Page 16 of He Falls First

My heart stalls, then kick-starts into overdrive. A year’s salary is more money than I’ve ever dreamed of having at once. It could mean a down payment on a house, a new car—heck, a whole fleet of cars. I can cover all of Dad’s medical bills, make sure he’s prioritizing getting seen by a doctor for more than just a vasectomy.

For a moment, it’s tempting. So tempting. But then I think of Allison and Cora. The “He Falls First” pledge.

This isn’t exactly in line with putting myself first.

“Wow, Hendrix, bribery much?” I try to joke, but it comes out strained. This isn’t just about the money. Couldn’t be.

“Consider it compensation,” he replies, not missing a beat.

Compensation—the antiseptic term for hush money, for playing the dutiful damsel in this deranged corporate fairytale. But it’s not as simple as that, is it? My friends’ voices echo in my head. They would throttle me if I said yes.

“Compensation implies damage,” I counter, trying to ignore how Hendrix’s touch on my shoulders seems to burn through the fabric of my blouse. “And I’m not sure any amount can cover the cost of this kind of thing.”

“Elizabeth, I wouldn’t ask this of you if it weren’t critical,” Hendrix insists.

“Critical for you or for Nexus Tech? It’s sure not critical for me,” I say. Because let’s face it, I’m the one who’s going to have to field calls from Great Aunt Gertrude asking why she wasn’t invited to the engagement party.

“It’s for me,” he admits. There’s an honesty in his voice that catches me off guard. Or is it desperation?

“Six weeks,” I murmur, chewing on my lower lip. The weight of his hands feels heavier by the second. “Six weeks of pretending to be hopelessly devoted to you.”

“Hopelessly might be overstating it,” Hendrix says, his mouth quirking in what I imagine is his version of humor.

“Right now, I’m just hoping to escape this conversation with my sanity intact.” I muster a half-smile, but it feels brittle.

“Escape is not an option.” He’s joking, I’m pretty sure, but his eyes are earnest, searching mine.

“Neither is taking advantage of me,” I fire back, a surge of boldness rushing through me. If I’m going to do this—if—I need to come out of it with more than just a paycheck. Something that says this isn’t just about him, or the company, but about me, too.

“Advantage? No,” he says, shaking his head. “Consideration, then. A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Mutually beneficial” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Like we’re partners in crime instead of co-conspirators in corporate deception.

“Matt mentioned something about appearing family-friendly,” I venture cautiously, probing for information. “Is that what this is all about? Or is there something else driving you?”

Hendrix’s gaze shifts before he schools his expression back into its usual stoic mask.

“Let’s just say,” he begins slowly, weighing each word, “that taking over Nexus Tech Solutions is more personal than most business ventures.”

“Personal how?” I’m dying to know more about the enigma that is Hendrix Monroe.

He tilts his head, considering me as though seeing me for the first time. “Some questions are better left unanswered. For now.”

“Right,” I mutter, filing away his evasion for later scrutiny. There’s a story there, I’m sure of it. A story that might explain the contradictions wrapped up in this man—everything from playing the part of the tender fiancé to guarding himself from small talk.

“Elizabeth,” he says, “whatever terms you need to agree to this charade, you’ll have them. I’m not in the habit of breaking promises.”

“Okay…” I draw the word out skeptically.

But somewhere deep down, despite every reason not to, I believe him. Maybe it’s the earnestness in his voice, or perhaps it’s my own foolish optimism. Either way, I nod, sealing some unspoken pact between us.

“Good,” he says simply, a flash of triumph crossing his face.

And just like that, I realize I’m not just negotiating a contract. I’m negotiating the next six weeks of my life, teetering on the edge of a decision that feels alarmingly like jumping out of a plane—exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly insane.

“Terms,” I repeat, stronger this time. “Non-negotiable ones.”

“Understood.” He gives a curt nod.

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