Page 51 of He Falls First

“Reckless,” she finishes for me as she fixes her hair, which has somehow gone wild.

“Reckless,” I repeat, nodding. It’s not exactly what I was thinking, but I suppose it’s true.

The atmosphere feels heavy as we straighten our clothes in silence. My hands are steady as I fasten my belt, but there’s a tremor within me that’s new, unfamiliar. It’s not fear—it’s something else, something deeper.

“Should I expect this every time you lock the door around here?” she says with humor in her voice.

I raise an eyebrow. “Should I?”

“Or don’t lock it,” she says, shrugging nonchalantly, though the flush on her cheeks betrays her casual tone. “Adds to the excitement, doesn’t it?”

“Elizabeth Summers,” I say, shaking my head, a smirk playing on my lips. “Full of naughty surprises.”

She smiles then, a genuine, self-assured smile that knocks me sideways. It’s like watching her step into the light after all this time—my intuitive, kind-hearted assistant who’s been underestimated by everyone but me.

We should leave. We just risked everything for a quick fuck on the conference table, and it feels like we should be in a hurry to vacate the scene of the crime. But I feel content. Quiet. Downright lazy, and that’s something I haven’t been in a long time. If ever.

I reach out to trace circles on Elizabeth’s back, but she’s curled up and small against the expansive table, her eyes locked on something beyond the glass walls. I can tell my touch isn’t enough, that my fingers whispering over her skin are just ghosting around the edges of what she really needs from me.

“Are you okay?” I brush a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

She nods but doesn’t speak, her fingers folding over her arms. I don’t know why the air feels different than it did before, but I can’t lie—it’s starting to scare me a little.

“Hey…” I start to speak, but I don’t know what I’m trying to say.

“Hendrix,” she whispers back, her voice cracking ever so slightly, “how do you feel about me?”

Damn that question. It digs under my skin, asks for truths I’m not ready to admit. Every fiber of my being screams to tell her the truth—that I’ve fallen for her, hard as hell. But I clamp down on those feelings, forcing them back into whatever corner of my heart they crawled out of. Because feelings aren’t part of this deal. They’re not part of any deal I make.

“I… We have a good thing going. Let’s not complicate it,” I say. Even to my own ears, it sounds like a cop-out.

She gazes up at me, her expression unreadable for a moment before she swallows hard and looks away. She sits up, pulling her blouse around her with hands that tremble just slightly.

“You know, I found out something about my dad recently,” she starts. Her voice has this edge of bitterness that I haven’t heard in her before. “He cheated on my mom. With his young assistants.”

“God, that’s low,” I say. It’s her dad, and I suppose I should respect him as her family, but I can’t hide my disgust. I can’t stand cheaters. Never could.

“Isn’t it just what you’re doing?” Elizabeth says, locking her eyes onto mine. “Sleeping with your employee?”

“Elizabeth, what I’m doing with you—it’s not the same at all.” I feel like I can’t say it quickly enough. I hate that she might see herself that way, as someone to be used in the way her father probably used his mistresses. That’s not who she is to me. Not by a long shot.

“How so?” Elizabeth demands, pushing herself up to sit.

“Because what we have is…” I trail off, teetering on the edge of confessing everything. “…fake,” I finish lamely. “We agreed on that. It’s all for show.”

“Right,” she says. There’s a sad acceptance in her eyes that doesn’t sit right with me, but what am I supposed to do? Confess everything and risk it all?

“Let’s get back to work,” she says, and I hate the way my heart stutters at the shift in her tone. I’ve screwed up somehow, but I’m not sure how to fix it without breaking the rules of a game I set up myself.

Chapter 20

Hendrix

I’ve nearly forgotten the glass of scotch in my hand as I sprawl on the leather couch in my living room. In my mind, yesterday’s conference room escapade with Elizabeth replays like a looped clip from an X-rated movie. It was intense, fiery, and our conversation afterward left me feeling like a fool.

“Damn it,” I mutter as the memory of her hitched breaths mingles with the taste of frustration on my tongue. The sex wasn’t just hot. It was volcanic. But there was more—a connection that went beyond skin-deep, something raw and real tugging at the edges of my well-guarded heart.

And yet, when she looked at me with those earnest, seeking eyes, asking how I felt about her, I bulldozed over the moment with a lie as cold as the ice clinking against my glass.

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