeting smirk playing on his lips. "I can do many things you haven't seen yet, Cathy."