Page 17 of He Falls First

The game is on.

Chapter 7

Hendrix

Elizabeth and I don’t really have time for lunch out—I’d usually prefer a working lunch at the office with a schedule as packed as mine—but we need to discuss the details and make a toast to our false union. We walk to a restaurant a few blocks away from the office. I’m not sure if it’s necessary for us to hold hands for the whole walk, but it’s like we’re getting used to the feel of each other, palms melting together more with each step.

What’s she thinking? Elizabeth’s silhouette cuts a sharp figure against the sidewalk, and I’m sneaking glances like a damn high school kid with his first crush. It’s ludicrous. I’m Hendrix Monroe. I don’t sneak. I observe. I scrutinize. I intimidate. I can’t remember the last time I had to sneak a glance at someone instead of staring them down unabashedly. But here I am, stealing peeks at my so-called fiancée, trying to read her expression. It’s weirdly thrilling, but it also irks me that I’m even doing this in the first place.

She looks wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. I don’t know if it’s the splash of the setting sun on her cheeks, her natural rosy color, or a blush taking root on her face, but she’s got the soft pink look of a springtime flower.

Every look at her intensifies the thudding in my chest.

We arrive at the restaurant, an upscale establishment with more glass and chrome than personality. The hosts don’t know me yet, but they will—I walk us in with all the air of someone who will require the finest table in the establishment.

“Table for two,” I tell the maître d’.

“Of course, sir,” he replies, leading us to a table near a window overlooking downtown. Perfect. I’m glad it’s secluded, private enough for discussing the details of our fake arrangement without any eavesdroppers.

Elizabeth looks around wild-eyed as I pull her chair out and she takes her seat.

“Mr. Hendrix, I’m not dressed for this place,” she whispers across the table, as if she’s trying not to offend anyone in the vicinity.

My eyes sweep down her body as I take my seat. I’d forgotten she was dressed casually, wearing a flowy blouse paired with fitted jeans that accentuate her athletic build. Perhaps I forgot because it makes no difference in how I see her. However Elizabeth is dressed is the appropriate way to dress, and if anything, the rest of the world should be adapting to her standard.

I want to tell her this, but it might be a bit much for our very first lunch together.

“You’re dressed just fine,” I tell her, jerking my head back up before my gaze lingers too long on her body. “And if we’re going to act like we’re engaged, you’d better drop the ‘Mr.’”

“Right. Hendrix.” She says it almost to herself, like she’s practicing to get used to it.

I’d like to sit in on a few more rehearsals. I’m sure I could get used to the sound of her screaming my name.

The waiter arrives and I order the establishment’s finest champagne without looking at the menu. As he walks away, Elizabeth scans her menu without reading it, her hands shaking the slightest bit.

“You okay?” I ask.

She takes a few deep breaths before nodding her head slowly. Then she lifts her eyes to mine and gives me a sheepish smile that tells me more than words ever could.

“Sure,” she says, visibly relaxing a bit. “So, about this fake engagement thing… I need to tell you something first.”

“Go ahead,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. This should be interesting.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” she asks hesitantly.

“Can’t make any guarantees, but I’ll try,” I say, smirking slightly.

“Alright,” she sighs, steeling herself. “My friends and I came up with this pledge called ‘He Falls First.’ Basically, I can’t fall for a guy unless he falls for me first. It’s supposed to ensure that I’m not taken for granted in my next relationship.”

I raise an eyebrow, baffled by what I’m hearing. What kind of fool would anyone take this incredible woman for granted? It’s not just her looks—it’s her sharp mind, her intuition. She knows how to read a room, a situation, a person. It’s invaluable.

In my eyes, she’s the kind of woman who should be able to get any man she wants.

“Your friends sound rather interesting,” I say. “But you do realize this whole engagement thing is fake, right? You don’t have to worry about falling for me.”

“I know that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But I still thought you should know. It’s just, you know what a great assistant I am, right?”

I smile. I have to admire the confidence. “Of course.”

---