Page 31 of He Falls First

Just then, a middle-aged woman in a crisp black uniform appears in the doorway. She’s immaculate, her gray hair coiled into a bun so tight it could deflect bullets. Her posture is as impeccable as the creases in her uniform.

“Oh! You must be Ms. Elizabeth,” she says warmly. “I’m Mrs. Parrish, the head housekeeper. Let me show you to your room.”

I hop up and follow Mrs. Parrish upstairs. She leads me down a long hallway lined with closed doors. At the very end, she opens a pair of double doors with a flourish. My breath catches when I step inside.

My room—no, let’s call it what it is, my suite—is so stunning, it’s borderline offensive. There are sky-high ceilings, a massive four-poster bed piled high with pillows, and a plush white duvet. One wall has built-in bookshelves and a cushioned window seat.

And the view! A balcony looks out over gardens that rival Versailles, with a view of the city beyond. If I squint, I swear I can see my apartment languishing in mediocrity compared to this palace of extravagance.

Mrs. Parrish smiles kindly at my awestruck expression. “Mr. Monroe wanted you to have one of our finest guest rooms. I hope you’ll be quite comfortable here.”

“Are you kidding me? This place is amazing!” I say with an excited little bounce. Mrs. Parrish chuckles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. Please let me know if you need anything at all.” She closes the door softly behind her.

Falling back on the gigantic bed, I stare up at the ornate ceiling molding. I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into with this whole fake fiancée thing, but if this is how Hendrix Monroe lives every day? I could definitely get used to it.

Just as I’m about to unpack my suitcase, my phone rings. It’s Gabrielle. My heart skips a beat as I quickly close the bedroom door. It’s not like I’m cheating on Hendrix or something by talking to my former boss, but I’d rather he didn’t overhear me dish on what it’s been like since she left Nexus Tech.

“Hey, Gabrielle!” I answer.

“Hi, Elizabeth! Just calling because Harper wanted to say hi. She’s been missing you,” Gabrielle says.

“Put her on!” I say over the sound of background squeals that could only come from an eight-year-old with excitement bubbling over. There’s a shuffling noise as the phone is passed from mother to daughter, and then a burst of energy erupts from the speaker.

“Lizzy!” Harper’s voice is the epitome of excitement. “Guess what? I made a rainbow cake today, and it didn’t even collapse this time!”

“Wow, Harper, that’s amazing! You’re gonna be a master baker before you hit double digits.”

“Mom says I can’t use the oven by myself yet.” She sighs dramatically, and I can practically see her rolling those expressive green eyes.

“Your mom’s probably right,” I say with a laugh. “But hey, maybe we can hang out soon and I can help you with the oven part.”

“Oh, yes please, I would love that!”

After a few minutes, Gabrielle takes the phone back.

“Sorry, I know she can talk your ear off,” she says warmly.

“Are you kidding? I love talking to her,” I say. And I mean it. Harper is a bright spot, no matter what.

“So how’s it going with the new boss?” she says. “I happen to know that Hendrix can be… a lot.”

“Uhm, well…” I hedge, unsure of how much to reveal. So far, working for Hendrix has been nothing like I expected. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure.”

There’s the quiver of a juicy tidbit in Gabs’s tone as she leans into the phone. “Lizzy, there’s something about Hendrix that—”

A sudden knock, sounding like authority itself, raps on the door. My pulse goes on overdrive.

I whisper a hurried “I’ll call you back” and scramble to the door, announcing “Coming!” a little too loudly.

Then I open the door slowly, half expecting to see Hendrix standing there with his usual stern expression. But when the door swings open, I’m momentarily stunned into silence.

It is Hendrix, but he looks completely different than I’m used to. He changed clothes before I arrived. Gone are the tailored suits and polished dress shoes. Instead, he’s wearing a plain black t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame and a pair of worn jeans. His feet are bare. I’ve never seen him look so casual and relaxed, with a disarming aura of off-duty charm.

His hair is a bit mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. The sight makes something flutter low in my belly. I have the bizarre urge to reach up and smooth it down, to check if it’s as soft as it looks. And I notice the tattoos trailing down both arms. I never would’ve guessed how much ink he had from how he presents himself at the office.

As my eyes drift back to his, I realize I’m staring. I probably look like a gaping fish. Hendrix is watching me, one eyebrow raised in question.

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